How?

How does anyone begin to find the chutzpah they need to do the thing(s) that need(s) to be done? Where does the feeling self-confidence come from when everything has been ground down to a pulp? Where does self-worth come from when the original source has been cut-off?

I don’t know who I am right now.

I used to be a teacher.

But who am I when I’m not a teacher? What do I do? What do I stand for? What do I excel in?

Last night I was watching an old clip-video of Britain’s Got Talent. And it hit me that I won’t be at the director’s table this coming year. I won’t get to find those kids hiding inside of themselves and show them to trust and believe in themselves because they are so strong and beautiful and cool and inventive. And I got really sad.

This whole not-going-back-in-the-Fall thing has been a cognitive exercise for the most part up until now. But now, as the school year looms closer, reality is starting to set in. Combined with absence of depended-on paychecks and health care that is soon going to lapse….. I feel like such a loser.

I’ve sent in my resume and cover letters to so many companies. 85% of them have come back with a ‘Thanks, but we’re going in a different direction.’ I have a small sliver of apps still out there, and I am just hoping against hope that there is someone out there who will take a chance on me.

In my head, I know that I am killer. I’ve got creative skills up the wazoo, great at organizing and scheduling, can lead a team, can teach and fill in the gaps where I need to, I love researching, I love writing copy and creating layout designs and graphics…. But no one will take a second look at me it feels. What are these decades of experience worth?

I feel like a nobody.

Which is weird and strange and horribly uncomfortable.

My job always defined me because I invested every part of myself into it. Because I loved it. Because it made me a better person in all the ways.

And now I’m just a blob who has to spin a light story to the outside world, all while feeling railroaded and sabotaged by people who never truly valued me from the beginning.

I know I’m not who they say I am, but it’s hard creating valuable meaning when I feel so alone. I would love a fairy godmother to pop by and notice me, pick me up, dust me off, and set me down the next path complete with twinkle lights.

Where I’m at now feels dark and confusing and disorienting. I’m worried about my family and money, and especially my kids. And my sense of self is skewed by their years of abuse and mismanagement. I know I’m a great educator and director, but I feel like a husk of myself. Their months of gaslighting have cut me down.

I don’t feel like myself. I am not myself. Not sure where to go nor what to do.

Dear Universe,

Send help.

-HM.

Oscillation.

My usual summer routine of being thoroughly productive one day and then completely not the next is in full-swing, so to speak.

However, the compounded questions of Who am I? What do I want? What do I see myself doing or being? …. They’re all loud and unnervingly empty at the moment. Devoid of answers.

Or, on the other hand, I have too many answers and not sure where to start. I’m applying to jobs even though I’m not sure they’re the right fit, or if I’m the right fit for them. I have a few children’s books written that need packaging, and possibly an agent? And/or I would love to write a book or a series I’ve got in mind. And I’d like to take some classes in PhotoShop so that I become more marketable and knowledgeable moving forward with art direction and design, etc.

And I need to make some money in the short-term, so then my focus goes there.

I don’t know. I feel like I’m swinging from idea to idea, but not tethering myself to any one thing.

I would love for one of these ideas to come back and prove to me that this is the right choice. You know? A confirmation that, “Hey, this is the way!” would be especially appreciated.

It’s scary looking out into the the unknown. The true, true unknown. Is this what 20-somethings feel as they’re floundering and grasping? …. I suppose the life-lesson is that it can happen at any age and to anyone.

I always felt so lucky to have found my passion at such an early age. It was the exact, right thing. And I was fucking great at it.

But now that it’s gone, maybe there will be something new. Something I hadn’t even imagined or anticipated. (And a note to say I know I could turn around and hop back into the education world, but I am bruised and hurt. I just don’t have it in me to trust another administration right now. I know I am a good teacher, but the rest of me is so pummeled, I just don’t feel able to.)

I’m meeting with a friend today to talk about his career and journey, which hit a similar What now?? sort of moment. I’m looking forward to hearing what he has to share. He’s brilliant and thoughtful and kind.

And I think – I know – I’m just scared. Scared of the unknown. Scared to make a misstep. So scared, that it’s hard to make any steps. I feel like I’m shuffling along. In bunny slippers and mismatched socks.

So, heya. I am doing my best to keep keeping on…. Popping in here is a lift and helps the up&down thoughts to subside or quiet for the moment, so thanks for being there, Friends.

