{"id":216,"date":"2025-11-18T12:01:49","date_gmt":"2025-11-18T17:01:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/?p=216"},"modified":"2026-01-06T08:29:22","modified_gmt":"2026-01-06T13:29:22","slug":"all-over-the-place-but-somehow-exactly-where-im-supposed-to-be","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/?p=216","title":{"rendered":"All Over the Place, But Somehow Exactly Where I\u2019m Supposed to Be"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

(Still Me In Here Blog \u2014 Free Writing Edition)<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m sitting on my bed with ocean sounds playing from PokPok, pretending I\u2019m the kind of person who has her inner world totally under control. Evelyn and I had a good morning, which is probably why my brain decided to take this moment to fire off thirty-seven thoughts in different directions. When I first started this blog, it felt so easy to free-write \u2014 the words would just pour out of me without thinking. Now I feel like my own mental traffic jam, everything trying to merge at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve been thinking a lot about mental load, that invisible backpack women carry while pretending it\u2019s light. I always thought it was a \u201cmom thing,\u201d but honestly? It\u2019s a woman thing. Men have thoughts too, they really do \u2014 just usually one at a time. Like a very determined little train on a single track. Meanwhile, Nick<\/em> is out here fully side-questing through life. I\u2019ll be trying to plan Christmas and dinner and everyone\u2019s schedules and the existential meaning of motherhood, and he\u2019s mentally reorganizing the basement, rebuilding the network infrastructure, researching snow tires, and probably writing an internal cybersecurity manifesto in his head. No main quest in sight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And speaking of Christmas, every year I swear I\u2019m going to be on top of it, and every year I\u2019m somehow accidentally auditioning for an episode of \u201cHoliday Panic: Mom Edition.\u201d But this year feels different \u2014 less \u201cadd to cart,\u201d more \u201cmake something that actually means something.\u201d I keep coming back to the idea of handmade gifts, something personal, something rooted. Maybe the girls and I will make something for their great-grandmother using a skill she<\/em> taught us. That feels like the kind of gift that outlives wrapping paper. And instead of \u201cwhat\u2019s your favorite candy,\u201d I want everyone\u2019s favorite food<\/em> \u2014 like the weird little snack they hide from the rest of the family. Give me something I and only I<\/strong> eat. My little goblin-treasure treat. Hands off, everyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, because the universe loves emotional whiplash, I saw an Instagram post about things you should do with your mom while you still can. You know the kind \u2014 the ones that crack your ribs open and poke around your soul a little. Film her making the meal she always made when you were sick. Record her humming while she puts dishes away. Have her go through her wedding day. Take a picture of her hands. Ask when she realized she was becoming her own mom. All these simple, human, home-feeling things that hurt a little because they matter so much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then \u2014 because my brain cannot resist divinely chaotic segues \u2014 I suddenly started thinking about trauma bonding. How so many of the friendships I\u2019ve had over the years were built in the pressure cooker of workplaces, places that made us cling to each other like life rafts. But then friends reached out after last week\u2019s post saying they never felt awkward picking up a conversation after months or years, and it made me grateful in a strange way that I grew up as an Army brat. I\u2019ve never had the same friends since kindergarten, but I\u2019ve always had people who love the current<\/em> version of me \u2014 people who don\u2019t need to drag up who I was at 17 or 22 or during that one disastrous era I pretend never happened. It\u2019s nice to be known for who I am now, not who I used to be. Also, with that came the realization of how many people I can no longer connect with because the trauma was what we had in common. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somewhere in all that chaos, I started thinking about my mom. When I realized I was becoming her. It wasn\u2019t when I first had kids \u2014 it was when she died. I was 38, already a mother for years, but that\u2019s when I really stepped into myself. I am ashamed of some of the nonsense my girls had to navigate during my divorce, but not ashamed of choosing better. My mom did the same. The difference is I owned the mess. That\u2019s where I became her and myself at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then there\u2019s the sound of home \u2014 something I\u2019m still trying to define. Right now, home sounds like chatter overlapping chatter, dogs barking, someone yelling \u201cFINN, QUIET!!,\u201d and stories we\u2019ve heard too many times but keep telling anyway. It’s chaos, but it\u2019s our chaos. One day I\u2019d love Winter Caf\u00e9 ambience, but for today, this is real and alive and warm and the ambience is playing on 5 in the background on my Nest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve also been thinking about the small things my mom taught me \u2014 how to fold laundry, load a dishwasher, all the tiny rituals that somehow matter. I teach my girls these things too, though every time they open the dishwasher, I swear their souls whisper, \u201cI see what you\u2019re trying to do here\u2026 FUCK THAT!” and then proceeds to put the cup in the middle of the rack, not with the other cups.