Monday

It's when I do things like take a challenging, emotionally-difficult job as a way to give myself a break that I wonder how skewed my sense of things really is. Though skewed in comparison to what or whom? The idea that there is a right way, a normal way, persists doggedly despite my attempts to weed it out.

In this moment I miss my kids acutely. In a painful way. Even though getting through the weekend was exhausting and the house is a mess and my list of things to do is impossibly long. It's hard when they're away from me. It's hard when they're with me.

Motherhood seriously makes me question my mental health. There have been times over the years where I've questioned it--because I think too much. Because it runs in my family. Because my moods are so up and down. I question the decision to blog about it right now because this essay smacks of a cry-for-help and. . . I don't even know if I want help right now? I just want to not feel so fucking crazy.

I haven't been writing much lately but my head has been so full of words that I want to get down. Because life and my heart and my brain feel so full. There are several half-finished essays in the queue, waiting for a spit shine or something.

There is so much more to say but for now I will just post this. Not a cry for help. A snapshot.

If you do feel like helping me, these are the things I could use:

-Social invitations to events or gatherings that make me feel fun

-A critical eye and some energy for picking an area of my house and figuring out how to make it functional/organized/less insane

-Topics you'd be interested in reading about

I'm ok! I miss this space.