-HM.

Lightning Strike(s).

Lightning strike.

And then the air around that bolt expaaaaaands.

There’s room.

And space.

And that’s what I keep catching myself in.

Those little moments.

Quick seconds of time…. expaaaaaanded.

And do you know what I’m doing in those hidden-now-revealed moments?

I’m pouring water into a bottle and putting it in the fridge for my husband to drink tomorrow.

I’m stopping and talking to our cats. Petting them. (They look so bewildered.)

I put away last night’s ice packs into the freezer and then take out the new ones for tonight and give one to each of my children.

I brush my teeth… and ONLY brush my teeth. No phone in my hand. Not trying to get my coffee prepped for the morning. Not loading the dishwasher. Just sitting. And brushing my fucking beautiful, yellow, sort-of-oddly-shaped teeth.

?

??

???

Who knew these moments existed??!?

I mean, holy shit!

They’re marvelous.

Just these tiny little moments.

When my brain can sit and be still. Focused on This Moment.

All by itself.

I want to have a life full of moments like this.

I didn’t know, or else I didn’t remember that these moments are possible. That these moments are a thing.

I love them.

I love them so much.

And I love discovering I’m in one all while in the midst of being in one.

Eureka!

-HM.

Moving.

The oddest feelings come over me during the days. I have so many questions I want answered and so many possibilities floating just out in front of me, unclear and unknown. I don’t know if it’s out of self-preservation or avoidance or my internal self knowing what I need right now in this moment, but I look at the thing in front of me and I do that. Or, as is often the case, I want to do something (for example: run on the elliptical, or sew and use my ironing board), but the place in which I would Do the Thing is cluttered and taken up with various things that have been thrown or piled up over the past year or years. So instead of Doing the Thing, I sink my hands into the Work of cleaning and getting Shit Done.

It feels good.

Really, really good.

And now, after a few days of digging the garage out and then the basement, I find that I can be in those spaces more freely.

And I know there’s work to be done on the inside. I know it. I can feel it. But right now, getting the shit done in the world around me feels almost just as important, if not moreso. (I still think that should be a word, so I’m writing it like one.) I feel like my family has been along for this ride with me, and as such, we are all sort of coming out of the slog or the marathon or whatever it is. The grind?

There’s usually a moment in the summer when I can get back to zero and do similar things to what I’m doing now. But when I did those things in the past, I was resetting for the year to come. I was cleaning up the mess of accumulated shit from not having enough time to care for our family, knowing that I was committing to going back and doing it all again.

But now?

Now I am picking up these pieces and wondering about the possibility of not falling so far behind again. Scared of not knowing what sort of job I will find, nor sure of what sort of job I even want to find just yet, but giving myself permission of hoping for a job that won’t steal my Life.

Looking back at previous posts, I LOVE being a teacher and a director. That hasn’t changed. However, looking back and seeing and feeling the harm done by my administration is real. As I was going through it, I was just bearing it and just getting through it, hopeful that help would come. Hopeful that my appeals for care and consideration would be heard and then responded to.

But that never happened.

Words happened.

But no action was ever taken to actively help me. — And this was just regarding my main responsibilities. I was working between 185-200%, but no one actually understood that, nor did they seem to believe me when I laid it all out for them. It was my job to make it look easy, so no help ever came. Ever.

Add to that the personnel issue and the gaslighting of the past two years and I have been pulverized.

The job by itself was demanding and difficult. Especially so because I was Alone. In so many, many ways. Alone.

Fuck.

And then the personnel issue. Handled with complete bias. No curiosity. No consideration. No one with any actual personnel training. Everyone involved was a stakeholder, and/or held a position of power. The situation was impossible. And it made my actual job all the more impossible.

But I did it.

And I did it fucking well.

…. So all this mistreatment piled up, which led to piles and piles of shit piling up in and around our house. We were all just trying to get from day to day, so there was no time nor energy given to the Stuff. And I’m realizing that means both the stuff in and around me.

Until now.

Which feels good.

As I slowly get these physical pieces to move around me, I am finding spaces inside slowly cracking and opening. I have no idea what I will find. I’m trying to be patient because there are years of hard, protective layers that have built up. I can feel them rumble against one another. Not free and clear, but moving.

Incrementally.

It’s Good.

-HM.

Begin Again.

