I lie there awake, just knowing the alarm is a minute away from soundi- *BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ* aaaaaaaand there it is. I stay a couple extra minutes in bed, making sure my son Daxius doesn’t wake up from my movement because I need to get his sisters ready for school. Some days, I have to slink out of bed so fast I can’t go back for my glasses or to put pants on – equivalent to a walk of shame. Diiissss-gusting.
Get the girls ready. Make breakfast to go. Drive to two different schools. Come home to Dax and keep him busy all day until the girls are ready to be picked up. Get kids. Make dinner. Run baths. Tuck, bedtime story, tuck. And only after I manage to get Dax down do I breathe a sigh of relief for alone time, before I let reality sink in that this is going be a rough ass night. Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
I had a job you know. Before this. And it was a full-time work from home job assisting the wonderful citizens of Maryland secure healthcare. Until I got fired by my wonderful excuse for a boss in a way I felt was underhanded and sneaky, and more personal than professional if we are being honest. But that’s a story for another article another day.
The most terrifying thing to me after losing my job was surviving. If it were up to me, I’d survive on ramen, air, and tap water, and live in a shoebox. But I’m a mother, with very needy kids, who unfortunately have gotten accustomed to a certain lifestyle. What the hell do I do now?
Enter blogging here. I’m not blogging because it’ll help with the financial survival. I’m certainly not making daily tiktoks because it’ll suddenly buy my son the pampers he needs. I’m blogging to find myself. I got lost in the parenting, the soccer momming, the adulting, the living that wasn’t living. I’m blogging for my mental survival. To find out who I am now.
I spent too much time being someone’s something else. I laugh with my best friend, asking, “What would high school us think of us today?” They. Would. DIE. I’m no where near the person I was a couple years ago. Several years ago? No wait. 10 years….could that be right? It’s ben ten YEARS since high school? That can’t be right. Yet, here I am twirling a curl laced with premature gray.
I gave way to the dreams that I had back when I was a lighter person. Happier, more vibrant, and much more hopeful. The years have been hard, unforgiving, and unkind. I don’t even know where to begin. I haven’t even gotten close to finding myself, but I put myself in a position where I could, and that’s all anyone could ever ask of you.
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