I can't wake up early enough to write these days. Then when I do wake up, I am not too fond of the mood I'm in or the thoughts I'm thinking. Since I haven't had anything to say that will make world a brighter place, I have stayed away from my poison pen (or computer keyboard) and have been trying to focus on gratitude instead.
It's been hard.
My little people deserve better than the person I am these days. My patience is non-existent, my energy levels are at an all-time low, my idea well seems to have dried up and I think the hopes and dreams centre of my brain have shut down.
I must realign my thought processes and I am not exactly sure how to do it. I know it is in the "doing", not the "planning to do" or "thinking about doing", where the magic begins. I have many thoughts. I should be doing so very much. But I keep coming up with excuses. "Lazy" is the word that comes to mind when I think of why I am not pushing myself out of and beyond this funk. "Unmotivated" is another. The words that escape my mouth when I am in the company of others embarrass me. I need to be sequestered until I have something positive to say.
I feel like I need to make a very big change but I don't know if I'm up to it. I could really use a "maternity leave" right now. A year off to be still ...
I read these words written by Glennon Doyle Melton: "Self-betrayal is allowing the fear voices to drown out the still, small voice that knows what to do and is always leading us home to ourselves and to truth and to love." http://momastery.com/blog/2016/08/01/i-need-to-tell-you-something/ , and it was as if she was speaking directly to me.
I think "fear" is the boss of me right now. I should look for a job in a different field but the idea terrifies me. I used to smile and think it was a good thing to always be looking beyond where I was with wonder and admit that I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think I do know. I want to be settled into a safe little life that includes a pension, a paid off house, a six month emergency fund and a husband.
I've been flying solo for most of my adult life. I've raised three boys. I was a single parent for most of that time. I did it. I proved myself. I did everything I had to do to provide a roof over our heads and pay the bills. I was pleased with the fact I did a lot of this on my own. But I have had assistance. My family has supported me whenever the chips were down. The government subsidized my income and made my life affordable and it was a comfortable little life.
I'm on my own now. Here I am. I am 55 years old, living in a house that should have been paid off seven years ago, with my retirement savings spent subsidizing my decision to open my daycare, thereby forfeiting my job where I was building a nice little pension fund.
My job skills are very rusty and my fear factor is high. I knew when I made the choice to return to my daycare "career", my future plans included working until I died. I thought I was pretty funny when I said that. I thought that would encourage me to keep on believing I was capable of big things. I thought it would keep my thoughts young and my spirits high.
I was wrong.
I don't want to work until I die. Not doing what I am doing, anyway. My little people are wearing me out. I look at the bookkeeping homework I brought home with me on the weekend and shudder. Bookkeeping is not where it's at for me. I don't mind fitting it into an eight hour window, once a week, with a weekend off every month. But I don't want to bring it home with me.
Bookkeeping was my "ace in the hole". It was my back up plan. It was supposed to keep my brain limber and agile. It was supposed to challenge me and pay a few bills. "Balancing to zero" and "black and white, right or wrong answers" were all I wanted after the year I attempted to work outside of my home. Now, it just makes my shoulders and neck tense up and I want little to do with it.
Writing used to be my passion but I cannot spread the words in my head lately. I need to change the channel. My thoughts are circling within my head and going no where. So here I am, purging them onto the computer screen. Even though I know better. They have to go somewhere. This is my "safe place to fall", so I shall put them here. Keeping quiet is not my answer. "The fear voices are drowning out the still, small voice that knows what to do and is always leading me home to myself and to truth and to love." I need to quieten my world, purge my thoughts, put them into writing and onto the page so I can hear that voice. That voice has never failed me. It has helped me find my way when I was lost. I need to hear that voice again. It's in here somewhere...