The edges fray as the end of day approaches and I know that there are songs yet to be sung, library books still to be found, and lunches to conjure from wilted arugula and past-prime lunch meat. Staggering to a finish line, but wait, marriage, intimacy, cat litter, laundry, online bill pay, and the thought that maybe the toilet is in fact leaking. Oh, and NaBloPoMo, a commitment that I made. Truthfully it is only to myself, there is no contract, nor agreement, and yet, the reward of finishing it each night is sweet. I just have to slog through a lot of I’m-all-used-up-my-ideas-are-completely-gone. Vikki from Up Popped a Fox made me feel much less alone the other day as I laughed through a relatable pursuit of a kernel.

I’ve been reading more as I write more, which is a beautiful thing. There are so many incredible words out there opening new perspectives or giving me the sense that I am not alone, or that when I am, it’s not a bad thing.

It really helps doesn’t it, when someone else expresses that the fever pitch of doing every little thing perfectly is in fact crap. It is for me, because there are days when I masochistically hypnotize myself into believing that if I buy better glue sticks, prettier vases, and texturizing hair cream I’ll be able to fashion seasonal displays all the while my hair will look perfect and I won’t get short tempered one bit.

I am beginning to see through the busy and the me-time clash, and realize that the societal anvil of the pressure to always be doing enough has got us chasing our tails in a multi-tasking dead end. We are not impressing or satisfying anyone. Stop.

What if we were able to calmly and confidently say who we are and what we do and have that be ok? Can we get beyond mom, mommy, mother being derisive? Do we have to use mom as a qualifier? Can there be an and rather than hybrid words like mompreneur?

This post about honoring the ambivalence of mothers was an intense and satisfying read. It isn’t all easy or tidy, but it hits on some very true points about the mothering journey and how it has inevitable stretches of emotion that defy even the most tenacious efforts to parent in the present and with gentle, enduring patience and passion. So grateful that Nina helped me find it.

I’m also grateful for the growing chorus of voices saying that the internet can take its ‘you’re doing it wrong’ attitude and shove it. They told us at Kripalu that no one else in the world has lived inside your body or spent a day with your heart or dreams. It is up to each of us to honor our spirit, through pain and joy.

Another thing, after what felt like two years of speculation about a greased ass and whether it was authentic or photoshopped, racist or opportunistic, shortsighted or brilliant, I inhaled this woman’s words about leaving other people’s bodies alone. More than letting people live, let yourself live. Short legs, long legs, curly hair, straight hair, girly-girl or tom boy, FFS, just be.

I was so grateful to discover this through Dina, whom I adore. It is, I believe, a moment that is easy to imagine in the beginning, then as it goes on you wait, the threat of something sad happening is palpable. It never happens, instead it is a story that I imagine will go on to be shared over and over for its beauty and hope.

I hope that you find beauty and purpose, space to feel whatever it is that you are feeling, and confidence to be proud of who and how you are right now. You deserve it.