I'm 32. What have I learned?

What a year, guys. The journey from 31 to 32 will forever be one I cherish and love, the way we recall the ones we've loved and lost in our lives. It's a bittersweet feeling that washes over me as I romanticize the journey of "becoming."

This year looks like no other year I've ever lived. Duh- does it look the same for anyone?! We're facing a global pandemic and a human rights movement, along with the normal day-to-day stressors and sufferings that human life has to offer. 

But hear me out- I still feel like there's something exquisitely different about this year for me, and it has absolutely nothing to do with current events. Instead, it's about my spiritual journey and how, for the first year in my life, I don't identify with suicidal ideation. 

This year is different. It's rife with authentic expression of my uncovered, chosen beliefs. It holds the elevated consciousness that came from my most favorite, deliciously painful rock bottom. It involves feeling my pain, talking about it, and not holding back, as I process and learn to love more parts of myself that I've pushed into the shadows. 

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the same for you. 

Either way, I figured now is as good a time as ever to talk about the valuable lessons I've learned in my journey to 32:

1. Learning how to be resourceful doesn't prevent you from repeating past mistakes. I used to think that knowing which farms would provide free organic produce to single mothers was the answer to becoming resilient. I've since discovered that learning about resources without learning about trauma- or how I got in my position in the first place- won't keep me from repeating past mistakes. You can become a pro at digging yourself out of a hole. The true accomplishment is avoiding the hole altogether. 
   
   Stop taking pride in how you dig yourself out of your circumstances. You're doing yourself a disservice. Start asking how you fell in the first place. 
   
   
2. There are people in this world who are committed to never understanding you. The best thing you can do, is to keep living your life and stop justifying your decisions, or negotiating who you are as a person. 
   
   This is the hardest thing I've ever had to practice. Even though I know it to be true, I struggle with it at least once a month. 
   
   There are people who cannot take responsibility for their circumstances, and therefore, they make sense of their world by projecting their internal judgement and fear onto others. Sometimes, you'll find that you are the brunt of those projections. If you're like me, it'll drive you insane. You'll defend yourself and all your good intentions, and you'll spend your days explaining yourself to people who consistently show you they don't ever plan to change their minds. Breathe in; breathe out; surrender to the pain of being misunderstood; let them go.
   
   They have no place in your life. 
   
   
3. You don't know shit about jack. None of us do. There are so many times that I've felt like I've had a download during my long drives to take my daughters to their dads... and I have literally felt like I know all the secrets of the world. In that moment, maybe I have a clear glimpse into truth. But for the most part, my butt gets handed to me a few days later with some new, unforeseen struggle. There are always new lessons to be learned, and new layers of the onion to be peeled. 
   
   Practice humility. Always approach something as if you know nothing and you're here to listen and learn. Otherwise, you stunt your own growth with your know-it-all ways.
   
   
4. People who experience lots of trauma in their childhood aren't usually attracted to healthy. 
   
   It's okay.
   
   Much like our taste buds, we can train ourselves to develop a taste for healthy relationships.
   
   Ladies, that means letting someone take you out on a date, when all you really want to do is friend-zone them. He/she's probably the person you can actually build a really wonderful life with. You're just too busy giving way too much credit to chemistry, naively thinking it has to be present from the beginning, and can't be built over time. 
   
   Did you know you can build chemistry? 
   
   If you had a dad that wasn't present for much of your life, or a parent who struggled with addiction- chances are you have chemistry with the wrong people. No knocks on them... just speaking from experience. Even if I shoot myself in the foot and have a failed marriage, or find myself starting over again in 5 years, I promise promise promise I won't ever prioritize chemistry again. It's wayyyyy too overrated, and can be built over time.
   
   
5. Trauma will one day get all the recognition it deserves. Trauma is at the root of every single struggle we ever face as adults.  
   
   We are born unto people who literally are doing the best they can, with what they know at the time. Most of them don't know shit. But they love us, and they try. Boy, do they try. 
   
