What if

What if I just wrote for a while?

What if I clicked on that forgot password button and reset my password and logged into my long-forgotten blog and read a few old posts and then wrote something down?

Would it expose too much of me if I shared that I barely remember that girl who wrote those posts below?

Would it seem cliche if I acknowledged that those challenges she faced, the acne and the bedtimes and the veganism and the temper tantrums, seem like the challenges of a lifetime ago, of another person almost?

What would happen if I admitted to feeling like, in hindsight, those were trivial things? That when I thought I was doing the hard shit, the universe was just preparing me for the really hard shit?

I was working so hard to do the right things.

I read.

I made adjustments.

I dragged my husband to therapy. I dragged my kids to therapy.

Read some other book.

Ate some other thing.

Got some other job.

So far, it’s worked. Those babies are teens and tweens. They are generally good humans, doing their best to carve a path in the world.

So what do I do now?

Now it’s me who needs to grow stronger and more resilient.

I need to rediscover my voice and clarify my vision of how I want to walk through the world.

I need to ask and answer the question of what my gifts are. Who I should share them with. How I might be of service to others while ultimately knowing that I’m not very good at being of service to myself.

What if I wrote about that journey, now that my children are of an age where it doesn’t feel right to write about theirs?

What if?