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I\u2019d tell her to stop waiting for people who don\u2019t show up. I\u2019d tell her to leave sooner. Move sooner. Become the journalist she always wanted to be. But then again \u2014 all those wrong turns are exactly how I ended up here, and here is actually pretty good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then there\u2019s my mom\u2019s individuality \u2014 the thing she did right. She was always herself, even when she didn\u2019t feel enough. She didn\u2019t shrink. That\u2019s what sticks with me more than anything she said: she showed up as who she was, even in the messy moments. I want to know the one thing I’ve done right that has shaped who my girls are as people. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My wedding day came to mind too \u2014 the calmest day I\u2019ve ever had. No rushing, no drama. Present, grounded, completely in the moment. We didn\u2019t tell the girls we were getting married until after we\u2019d done it, because we wanted that moment to be ours. It still is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think about how often I say \u201cI love you.\u201d I say it constantly. I wonder if my kids will miss my voice someday the way I miss my mom\u2019s. That thought landed harder than I expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then\u2026 Evelyn. When she was two, she crawled into my hoodie like she always does and suddenly asked, \u201cMommy, want to listen to my<\/em> heart?\u201d I had heard her heart through ultrasounds and dopplers and all the little medical gadgets, but never like that \u2014 never as a person. So I put my ear to her chest, and there it was: the heart I once grew inside me, now beating strong inside her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later, when I told the older girls about it around the dining room table, they lost it.<\/em> Ava immediately joked about going up to Emily and saying, \u201cHold still, I need to listen to your heart,\u201d and Emily didn\u2019t miss a beat \u2014 she leaned back, pointed at her like a feral house cat and said, \u201cDon\u2019t even think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then they both mimicked it across the table, dramatically leaning toward each other like some deranged family science experiment. Pure chaos. Exactly on brand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But still \u2014 the moment with Evelyn hit different. It grounded me in a way I didn\u2019t realize I needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And as I kept thinking about that list. All the things you\u2019re supposed to do with your mother before she\u2019s gone, I realized there are a few on there I\u2019ve been too embarrassed to do. Not because they\u2019re embarrassing, but because I<\/em> have been embarrassed. My body, my face, my angles, my everything. This quiet self-consciousness that women just\u2026 carry. It lives in us even when we pretend it doesn\u2019t. And it hit me that one day, my girls aren\u2019t going to remember my stomach or my arms or how \u201cput together\u201d I looked. They\u2019re going to remember how I felt<\/strong> when I hugged them, how I smelled<\/strong> when I tucked them in, how my voice<\/strong> sounded when I said I loved them. That\u2019s what I remember most about my mom \u2014 the feeling of her. Not her appearance. So maybe it\u2019s time I get over my own body image nonsense and give my girls those moments without holding back. They deserve the version of me that shows up fully, not the one hiding behind insecurity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These aren\u2019t things we should save for later.
They\u2019re things we should be doing every day \u2014 while we\u2019re still here.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(Still Me In Here Blog \u2014 Free Writing Edition) I\u2019m sitting on my bed with ocean sounds playing from PokPok, pretending I\u2019m the kind of person who has her inner world totally under control. Evelyn and I had a good morning, which is probably why my brain decided to take this moment to fire off […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-216","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-life-lately"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/216","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=216"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/216\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":219,"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/216\/revisions\/219"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=216"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=216"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stillmeinhere.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=216"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}