Why I did what I did.

finding a sunny spot (to raise the bread)


Why did I write what I wrote? The next day, just like I said I would- I reread everything and felt a deep feeling of "ohhhh.... what did I DO!". I put it out there. I told the dirty truth of what a mess things are. I kind of blurted out things that were really (sort of) embarrassing but I am SO. THANKFUL. that I did. Why?
Because it all started with this which I just couldn't get out of my head! I couldn't stop thinking of all my signs, the ones that were bold and I wore because I couldn't hide it- and the many that I kept under my little ruffled yellow feet.
I didn't want to seem like I was pathetic, like I was bitching and moaning about stuff when "it could be so much worse". I was honestly worried that someone would read what I wrote and think I was being overly dramatic. But I'm not. These things are real. The panic I feel in my heart is real but I want to talk about that for a minute.

Our hearts don't know the difference between "I'm beating fast with worry over my lack of money" and "my heart is beating fast with worry because of that big report I have to present to my boss". Worry is worry. And your worry is your own. You own it, and if your worry means a lot to you than nobody has a right to tell you it's value. What do I mean? Well my worry over what I don't have anymore feels bad. Someone else's worry over presenting an important report makes THEM feel bad. It's the same. You can't compare. Having a day where you feel the worst you've ever felt whether it's over not paying your phone bill or someone else getting up in front of their peers - there IS no difference that your heart can find. Worry is worry. You own it. Someone else owns theirs. And we don't have a right to tell each others stories for them. Telling stories about each other when you don't have all the facts is a dangerous way to live.

I had a horrible day that day, a clerk at the grocery store might have misinterpreted my mumbled "thank you" and thought "wow- what a bitch! she didn't even appreciate that I carefully and thoughtfully packed her bag of groceries". She might have told my story for me, and the story was all wrong. She might not have know I had just spent the last of my money, she might not have known I had a boy at home who got wild with rage and a little girl who got hurt. She might have told my story to herself, and it was wrong. And I do that EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. We all do.

So, why did I write what I did? Because I needed to tell my story.
What good does that do? Well, I'll tell you what happened after I wrote that.
*I got a wonderful gift from some anonymous benefactors
*My children got some warm winter things (which Iris in particular was delighted about "Mom... this is my FASHION!" (I love how she says fashion instead of style"
*We got fresh air and hot chocolate.
*I gathered golden leaves for a project I want to do with the kids
*I received some beautiful and supportive comments from women that I didn't know but they felt compelled to reach out to me... (still reeling in that... thank you so much ladies!)
*got an awesome facebook message from another friend that really woke me up and made me realize how many things I do RIGHT
*had some "Real Talk" with the kids Dad. It felt, I don't know... it felt like the glimpse of a "someday" in moving forward
*Today I got an unexpected day off because Sage is stiffly and sneezy and I don't even CARE that I'm taking a cut in my paycheck. I get TIME, I get to make a little nest on the couch for him, and make him tea and take out my cookbooks and plan delicious frugal meals, and walk around in my slippers and my favorite sweatshirt (see profile pic for example), I get to take Iris off the bus instead of a babysitter- I get to see her happy little face when she sees me and hear firsthand how her day was, I get to find the sun- in Sages window where I can put a pan of gluten free bread to rise. And I can watch that sun, and remember what finding sunny spots can do for bread, and for my life.

So, that's why I did what I did. And I don't regret it.