   However, unless your parents awakened to the generational trauma that passed through their lineage, they likely just repeated dynamics with you that felt familiar and comfortable to them. They couldn't help it. 
   
   Your job is to stop giving into to the pull to the familiar. Dare to be uncomfortable. Challenge your beliefs and vet each and every one before you choose to impart them on yourself, and your future generation. 
   
   We often view trauma as an isolated incident that likely relates to rape, or war. I hate to say that, but unfortunately, people still feel like snowflakes if they mention they never had their feelings validated by their parents while they were growing up, and now they don't know how to express their emotions without feeling like they're "too much." That's trauma, too. 
   
   When I realized all the crap I repeated in my life, and how I was subconsciously trying to heal all the pain I'd incurred through my childhood, I finally understood the value of trauma work. 
   
   Trauma is what's holding you back from living your life, finding your partner, being the parent you want to be, or having the job/career you really want. 
   
   These are just some things that I wanted to share as I turn 32. Take it or leave it- it's my truth, and I'm here to help you if it resonates. 
   
   
   

Self-Care Begets More Self-Care

I think we've all seen enough memes lately that have helped us generate a new definition of self-care. Hint: It's not about spa days or face masks.

But one thing that I haven't seen floating around is the relentless compassion for ourselves that we must practice in order to survive this emotionally-draining, exhaustive work, as we take responsibility for our lives.

... I'm not talking about going to work and paying bills on time. That's another kind of tired. I'm talking about facing the stuff that's been holding us back from becoming our most aware, unencumbered, and ever-healing selves.

Collectively, it's becoming more apparent that people are open to the idea that they may be living their lives based upon conditioning from their families, and their families, and their families, and so on. That's incredible! It's the first step: notice it all and begin to ask the questions. This is the gateway to understanding who you are and how you got this way.

While this work will undoubtedly become more interesting, it will also command a better version of yourself. That better version doesn't ignore triggers, uncomfortable conversations, or confronting decisions. Because once you know better, you do better. Or I always say, "Once I saw it, I couldn't unsee it."

You'll now have to answer the call to do something about it. You'll find that it's far more painful to continue the life you're living, because you're simply too aware of how it's no longer serving you. Staying the same rarely remains an option.

And as you reflect on all the things that must be questioned about your life and how you got here, one aspect of your healing comes in the form of confronting your past. Whether it's accepting behaviors you had before now, traumas you've experienced through singular events or conditioning, or understanding that some parts of your life just aren't working for you- no matter the task, it will take this internal confrontation. It'll involve discomfort. It will likely even reveal you've been side-stepping your pain with coping mechanisms that have long-deceived you into thinking you don't have to experience the teaching that only pain can provide.

The steps you take to consciously participate in designing a life that is most authentic to you will be some of the hardest steps you ever take. That is self-care, in its truest form.

But it's exhausting.

We have to parent ourselves and make decisions we don't want to make. We have to have the uncomfortable conversations with people close to us. We have to take our triggers and look inward, and accept the role we played in unknowingly creating our own painful experiences.

And when we do all this work, it's imperative that we practice compassion. Because owning up to pain we may have inflicted upon others is hard to do. Because telling someone they've hurt us or that they've made us feel unvalued/unimportant/unworthy, is hard to do. Because when you set a boundary with someone you're close to and they react unfavorably (which they will, if you've had a relationship without boundaries up until this point), you'll find that it's incredibly hard to do. But that's okay. You're doing hard things. You deserve to acknowledge the exhausting work it takes when you assume responsibility for a more conscious life.

