I used to write. All the time. I'd cozy up in my favorite corner of the couch and plug away, usually to some acoustic folk song. The words would just flow out of me. These days I can't find her. I can't find that girl and often times I can't finish a thought I have started. I miss that girl. I find myself holding on to her most days. In my phone you will find notes of jumbled thoughts. Thoughts I intended to put in words but just can't find the time to.
There are so many things I have wanted to write about. There was that post on depression, and how it sounds so scary when you say the word out loud, but really its just misunderstood. But explaining my depression is one of the hardest things to do, especially when I'm in a low. I feel so misunderstood, and I can't just think of happy thoughts to make myself feel better. When I am depressed I hate myself. Haaaate myself. I question everything. I find every flaw. I remember all the things I failed at, and will probably never accomplish. I doubt myself as a wife, a mother, and friend. And then I feel it. I feel it to the extremes. Eventually it is passes, but the hard stuff itself deserves to be talked about too.
Then there was the post about change. About how different life has become since being in Helena. Good change. A change where I feel settled and stable. A change where I no longer feel like I am missing out because so many of my needs are being met here. It was a post about friendships gained, friendships that have changed, and friendships I have lost. It was a post about me growing, and changing myself.
There was a post about more babies, and how I felt crazy for even wanting more. About how scared I was to tell people I wanted more because I have been so vocal about my struggles with PPD. How I was more worried about what people would think, than the fact that more children is something I, we want. It was a post about how one day I watched Harper, & Finley playing in the back yard and had this weird moment, and realized we weren't done having children. That there was someone missing from the picture. It was a post about knowing how lucky I am to have two incredible daughters, and if that is all that is meant for us then great, but that doesn't mean we can't try for more. It was a post about acknowledging opinions of others on the matter, but not deeming my thoughts and feelings on the matter less than.
In the mix there was a post I started about fears. Fears of deployment. Fears of being a part as a family and missing my husband so incredibly much, and how we often forget how hard it is for them too. We at home just have to miss him, he over there has to miss all of us. It was a post about how jealous I am some days of families that just get to live their lives. Families that don't have to plan around the army. Families that don't have to be apart from their loved ones for weeks-months-years at a time. But it was also a post of how proud I am of my husbands journey, and how I know one day these harder days will all be in our past and he will have the career he has always dreamed of.
Lastly, there was a post about motherhood. About how I'm learning to be present. And finding peace, even in the mundane. It was a post about how unbelievably fast this summer went with a two and four year old, and how I'm ready for school and the fall, but finding myself holding on to what is left of the warmth. It was about how I continually feel like I'm celebrating everything my children do then turning around and morning the loss of what was. A continual bittersweet cycle. But it was a post about how I love, just where I'm at, and just what I'm doing, which is being home with them.
I hope to one day again find the time to fully write out my thoughts, but for now this is it. Its little bits & pieces found saved in the notes of my iPhone. They are there to remind me of what was, and what is. I'm still a writer. I still find peace in words. They are reminders that I'll get back there. One of these days.
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