Mother is a verb, not a noun.
Losing yourself does not happen all at once. Losing yourself happens one no at a time. No to going out tonight. No to catching up with that old college roommate. No to attending that party. No to going on a vacation. No to making a new friend. Losing yourself happens one pound at a time.
I am not a naturally optimistic person. I’m too in my own head to be a constant source of cheer. I have to work at happy. Dark and twisty is where my brain likes to settle. So I can use some reminders of what is good and optimistic and glass-half-full about this world. And nothing does that for me like the faces and souls of my tiny humans.
To them, it is a journey that has twists, turns, bumps and possibly detours, but no end. There are no exit ramps. And they don’t care. They are too busy having fun.
Every “yes” changes something in me. Every “yes” is a bit more transformative. Every “yes” sparks some new phase of revolution.
I grew up with a front-row seat to what a happy, healthy marriage looks like. Never perfect, constantly evolving, always united.
A hashtag is not a movement .
My body is just the container full of bacon that I carry my brain around in. And maybe it is. Maybe it is just the container I carry my brain around in. But so is a car. And if the car is broken down and busted, my brain isn’t going anywhere. Same goes for my container.
Any actual parts of me, anything real, anything human, anything honest, I kept to myself. I was a very good girl. I did what everyone needed me to do. And.
I don’t have Alzheimer’s. I’m just old. Pour one out for my youth.
Whatever that spark is that makes each one of us alive and unique... mine had gone. Stolen like paintings on the wall. The flickering flame responsible for lighting me up from the inside, making me glow; keeping me warm... my candle had been blown out. I was shut down. I was tired. I was afraid. Small. Quiet.
So when you negate someone’s compliment, you are telling them they are wrong. You’re telling them they wasted their time. You are questioning their taste and judgment. You.
I can’t wait to find out who I will be when next Thanksgiving rolls around.
I’ve started to think we are like mirrors. What you are gets reflected back to you. What you see in yourself, you may see in others, and what others see in you, they may see in themselves.
Do you know who you are? Do you understand what has happened to you? Do you want to live this way?
That never would have happened if I hadn’t stopped dreaming of becoming her and gotten busy becoming myself.
Yes” should feel like the sun.
I am different. I am an original. And like everyone else, I am here to take up space in the universe.
Cheesecake will always taste like love.
I love you, Charlotte.” He took her face in his hands. “My heart calls your name.
Hello, Charlotte,” he said. “I am George.