My suggestion to you- if you're finding yourself wanting to cry/sleep/scream/drink/escape from the incredible effort you've given to healing- is to find ways to insert a little comfort in your days:

1. Take a moment to be grateful for a few things each day. Write them down. Be as specific as you can, if you can. 
2. Tell someone how exhausted you are. Get it off your chest. Let them validate the work you've put in and tell you that you're kicking ass. 
3. Journal about your feelings. Emotions start in the body. It's what we do with them to move them through the body that matters- spoken words or written words are the best way to actually process emotions. 
4. Find a tiny bit of movement in your day. Stretch. Walk. Pop out 10 jumping jacks, 10 squats, 10 sit-ups, and 10 push-ups during a commercial break. 
5. Wash your face and brush your teeth. (I say this for myself, too. I've had days where I've felt too tired to do basic tasks until I'm required to do them). 
6. Hug someone. 
7. Cuddle with an animal. 
8. Listen to some music, or your favorite podcast. 
9. Read a few pages of that book you've been keeping on your nightstand. 
10. Make a "To-Did" List. You know, a list of all the things you did in a day, so you're not so hard on yourself for all the things you didn't do. Put silly things on there like:

• Make 1st cup of coffee
• Floss
• Brush teeth
• Eat breakfast
• Tell my kids I love them

... because the little things you do are also significant. And you deserve to see how much you actually do on a daily basis. 

How do you create a little more cushion in your life? How are you taking care of yourself while you take care of yourself? 

You'll Learn it When You're Ready

Today I had the privilege of seeing exactly why I had to hit another low in my life to finally learn the lessons life's been whispering to me for many, many years. This morning, I checked my Facebook only to see memories full of cute photos of my little ones and embarrassing status updates.

And then this. 4 years ago, I was preparing to have Abigail in a couple months. I had gotten out of my marriage and flew straight into the most backwards situation of my life. I'd casually been seeing someone, yet I held a flame for him that burned so bright, even I didn't understand it. 

About four and a half months after we first met, I found out I was having his baby. I was still living in a house that I knew I was losing. I was in therapy for postpartum depression, about to drop out of my college classes because I felt like I'd been slapped over the head with this unforgivable circumstance. I can only equate that time to feeling like I was in a tornado- watching everything that I'd built for the previous seven years just deteriorate. 

At that point, I just had to survive it. I had to figure out if I was going to keep my baby and if my house was going to be foreclosed on, or if I could sell it in time. I had to get Medicaid, WIC and find discounted food while I considered all the other choices I was about to make. It just felt like a whirlwind. It still feels like that when I look back. 

But if you look at what I said I'd learned that year- none of it was about myself. Sure, I learned how to survive that year. That was a nice boost to my self-esteem at that time. But I was laying fragile groundwork for my new "it's complicated" relationship, and I was going full speed into this new phase in life- having learned very little about what landed me there in the first place. 

Fast-forward to today, I realize I was pretty darn resourceful during that time in my life. I was a survivor- in my eyes- which was a pretty great lesson in and of itself. But I didn't get the full message. It's kind of like the old saying, "Feed a man fish, he'll eat for a day. Teach him..." you know the rest. All the resources in the world won't teach me how I got myself into the position of needing them. I may know how to survive, but what's the point if I'm the one digging the damn hole that I'm having to climb out of?!

When I went out on my own this time, I felt more heartbroken and more lost than I ever had. It felt like I had pain deep in my bones when I left. I had no real sense of who I was, if I was going to be okay, and if this life was going to be worth living after losing the life that I knew. But I was adamant that during that first month or so alone, I wasn't going to go out and try to distract myself. I wasn't going to stay in and drink. When I felt pain, I'd sit still and let it hurt. I knew it was going to be different this time. It had to be. I couldn't bear to think I'd do this again. This was the last time I'd ever feel that kind of heartbreak, and I meant it. 

When I'd find myself alone without my girls, I'd go to family members' houses and feel the pain in a safe space. Spaces where I knew I wouldn't make regrettable decisions- where people could hold space for me to feel and not try to fix it. I needed to be where people made me feel safe, because I truly just wanted to crawl out of my own skin. 

