I woke up this morning with the best of intentions. I stayed up way too late the night before overthinking and crafting up my master plan; the perfect mental to do list and I was going to tackle All. Of. It.
And then like every single day before this one – I didn’t. Nothing on my list got done. Not one thing. Sure, work was completed, and little man was fed, but my coffee was cold. I burnt the toast and I’m currently standing over the kitchen counter eating my feelings through a bag of Cheetos Puffs and it’s only 10:45 am.
Every day I tell myself I’m going to get a handle on things.
Life. Work. My health. School. Laundry.
And then I don’t. A vicious cycle of failure rings through my head.
You worked out for a total of three days – and you wonder why the weight won’t come off.
This is my life and brain on repeat. Day after day I wonder when I’m going to get it together.
When I’m actually going to start being consistent, but I’m not. I’m all over the map. Some days I get it right while others look like an absolute train-wreck that you can’t look away from.
Those books you read as a little girl. They’re crap. Disney got it wrong. Life isn’t perfect. We don’t always get rescued by the prince when the clock strikes 5:00 pm. In fact, half the time the prince is on our “do not mess with me” list. Most days life looks more a Marvel movie and I’m not sure if I’m the villain or the good guy. Everyone is fighting. Stuff is everywhere and it looks like an explosion just took place in my living room.
What I’m trying to say is –
It’s OK if your husband makes you want to scream sometimes. If he always manages to be in the kitchen at the wrong time or conveniently has to go to the bathroom the very second you could use an extra set of hands.
It’s OK if you love your kids more than life itself but long for bedtime so you can binge watch Netflix while eating out of a bag of Doritos like the full grown woman you are.
I’m not judging. Believe me, I’m not. I’m right there with you.
I’m pretty sure I’ve gained at least 25 pounds over the past six months. The only thing lost is every ounce of sanity I had remaining. I’m running on fumes but sustained by a steady diet of coffee and child leftovers.
Quite frankly, I’m over it. All of it. Every ounce of me is tired.
Tired of pivoting
Tired of the noise, the chaos and volatility of everything and everyone.
I find myself asking, how much longer? How much longer can I sustain this? How much longer can I keep going? But, I will and you will too. No matter how tired our feet may be. No matter how heavy our minds and our thoughts, we’ll keep going. Sure, our lists may be incomplete, but we’ll keep showing up.
And that, sis – counts for everything.