The journal entry read…
“I found myself sitting in the dark, unable to sleep, uncontrollable tears rolled down my face, and an emptiness filled my thoughts. I returned to bed, just to lay and stare at the half empty room for a couple of hours. Finally, dosing off, the sun was rising, the dog was whining and the phone was ringing. It was a new day, another opportunity to be great? or feel like a failure.”
I could describe the craziness of my days a million times over, and so few would comment, as if they can’t relate. Its as though perfection is the objective and no one speaks truth anymore. Am I really the only one who’s thoughts often overtake their ability to get adequate rest? Perhaps so, but I sincerely doubt it. I’m over it. I’m over the “pretending.” If you’re not ok, you have to say something, but be mindful who you share with. Others are often too caught up in themselves, no matter how many times you’ve been there in return. Just know, you matter too, “it’s ok to not be ok.”
As a wife, a mother, an entrepreneur, and so many other titles that have been placed on my plate, often times by me, I’ve forgotten about me far too many times. I ignored the fact, I am not a robot, I am not a superhero, but I am a woman, a normal human being who desires a since of normalcy. Then I realized, I don’t know what “Normal” is. I’ve always found myself with an overachieving mentality, with so much to prove, but to whom? Maybe to those who doubted me after being a wife and mother at eighteen years old? or thats what most would think, but the truth is, I wanted to prove to myself, I was capable of doing what I wanted even with new responsibilities.
Now what, what’s normal?
So here we are years later, I’ve accomplished a lot, I have wonderful kids, a great life and yet today, I sit and I feel empty. What is it I’m missing? What is it going to take to find value in me, by me? You see, the thing is others can define you to the world, but they can’t define who you are to yourself.
So here’s to figuring out who I am, without the ring, without the camera, without the kids, because the truth is, all of those things could be taken away in an instant… Would I survive?
The question is, how often are you unseen? Is it a matter of who you have around or the perception you’ve given that you need no one? Hmm.
Random thoughts of a cluttered mind.