Feminism,  Personal,  Writing

About this morning…

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To say that the last two weeks have been tough would be an understatement. And really, it’s been more like the last four years. I’ve shared snippets here and there on Instagram but because so much has been intertwined with other peoples’ stories to tell, I have largely remained quiet.

But in remaining quiet I lost my voice. Sure, I had a voice to advocate for everyone around me but for me it was radio silence. I’m not blaming anyone for this because I know I did the right things for the right reasons.  I wouldn’t change anything because our experiences make us into the people we are meant to become.

This summer we stopped watching the news. It was a conscious decision that Steve and I made together and it was a good decision. I get everything I need to know from my daily conference calls and emails at work. The rest of it, the commentary especially, wasn’t good for my mental health.

I have paid attention to the Kavanaugh hearings and as a mother of a daughter who had her own story to tell earlier this year, yesterday was gut-wrenching. Between that and everything else, I woke up on fire this morning.

I am far from perfect and I yelled. I yelled at my daughter and my husband over things that are worthy of getting upset about. But I felt so much more inside and knew it was about far more than people not taking care of their morning responsibilities.  I had hit my limit. With everything.

I don’t cry and this morning my daughter saw me cry for the first time ever as I apologized to her for yelling. But I wasn’t crying just because I yelled. I was crying because I woke up different. And tired.

I’m tired of how people treat each other. I’m tired of how men treat women. I’m tired of how women treat men. And the worst, I’m tired of how women treat each other. I’m tired of trying guess what is next and what someone’s motives are. And I’m tired of things that don’t bring me peace. When you don’t have peace, you get caught up in the chaos and the next thing you know you’ve lost your voice. I know this cycle well.

I was telling my husband last night that lately, no matter how bad my day was, writing in the evenings helped my mood. So I’ll be writing more. Writing brings me peace and gives me a voice.

And quite possibly, more peace and feeling like I am heard will keep me from losing my mind at 7:00 am when our dogs do dumb shit. Everyone wins.

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