Hey, there.

I’ve lost a lot of myself over the past two years, and during the past few months especially. I’ve been knocked down and smashed to bits by gaslighting-in-the-guise-of-private-organization-HR. I’m hurt and sad and damaged and pissed off.

On top of just the basic mind-fuckery of it all, I’m making a career change after 20+ years in the educational world. It’s all I’ve ever known and all I really know myself to be. So the “Who am I?” question rears up pretty loud and demanding at the moment.

I’ve been circling the idea of writing this blig-blag-blog for a few weeks now, knowing that just getting the thoughts down will help me process a lot of what the hell is happening. There are lots of possible threads and paths to wander down as I search and question and try-on-for-size and do, so having a space to catch my thoughts and ideas as I go along will be helpful and encouraging.

Above all, I really want to get back to Me again. I want to get rid of the trauma I’ve collected over these years – shed it and get it the hell out of my body. While doing so, I’d also like to reconnect with who I am and all the things that I love so that I can walk forward more whole and sure of myself.

Anyone else out there? Anyone want to join my gaslightees-anonymous team? Coffee’s ready.

Alright, folks, it’s begun.

-HM.

p.s. I started a side-blog thinking I needed a new platform, but instead, I’m going to walk through it all here. The focus of this blog may, and probably will, shift as I slog through this malarkey, but that’s okay. I realized the other day that trauma-from-gaslighting is absolutely a monster, so this is as good a place as any to break it down and go through it.

p.p.s. The new blog was going to be called I’m good. You may see that phrase pop up more regularly as I circle the friendly reminder, while also working to reestablish my boundaries. I’m good. No more of that shit, thank you very much, Jerry. (Name that adorable 70s British sitcom.)

Girl.

Hey, Friends. This is a free-write I did for some equity and diversity training this past week. It was inspired by Jamaica Kincaid’s piece entitled “Girl.” I highly encourage you to read it. This is all stream-of-consciousness. No real edits or changes since I wrote it.

Caroline’s hair is so curly. Alex & Jonah and all the boys say girls don’t play baseball. But I do. I’m a good hitter. And I can catch. And throw. I’m the only girl who plays. I’m the only girl allowed to play. That feels special. That feels important. I get to be here. On the field. In the dirt. With the boys. One of the boys. Not a boy, but not a girl? Not seen as a girl? Something else? Something louder? Something stronger? Something bigger? I’m not like Jenny or Lisa. Caroline is ridiculous and fun, but only with me. Caroline’s hair is curly. I wish I was like Caroline. I wish boys saw me like Jenny or Lisa. But I’m not like Jenny and Lisa. Louder. Stronger. Bigger. Always bigger. Sometimes the Hayes boys play. Joe’s a good hitter. I want Joe to like me. To see me. I want to be rescued, but rescued from what? Watermelon seeds and mosquitoes and sprinkler drops and sun. Hours and hours and hours of sun. Left outside to be whatever we wanted. To do whatever we wanted to do.  The Boxcar Children. Violet is me. The only girl. Making dinner under the tree while the boys go do. Go hunt. Go gather. Go do things that are for boys. I stir and stir and stir. Pine tree needles and seeds and dirt. Delicious. Stirred with a stick. And mixed with boring. But this is what girls do. Melissa and I would get to play Barbies away from the boys. In the camper. By ourselves for hours. Inevitably the Barbies would be naked and kissing and doing sex. Inevitably that would make us giggle and wonder about our boyfriends. Always boyfriends. Only ever boyfriends. Always boyfriends and girlfriends. Mike Seaver always had a girlfriend or liked a girl. Mallory Keaton always had Nick. Would Joe ever like me like Nick liked Mallory? Mallory and Mike would make a cute couple. Or what about Denise Huxtable? She’s cooler than even Mallory. Probably too cool for Mike. Who was Smurfette’s boyfriend? Hefty and Smurfette should date. They liked each other. They should kiss. Kissing was adult. And grown-up. Girls want to be kissed. Boys do the kissing. Boys do the asking. Girls do the saying ‘yes.’ Girls do the prettying. The flirting. The preening and the catching. By how they look. By what they wear. By what they say and what they do – or don’t do. I don’t get that. I feel liike notagirl. Like I’m bad at the rules. The rules of being a girl are hard. And mysterious. And out of my reach. Joe never liked me. Never saw me. None of the boys did. I feel less than. Or not enough. Or unseen. Or unfeminine. Ungirly was always a badge to wear. Being myself is always disorienting. I want these things – seen, heard, cute, little, fun, but I am these things – LOUD. SMART. BIG. I’m good at stuff and I like being good at stuff. But I’m loud and smart and big. I’m a girl, but I’m not a girl like I’m supposed to be. I’m big. But I feel small. 

