It seems like after writing in this space for years, I wouldn't have so much resistance (aka - fear) to coming here and writing. But that is so not the case.
I still struggle with how to begin. I still have a tremendously hard time trying to decide what I will focus on. I still get shallow-breathed and afraid I have nothing whatsoever to say. I still get up a half dozen times to do really "important" things before I finally settle in (like eat another handful of salt and vinegar Kettle Chips). I check Facebook or email (even though I just checked 28 seconds ago). I send one more text. I decide I really should write that email to my daughter's teacher right this very second. I still hesitate to write certain things because I worry that certain someones might make mad fun of me behind my back.
In other words, I still meet that little, resistant pain in the butt part of me every single time I even think about doing that thing "true me" knows I must do, that thing that will propel me forward, that thing I know is good and healthy for me - that thing that I know I was put here to do.
But, thankfully, I know one way to quiet that pesky, pain in the butt part of me, and that is to BEGIN. Begin despite the trembling. Begin despite the fear that I have nothing to say (or that I'll have nothing new to say).
And here's the thing, once my fingers start clicking keys, or putting color on canvas, once I get myself to stay still for more than four minutes at a time, the trembling inside of me quiets. I exhale, finally. I feel the sweetest kind of relief.
After a very long (and very good/full/rich/scenic summer), my girls are back at school - today is day 2 of them being back. Those of us who are stay-at-home moms know this means going from sleeping in, staying in our PJ's until noon (not every day, I swear), listening to your kids bicker and whine a good majority of the day - to getting up with an alarm clock, making lunches, trying to figure out math problems you couldn't even do 20 years ago.
Rather than dealing with the pesky voices of your children, you now get to sit in silence all day and listen to that mean one in your head (which is far meaner than your kids' voices - even at their worst).
Several posts ago, I started asking questions from Debbie Ford's book The Right Questions. The question I'm throwing out there today - one that is perfect for me at this time of transition (which is really all the time) - is...