Just A Little Encouragement

DIARY

The Reader, Part Two

The strangest thing happened over the weekend. I dropped off the kids with their dad for a bit, and headed back home, intending to check a bunch of things off my to-do list (fold laundry, start dinner, vacuum, whatever), and then I thought...f it. None of these are things that can't wait. I'm going to do what I want to do for a minute. I'm going to do something that makes me happy.

And then I realized that I had absolutely no idea what that might be.

I'm serious. I had virtually no idea what I might want to do - just me, with no one else's wants to think about. Did I want to...read? Nap? Watch a movie? I sifted through all the things that sounded like, you know, things people do when they're relaxing, but nothing sounded even vaguely appealing. You know what I really wanted to do? Fold laundry. Start dinner. Tick boxes off lists.

Anxiety

The Anger In Me

current mood via.

In couples' counseling a couple of weeks ago, I started yelling. I went into the session determined - promising myself - that I wouldn't go there, that I'd follow the rules (use "I feel" language, try not to stick to my "personal narrative," et cetera auuuuuuugh), and that I'd be calm and clear and loving. That I'd talk less, and listen more

And then, all of a sudden, I was in that place again: the angry place that I didn't know existed in me, but that I sure as hell know about now.

DIARY

Just, Yes.

My friend Tia did this braid. You can tell, because it's good.

I have always loved entertaining. More than that, I love being a hostess: making my house look pretty, thinking up cute serving ideas, refilling drinks before glasses are empty. Telling my guests to sit down, have fun, don't you dare touch those dishes, I've got it. I know it might sound odd, but I love it; I really do. It makes me feel good to create a space where where they can feel good. And since we've moved here, summertime has basically been all-entertaining, all the time, because, you know: pool. Which is great, right?! Parties! BBQs! All the festive things!!

Except I can't right now.

DIARY

Putting It On My Succulent

I may need more than one.

Francesca has, as of late, been using the word "manifest" in casual conversation more than I'm reasonably able to handle. (And I have told her as much, e.g. "I love you very much, but if you keep telling me to manifest I will put you on mute.")

Look, I had a meditation coach for awhile. I spent my high school years practicing Wicca, and really wanted to buy a massive, perfectly round crystal I saw in a store the other day. I am, in other words, not completely sans woo elements in my own personality. (And please be aware that I use the term "woo" - as in "woo-woo" - with a big spoonful of affection; I respect and appreciate that people explore their inner selves in various ways that sure, may appear a little odd to others, but that work for them. Yay for spirituality and self-exploration. Yay for crystals and meditation. Just please don't make me manifest.)


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