Day 2, 245.

-HM.

Do. Shift.

Hey, All.*

I am doing stuff. And doing stuff feels good.

Sometimes I sit way back and hold my breath and shut my eyes and pretend the world can’t see me while I process and worry and anxietitze over beginning or starting something. Doesn’t matter what the ‘it’ is, I just worry and fret and hem. AhemAhem.

But this summer? I’ve actually started the doing a bit earlier than I usually would. At the mo, I have started getting prepped and ready for this coming year. I am about 2 weeks ahead of my normal anxious-fretting schedule and am glad to have ripped off the bandage Now.

It’s fun.

I like what I do.

I really do, in all actuality? Love it.

Which? (New tangent FYI.)

I don’t always remember myself.

I’ve been thinking about this for the past couple of days…. As an artist who sits in the educational world, I am realizing I feel ashamed or embarrassed about what I do sometimes, or maybe mostly in my head. And I think it has to do with the fact I’m an artist who is a teacher and there’s that dumb-stupid-ridiculous saying that says: “Those that can’t do, teach.” Which again? Is DUMB. It should say something like: “Those that can teach, DO teach, and teach fucking well.”

At any rate, I think I’ve internalized this somewhat. And, as an artist with artist-friends in the community around me doing theatre for a living many of them…. I feel like I missed It, you know? The thing, that elusive thing or idea that hovers out there. That idea of ‘making it.’

And honestly?

I never made it.

Not technically.

At least, I don’t think of it as such.

And it makes me feel a little bit like a sham or a fake to my students and coworkers.

But then?

(And I realize this might sound ridiculous to many of you….)

I realized I’ve been thinking about it from the wrong perspective.

So.

I put on new glasses and changed my world.

I am a Teacher first.

And I love teaching. I do. I reallyreally love it. It makes me a better person. And my students? Brilliant beings.

But sometimes, I get stuck in thinking of myself as a fraud or as an artist-who-is-missing-out-of-her-true-calling-and-what-am-I-doing-here-I-should-have-been-discovered-already!!! sort of a mindset, and it brings me down.

I mean, stop it, Me.

Just stop it.

I am making a shift, Friends. I am embracing my love of teaching. I am celebrating the art and storytelling I get to do with awesome collaborators and students. I am going to celebrate being part of a regional company for 20+ years and not apologize for it not being suchandsuchBigImportantNameTheatreCompany. And I am going to revel!! Yes, REVEL in where I am and what I do.

No more apologizing – especially to myself.

Done with that whole shtick, baby.

So….

Yeah. *smile*

I feel lighter. Better. And more connected to me and what I love.

And that feels good.

Day 2,240. Take it away, Gals.

Oh, Those Monsters…..

They just keep showin’ up, don’t they? *smile* I guess they’re just a normal part – and will forever be a part – of being Human. You kick one of their asses, and then, whoop! Another ass appears. Wahwah.

This one, well, I’ve probably talked about it before, and it will probably not come as a shock to anyone really, as it’s so common. The Monster’s Name is Food. And moreso, how I attempt to reward myself with it. ….. I think it’s slowly crept into mindless behavior, particularly in the evening during ye ole witching hour…. The one I used to pacify with loads and loads of wine. That YOWH. Now (and for the past 3 years) it’s Food. In the grand scheme of things, not bad. Just substituting one addiction for another. …. Again.

As someone with an addictive personality, am I just sentenced to a life of perpetual realizations that now ‘this’ is the problem? I feel so silly. My brain keeps playing tricks on itself and I keep falling into the same trap again and again. What a nut.

