You Don’t Have to Be Who You’ve Always Been

The last time I wrote a blog post was about 6 months ago when I had mice.  [Update on the mice- they were actually back last week. Rude. But this time, homegirl TEXTED Jeff The Exterminator within SECONDS of hearing them and he came that day and took care of the problem. This is good news. It means sometimes I actually learn lessons and apply them.]

But why has it been so long? And in the past year, there have only been 2 or 3 other posts before Thank God for the Mice. 

Why did I stop writing? Well for one, I started a new job. It’s in sales and I love it and I feel very fortunate every single day for my new gig. (Also, if you need ANYTHING relative to packaging, let me know. I gotchu) On top of that, there have been some huge changes with my kiddos this year, namely my son joining the Navy. The months leading up to that decision were not easy ones. Parenting is hard AF, y’all. Whether you’re wrangling babies, coaching teens, or navigating kids who are basically posing as adults, it’s no easy feat. At the end of the day, (literally EVERY DAY) it took up A LOT of my mental and emotional space. There was a lot going on that just wasn’t my story to tell and couldn’t be written about and published. Yet.

And then the rest of life got in the way and I just wasn’t putting any time or effort into writing. But as I was looking at my blog the other day, searching for last year’s essay, You Don’t Have to Love Christmas and Other Truths About December, I glanced over and saw the little About Me section.  Somewhere in there, I describe myself as a Writer. And then as we were decorating our Christmas tree a few days later, as I hung the “You Should Read my Blog” ornament, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Last year that ornament was my favorite. This year, I almost wondered if I should even hang it.

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Am I still a writer? In order to be a writer,  you actually have to, you know…write. It got me thinking. I’ve always considered myself a writer. But I haven’t been writing AT ALL. Is it still me? If it is, why am I not making it a priority?

 

If it’s not, then what?

It’s okay if I’m not a writer anymore.  I don’t have to be. I don’t have to continue being anything I’ve always been. And there’s always time to become something I’ve never been. But either way, I want to give myself permission to be honest.

 

 

What is it for you?

 

Is there something you’ve always been that no longer feels like you?

Or is there something new about the way you want to be seen and known, in a way you never have been before?

You don’t have to be who you’ve always been.

Take a closer look at all the ways you’ve defined yourself over the years (and the ways other people have defined you, too). If there’s something there that no longer fits, it’s okay to grow and change. It’s better than okay. It’s what being alive and living a conscious life is all about. Only dead things stop growing.

So. Am I still a writer? Will I keep writing? I haven’t entirely decided yet. But if there’s such thing as a Sometimes Writer? That feels more like me.

 

 

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