Wow, it has been over 3 years since I have been on here. Children, Marraige, and a fair amount of struggles have kept me away. I could delve into a mile long list of it, but the biggest culprit, is me. I have lost me. Obviously, that sounds cliche and reeks of self pity, but it is the truth. I have spent the last few years dealing with some huge issues both in my marriage and as a parent and it has stripped me of my identity. I spent some time reading through my old posts and it became even more apparent how much I'd actually lost. Admittedly, the previous posts are not my best writing, but they were at least an attempt to articulate what I was going through. They were also disappointing. I wish I had the courage to have written about what I was really going through. What I was really struggling with. Instead they felt fake. I mean, sure, I did feel those things, but they were not what was consuming my entire life, my being, my happiness. I preach on my social media accounts about being real and wanting to let others who are struggling know they are not alone, but at that point in my life, I just couldn't.
In part, that is because of the age old, "what will they think of me?" The other part, is that the stuff that I have been walking through is so personal and could have effects that ripple beyond me. It would affect my husband, my kids, our friends, etc. It feeds the paranoia that developed from being a foster parent and having every move scrutinized (many of us refer to it as the "fish bowl" syndrome). What if someone read my blog and used it against me. Not that anything I do or have been through should or could warrant that, but who said I was being rational? In an age of social media and google, all it takes is a quick search and a screen shot and suddenly I am in the middle of some kind of conflict. A copy and paste could potentially bring my husband back to court for his custody stuff. I've noticed people tend to take things and run instead of conversing with the author about it. It is too easy for a bad day's vent to turn into the next episode of Days of our Lives. So, I avoided it.
Recently, I have started sharing more of my reality, online. I openly discuss the finer points of being a mom, wife, adoptive parent, special needs parent, etc. I advocate for my son and daughter's needs, my health concerns, and many other topics. But, I still can't bring myself to lay it all out there. The fear of repercussion on anyone I love, is too great. I also think about if I did, would I even be able to write it in a way that it would help others instead of being another failed attempt at expression. It isn't limited to writing either. Somewhere amidst all of this, I also stopped doing other things that I loved. The worst, was probably that I stopped singing. I still sing along with the radio or to the kids at night, but not the kind that came from my soul and filled me up.
I considered this today as I opened up the laptop. Desperate to rediscover a hobby that used to be so much a part of me it was like breathing. I was a singer. I was a writer. I was a chef. I was an activist. I wasn't afraid. I wasn't struggling with ptsd. I wasn't afraid of leaving my home. I wasn't lost in my title of mom and wife. I wasn't battling chronic health problems. So, here I am. Hands on the keyboard. Hopeful. I am not entirely sure what I am hoping to accomplish other than rediscovering those parts of me that thrived. To rebuild my identity in a way that I want, not one that has been forced on my by circumstance. Time to get to work