‘How am I going to crack this nut?’ you ask. Welp, with a little bit of mindfulness and a lot of chutzpah. Here’s what’s been goin’ on in the kitchen (as it were)……

• I’ve been circling around healthy body and weight-loss communities for the past few months. (Change is slow. My brain has been considering the need/desire for a change for quite some time. No rush. It takes what it takes. No need to beat myself up about it. (Learned this from my therapist. She’s a rockstar.))
• Have had a few friends take the plunge into Noom over the past half year. Decided I would try it out for myself 2 weeks ago.
• Signed up for Noom and began the free-trial period. I started logging my weight daily, reading articles, and tracking my food.
• Right away, I noticed my food choices weren’t always that healthy, so started substituting healthier options. I also started taking my vitamins again (after 6 months off), so my body is feeling better.
• I replaced our broken treadmill with a second-hand elliptical, and have been on it a number of times these past two weeks.
• I got a little nervous about the money-commitment to Noom on Day 2 or 3, so went online and checked out some reviews. There are some pretty bad ones out there, which freaked me out, so I started paralleling my tracking on my FitBit as well, because it’s Free.
• I’ve told several people about my new foray into better choices.
• I found another community at halfsizeme.com, which has great podcasts and awesome assistance programs, to help with different roadblocks along the way to losing weight (that’s my first goal – to let go of some of this fluff). Their biggest push, though, is maintenance and understanding your body when it’s in maintenance. I really like the mentality and also the good-not-perfect approach. I can’t tell my sober friends enough times how much the verbiage echoes that of the sober journey. It’s all about being kind to yourself, recognizing your accomplishments however small, forgiving yourself for mistakes and moving forward. I feel like I already know the community because there are so many similarities to my sober journey.
• Today is my 2-weeks-in marker. I’ve logged every meal, even if I wasn’t proud of some of my choices. As an extrinsic reward, I am going to go to a fabric store with my daughter and pick out either a new pattern or a new cut of fabric. (I stopped going about 3 weeks ago as a measure to save money.) I’m very much looking forward to it, and think I could definitely do another two weeks from today. *smile*

How have I done so far?

Well, my biggest victory is not being afraid of the scale any more. It says what it says, and that feels like quite an accomplishment. I’ve fluctuated between 3 pounds this whole time, which is pretty cool. On the whole, I think I’m down 2 or 2.5 pounds. Woot. Like I said, my food choices are better for me, and I’ve tracked everything. (Wow.) And I’ve become mindful of eating for the most part. I don’t zone out and just eat whatever. Instead, I notice what it is I want, determine the portion size (as best I can), and then enjoy it …. And notice that I’m enjoying it.

Yah-hoo. Big things to me, even though they’re small.

Anyone else on this journey – either Sober? Eater? or SoberEater? *smile* I’m looking for company, as I am sure it is the SoberCommunity that helped me get sober…. Probably my biggest weapon is all of you. I’d love to walk another trail with you, if you’re up for it. *flex*

Day 1,524. Heya, Voltaire.

-HM.

 

Here.

Hello, Friends.

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. It’s the summer, and this is the time when I began my sober journey. Still on it. *smile* Still chuggin’ along.

Summer has finally started (after some sicknesses in June – boo to that), and we are all feeling good. Went up North to visit my parents and friends (hoo-rah!), and returned to sunshine and yard work and a new lawn mower (hoo-rah! again).

I love being outside. I love the air and the breezes and the smells and the critters – mostly insects. I love waking up to the fact there is a whole helluva’ lot going on in the world around me – right in my own backyard. I love having the time to dig in (literally) and really see it all. And be part of it all. Very healing. Just from the regular run-of-the-mill Life stuff that happens to us all….. And sometime in comes in heaps, and sometimes it comes in teaspoons.

As I said in my last post, I am also sew-sew-sew-sew-sewing. I lost a bit of momentum this past week because of traveling and then my Perfectionism kicked in a bit and has kept me busy with other side-projects (i.e. yard work and reading delicious, yummy books, oh. And writing this blog post. *smile* Ha.). So after this, I am going to dive back in and address a couple of projects that have been (again literally) hanging over my head. *smile*

I love sewing. I love the thread and the fabric and the textures of it all. I love the sound of my machines – Nora & Ernestine, respectively. I love the movement of the fabric and the different weights and the way it moves. I love the ease of making the needle go slowly or quickly, and then sticking it in to hold my place and spin the fabric to face a new direction. I love folding and rolling and hemming. I love machine-work and hand-work. I love patterns and the assembly of it all. I’m working on loving finishing. *smile* But oh, how I do love the finished pieces and the feel and look of my makes. There is so much pride and love in each piece. Oh! I love (the most) making makes for other people and thinking of them with every stitch. It makes the world a little smaller and brings my loved ones closer to me.

