34

A hello back to the internet.

Today was my 34th birthday.

Ordinarily birthdays have been the biggest day of my year. They have traditionally been full of unmet expectations because i have always put such high expectations on a day. Even as a young girl, birthdays have been a whole thing for me. There’s something about celebrating another year of your life, reflecting and tangibly seeing how loved your are. That sounds selfish, but for a person who desperately wants to be known and loved, birthdays feel like the measuring stick for that.

Today was nothing out of the ordinary. My kids were fighting, the rain was falling and i have been in a season of loneliness over the last few months. It was a Wednesday, which meant I had a call with our teacher, a chiropractor appointment and we still had school to do. I made time for a used book sale and lunch with my parents. I made soup for dinner and popped open a bottle of champagne with my friend during our daughters soccer practice.

I opened gifts from my family members that all pointed to a theme - writing. You see, i used to be a self proclaimed “mom blogger” in 2010-2015 and as my life was changing drastically through motherhood, i wrote as a way to help myself express what i was going though, I desperately wanted to be seen and heard for my thoughts and experiences. I wanted to become a real blogger with followers and sponsors and coupon codes. Then I suffered from a mental breakdown ( I promise there will be more on that later) and i just stopped writing. Ive felt the draw and the call to come back to one of my first loves, to express myself with words, heavily over the last few months. Ive ignored the urge, believing the lie that i am not relevant, not important and not even good at the craft of writing. On thanksgiving this year i wrote a long winded (As i tend to do) instagram post and Maggie’s (my oldest) teacher from 3rd grade - her last public school teacher before the Covid shutdowns, posted a comment that i have a gift for writing. Then more remarks came after I’d post something more than a simple caption on a photo. I knew i needed to get back to writing, back to sharing. Back to something that makes me feel most like myself.

My husband must have been thinking the same thing, because he gifted me things that he knew would make my writing more accessible, and now i dont really have an excuse. :)

I thought long about if I should start a blog, do people even do that anymore? Or another Instagram account (but the cap on caption lengths wont work for me) and then i decided on this - a newsletter. Those who want to sign up to read can and those who dont care wont need to be informed. This seems like the best solution for now.

If you’re reading this, thank you. It encourages me to keep writing, to keep sharing. More than anything in this lonely season of lockdowns and mandates, of tension and fear, I’d love to build a safe place for myself and grow relationships with those who want them. An intentional space to share what books we are reading, where we are going, what i am learning, and where i am hurt. A place for recipes and joy, for stories of laughter and nostalgia. A place to Become, a place to be.

Tonight as i go to bed another year older, I’m looking forward to the light and love ahead of me, even though the season I’m in feels murky and dark. There’s light ahead for us all, it always comes.

Xo. A