I’m done with the pretense.
I’m what I thought was middle aged when I was young. My house will never look like something out of Homes and Gardens. Neither will my yard. My couch holds more laundry than it does visitors. I’m the proud owner of messy dogs, and messier kids. If I’m not writing stories, I’m reading them. I proudly home school. Some days are better than others. It’s not a life tied up with a neat red bow. I struggle constantly with finances and self doubt. My husband works 10+ hours 6 days a week. His commute is an hour one way. We’re a single car family, which means the kids and I are confined to our house around 85-90 % of the time. And I have too much internal pride to ask my friends if they can come get us and take us out. I wait for someone to volunteer. I’m also in my first year/first term of college. Which means my stress levels are through the roof most days.
I’m not saying it’s a bad life. Not at all. I know I’m blessed.
But there are days I have to remind myself that the outside ‘surface’ stuff is just that. Surface stuff. In the length and breadth of life, does it really matter that my dogs sleep on the couch, I shop at thrift stores or I look forward to our income tax refund because that means I can fully stock my freezer with meats and pay off bills?
Because, even with all the stress, I’m happy with who I am. Wife, mother, writer, and friend.