*lesigh*

I’m grateful. That it’s summer. That I have something new and creative to invest myself in. I love creativity. I love digging into the dirt. And having time with my children (who are growing like weeds (cliche, but true)). I am happy to be sober, and am glad I started the journey.

4 years.

That finally tilts my sober time in my son’s life as being more sober than not. And in my daughter’s life, I’m now at 50-50… 4 years tipsy and checked out, and 4 years making and doing and being and Living.

Day 1,507. Here’s to being Here.     

Drink Dream

Hello, my Friends. In my long absence, I would like to wish you a Happy Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas-New-Year. *smile*

Things here are going pretty well. Much better than I’d been feeling in the past year.

Biggest item – I appealed to my psychiatrist to put me back on the medication that made me feel good. Her hesitation was the complication of my heart arrhythmia, but I had felt horrible, sad, depressed, and hopeless for at least a year. I wanted to take the risk. At the beginning, when I first started the meds, I found I had 5 out of 10 days when I felt more like myself. Happier, optimistic, laughing. As cliches go, it felt as though a HUGE weight had been lifted off me. I had had no idea I had been struggling so much, nor for so long. I am still chugging along on my meds and feeling good/happy/ME. Phew.

…. I was inspired/compelled/thought it best if I popped on here today, because as the title above says, I had a drink-dream last night. I don’t think I’ve had one for over a year, so its showing up really surprised me. The drink itself surprised me, but the main theme of the dream keeps my head turning over what it might be about. Here’s the dream –

I walked into a bar (classic joke set-up), went up to the counter and sat on a stool next to a man on my right. I thought for awhile and wasn’t sure whether I should or shouldn’t – knowing full-well I was sober – and then finally thought, “It will be fine,” and ordered a Summit. I actually had the thought in my dream to be proud I was from Minnesota. Silly.

The beer was delivered and I started talking to the man on my right. Meanwhile, another man to my left was trying to tell him not to talk to me because of what had happened when he brought me home one night. He claimed I had walked into the apartment and got sick all over my parents’ bed, which was right inside the door. (What? So weird. Especially weird because I was remembering it as he spoke.). I was embarrassed by my past drinking behavior, but shrugged it off and took a sip of my beer.

Sitting at the bottom of the pint glass were 3 long sewing pins and a needle. (I’ve been doing a lot of sewing lately.) I had the thought that if I’d drank them, my intestine would be perforated and I would die. As I fished out 2 of the pins, I said to the man on my right, “People can be horribly cruel.” I figured the man on my left had slipped the pins and needle in when I wasn’t looking. The man on my right seemed to be somewhat okay with me still being there, so I turned to the room and asked to bum a cigarette.

A woman handed me one just as she was about to light it herself (clearly smoking was allowed indoors in this dream world). I lit the cig, and smoked it in about 3 puffs. I had the thought that I was being ‘bad,’ because of the beer and the cig.

And then I woke-up.

Not epic. Not even zany. The subject matter of cruelty is what really sticks with me upon waking. Curious about it and why it showed up the way it did.

Hm.

At any rate, I’m not really disturbed the drinking bit. It was a dream. The needle and pins were a little creepy. The man to my left was a little scary. The quick passing of time with the cigarette was disconcerting. It almost felt like the beer was my subconscious reminder that it was a dream, because I just don’t drink any longer.

So? That’s good. I’ll have to ponder on the other elements for awhile longer. Again, hm.

Alright, well, that is all for now. The babies are good. The hubs is good. I’m good. Starting a new show. Still teaching, and now with the med fix, remembering how much I like teaching on a mostly daily basis. *smile*

I hope you’re all well and wonderful. I will see you again in 6 to 9 months. Maybe a year.  *smile*

Day 1,341. Heya. *smile*

p.s. Here’s a cute little pic with cute sewing notions to try and cancel out the sinister image from my dream.

p.p.s. I’ve been trying to turn my mind back to my original Word o’ the Year from long ago (4 years ago), because I really was good to myself for that year in ways I haven’t been and am usually not. So I am re-embracing the word ‘Kindness,’ and just trying to remember to be kind to myself. It’s a good little goal, I think. I hope you’re all being good to yourselves.

p.p.p.s. Love. *smile*