It’s been seven years since I had some time that could be mine to do with as I please.
The routine of my life consisted of pregnancies, depression, births, newborns, infants, toddlers and learning to nap when I got a chance.
By the time my daughter turned three, my son was born. We added daily pick-up from preschool to the schedule. The naps got shorter. The afternoons got harder. The evenings were a blur. Such was life.
But my two-year old needed more than what I could give him. So he went off to gan. The way I feel about that is still being explored.
He loves it – I’m ok with it, and now I have five hours a day without him.
Five precious hours.
Today I went on a walk.
Blaring music without a care.
It made me feel alive…and free…
And when I got home, I prepared a salad without any pulling on my legs and sat at the table and ate slowly, without having to share my food.
It felt weird.
But still weird.
So I knew I needed to work that out – that strange sensation of wanting someone to pull at me and bother me because it makes me feel like I am worth something…
I saw an ad that caught my eye.
A writing workshop.
And I knew that it was now or never.
So I took the plunge.
I start tomorrow.
And I’m sitting here wondering why I’m doing it.
Wondering who I’m doing it for.
Wondering at myself for wondering.
This morning when I walked with me, I knew her well.
Cause I’ve always been there.
Taking care of me through them – and getting myself ready for today – the day I said hello to the only person worth doing a writing workshop for.
And boy is she excited.