I started writing this on Sunday and now it\u2019s Tuesday\u2014posting day\u2014which feels fitting because my brain has been operating like it\u2019s already Thursday since about 5:15 this morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ll be honest: I feel a little all over the place. A little disheartened by analytics. A little tired of trying to remember the funny thing I thought of right before falling asleep last week (note to self: write it down or it will disappear forever). But mostly, this week isn\u2019t about getting it right.
It\u2019s about surviving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And apparently, my butthole is on fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Things no one talks about: when you cut out bread, rice, pasta, and potatoes, your body will respond by demanding Buffalo chicken wing dip like it\u2019s a personality trait. I have been living on a high-protein version made with a whole rotisserie chicken, nonfat Greek yogurt, and\u2014because of course\u2014cottage cheese. Lettuce wraps? Elite. Flavor? Outstanding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My aging stomach, however, would like a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Also, despite all of this effort, there has been zero weight loss. Perimenopause and my lingering, taunting period have entered the chat, whispering sweet nothings about ice cream and chocolate, which\u2014last I checked\u2014are technically not bread or pasta. Rude. Most days I do well, but there\u2019s the occasional \u201cwhy not?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n So yes, it\u2019s time for a reset. A mental one more than anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In just over a month I\u2019ll be 45. A couple of months after that, I\u2019m headed to Chicago to see my big sister\u2014my first real big-girl trip (we don\u2019t count 2008, because Emily came along in utero<\/em> as a surprise plot twist). I\u2019ve been thinking a lot about what 2026 is supposed to mean for me, based on my very scientific Kindergarten Cop\u2013style prediction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s still going to be chaos. But I get to decide what that chaos looks like.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to be more present, even if the house falls into disarray. I want to knit. Drink tea. Embrace my old-lady tendencies. But clutter still spikes my anxiety, and balance feels\u2026theoretical. I haven\u2019t found it yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Case in point: I\u2019ve spent most of this week debating whether to cancel our YMCA membership because I haven\u2019t gone since November. The idea of taking Evelyn to ChildWatch sends my nervous system into full alert. There\u2019s a trauma response buried in there from when she was a baby and screamed every single time we got in the car. I hated going anywhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She\u2019s fine now. I know I need to get out of the house. I need space that doesn\u2019t come with a timer or guilt. I need movement that isn\u2019t just housework (because let\u2019s be real\u2014if I have to choose between a workout and reorganizing something that absolutely does not need reorganizing, I\u2019m choosing the housework every time).<\/p>\n\n\n\n Parenting guilt is like Catholic guilt. Even when you\u2019ve done nothing wrong, you feel the need to confess\u2014or abstain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The numbers move too. Some days they spike, some days they dip, and I\u2019m learning not to let that mess with my head too much. A few weeks ago, my \u201clow\u201d days were a few hundred views. Now even a quieter day is over a thousand. That doesn\u2019t mean I\u2019ve figured anything out\u2014it just means people are finding this space, leaving, coming back. And that\u2019s kind of how life works too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m still here. And yet\u2014there are moments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Last weekend, right before the snow, it was just Nick, Evelyn, and me in the car. She asked to listen to Florence + the Machine. I put on Sympathy Magic<\/em>, and I watched her mouth the words until she got to:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHead high, arms wide, aching, aching, aching\u2014and alive!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n She sang it with her whole body. Not because she knew the words\u2014but because she knew the feeling. She\u2019s seen me sing it that way. Felt it that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My heart cracked clean open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s the part of the prediction I need to hold onto. Yes, it will be chaos. Yes, I\u2019ll keep grounding everyone as a mother, a sister, a woman. But how<\/strong>, when<\/strong>, and for whom<\/strong> I do that is up to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One thing I am<\/em> holding onto this week is what\u2019s coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nick and I have a weekend away planned\u2014just us, courtesy of my eldest tackling the house, teens and most importantly…Evelyn. No schedules. No \u201cMom, watch this.\u201d No being needed every five minutes. We\u2019re heading to Wild Lights at The Wild Center in Tupper Lake<\/a>\u2014walking nature trails at night, glowing with light and music drifting through the trees. Honestly? It feels a little magical.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I won\u2019t lie\u2014I briefly contemplated an edible to heighten the experience. No decisions have been finalized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But my body remembers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m still writing.
Even when it feels wobbly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n