Stream of Consciousness – 9/9/2016

This is a stream of consciousness post. It was typed in one sitting, in one go, with no edits. Any italic or bold text was done with CTRL-I or CTRL-B. 

I love my husband more than anything, and the two years I have spent with him mean more to me than the 26 I spent without him. Together we have built a family – even the ugly parts. Financial decisions weight upon us like any other family in the world, but we always pull through and make it work because we have a support system. More importantly, we have each other.

My anxiety is rampant and I never know what to do with my hands. I loathe my body, and there is so much for me to do all the time, even though I don’t even have a job. My mind can be a pretty dark place much of the time, but when he comes in the room, everything is alight with light of knowing that I am loved.

He is raising my daughter as his own, and he has given me a son that is the light of my life. He completes the part of me that wants to be a part of something important. My family is important.

Hopefully, through my writing I am creating something important. Because I feel like my own personal importance will be manifest in the children I raise, the support I give my husband, and the art I create. My writing is the way for me to make something beautiful for people to hold on to, and I hope that is clear. But it may not be. And if it isn’t, I need to work on that. My writing is for the world, not for me alone. For me, it is the act of writing that is my catharsis, not the finished product.

Someday, I’ll feel like I, too, am important.

Stream of Consciousness – 9/4/2016

This is a stream of consciousness post. It was typed in one sitting, in one go, with no edits. Any italic or bold text was done with CTRL-I or CTRL-B. 

 

This is disjointed because I’m distracted but when am I not? Because I am always distracted. I am a mother of two. I am the wife of a glorious man with an intellect far greater than he believes. I am a daughter, I am a sister, I am a beneficiary, I am an account holder, I am a member, I am a participant, I am a…

But when am I Heather?

When am I me? When does it matter whether or not I have wants and needs and hopes and dreams? This is a struggle that is more than likely relateable for millions of moms everywhere, and that is why it is so often dismissed. But my identity is my own and I have the right, the absolute human right, to it. I have the right to display it, demonstrate it, practice it. And so many people would likely tell me to suck it up or stop complaining or to be grateful. To count my blessings that I am alive and my children are beautiful, intelligent creatures and that my husband is the pillar of strength that he is.

And pardon my language, but how fucked is it that I cannot be simultaneously grateful for my family and mounful for my loss of self. Are our senses of self so flimsy that we can shed them in sacrifice gladly and be considered weak for attempting to hold onto them? Because I don’t think that is strength. I don’t think it makes you any better of a parent or a spouse to discard yourself. I think it is entirely possible for me to Me, Mother, Wife simultaneously.

Knowing that it is possible – and I do know it, deep in my core I know it – does not mean that I know how it is possible. I don’t know how to be all those things and still be me. But I won’t give up. Not yet.

Because if I’ve learned one thing from the trials I have been through, it is that life always gets worse before it gets better and the trend always swings back upwards. It is essential that you hold onto that cycle when the path is dark because otherwise you lose your way and I have far too much to lose if I get lost and far too much to gain if I just hold on.

So it goes.