Identity; Being Enough
I haven't been able to sit down and write and be creative in what seems like a long time.
Over the past month, I was constantly feeling drained and disappointed at myself for not making more time for the beautiful, leisurely things that build me up inside. It seemed like no matter how hard I tried to accomplish my tasks, there was not enough time at the end of the day for creative endeavors.
Between teaching full time, working out in the mornings, meal prepping, pumping, nursing, running errands, taking an online class, making time for friends, grocery shopping, I am kept very busy. But I think I came to this place of getting used to it all, and not remembering how busy I really am and getting frustrated that I was not measuring up to all the cool Instagram moms dabbling in watercolors and curling their hair and editing gorgeous photos.
I am a mom. But I am a working mom, so I am not with my little kid all day long and I still am adjusting to making him my first priority. I preach so hard that moms need to make time for themselves and fill themselves up with good things like showers, friends, painted nails, and exercise in order to be a fulfilled human being who has energy for their children.
I have to physically stop myself in my tracks when I am rolling on the living room floor, playing with squeaky toys and laughing and giggling with those beautiful blue eyes, and tell myself that I am not wasting time by being his mom in this moment. I have to speak to the parts of me that prioritize a clean house and an empty inbox and say, yes, those things are good and it is fabulous that you are able to achieve them, but it is never a waste of your time or productivity to simply be with my son.
People are infinitely more valuable than lists, but sometimes I forget.
Sometimes I fall into the trap of placing my identity in my productivity and work and I reel against the concept of being that mom whose identity is swallowed up into diapers and nap time and has frazzled hair and old leggings.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that my lists don't have souls and my clean house is temporary and my work will always be waiting for me.
But my kid will never be the same one day after the next, and he doesn't care as much if I hit my macros perfectly and if the carpet is vacuumed. Because although I know he is watching and observing my habits of order and creativity, I also am convicted that he is watching and observing my heart and my attentiveness to the joy he brings and my praise and acknowledgment that he is so, so good and loved.