I'm so incredibly thankful I'm learning my lesson this time. Little Brittany was running the show all these years past. Grown-up Brittany sees what's happening and chooses better for herself. She knows that the wounding she had causes that little child inside of her to chase after love, validation, and approval. She also knows how to step in and say, "nah girl, that doesn't work. We're not gonna do that anymore." 

Now, I have a more comprehensive understanding of those relationship endings. Life wasn't JUST trying to teach me that I'm a survivor. Life was trying to show me that I was letting Little Brittany run the show with all of her wounds and traumas and triggers. I was letting her chase what she will always be chasing, and I wasn't stepping in to give her what I now know I need to give her. 

The real lesson here was how to parent my inner child. To see where she's hurting, and to lovingly let her know that I'll be making the adult decisions from now on. The real lesson is that we repeat what we don't repair. I love how incredibly apparent it is to me, that I've become a conscious observer of my own life. 

Ego Conditioning and Our Souls

I choose to hold the idea that we are souls having a human experience. As I've written before, I think we muddy our souls' purpose in the muck of our human experience, and it's our job to clear the waters and get to what our souls are really here to do.

In order to do that, our first step is to recognize this truth (no matter what your religion or ideology), and begin differentiating your ideas of what the "self" really is.

In all our experiences, many of us feel there's a deeper meaning behind what it is to be human, and what we're supposed to be doing with this life we've had the privilege of living.

We're born unto wounded children, who were born unto other wounded children. As we awaken, we see our experiences from this perspective, and we recognize that we don't have to continue our journeys with the same programming that we've known all of our lives. There's a way to undo that programming so our souls can be given the chance to fully express themselves before we leave this earth. And trust me, nothing but GOOD things happen when our consciousness expands- allowing our souls to have full expression. Only love lives there.

But if we don't take on the responsibility of reparenting ourselves, loving the parts of us that we've learned to shove away in a corner somewhere because our parents (uh, em, wounded children of other wounded children) raise us with programming that they didn't have full awareness of, we can't harmonize with our soul's true purpose.

Our ego is our sense of self. When someone says, "Who are you?" and you respond with your name, what you do for a living, and your background- that's all ego. It's how you differentiate from the people and world around you. Our egos not only give us a sense of self, they help us facilitate the work our souls want to perform here on earth.

But our egos are faulty. They glitch pretty often. They have conditioning that must come undone. The conditioning we experience does more than just give us a sense of self, it separates us TOO much from the world around us. Incites reaction to stimuli that feel threatening. Sometimes those threats simply come through the way someone looks at us. Sometimes those threats are from memories past, that don't deserve a seat at our table as we explore what we want to do with our lives.

Once we recognize that we have layers of ourselves to peel back, to love, to heal- that's when we really hear our souls speak to us. Every familiar sadness, every fear, is an invitation to love parts of our humanness that need healing. When we heal, we free our souls from our wounded egos and we expand, and we get back to what really matters. And we often realize that all that ever mattered, was love.

I'm Just the Girl He Knocked Up

This is my first post since my breakup. I call it a divorce, but whatever.

I call it that because I don't think I've ever been so enmeshed in a relationship like I was with this one. I loved that man with everything in me. I loved his quiet, reflective soul. I loved his hair, his eyes, his arms, the little bump on his nose, the way his dimples graced his cheeks when he smiled, and the way he smelled. I used to tell him that if God were to place all the physical traits I love into one person, it'd be him. Because I could stare at him from across the room and feel like I'd hit the jackpot. Every. Damn. Day.

Looking back, that relationship was a mess. He was an alcoholic. I was a late-stage codependent (thanks to never really understanding my attachment style before diving into another long-term relationship). We constantly looked at each other and knew we were polar opposites, but we fought hard to make it work. It just didn't.

When each of my birthdays came around, I would ask for compliments, because I never received any from him. To this day, I couldn't tell you what he really loved about me. All I knew was that I was his baby mama. And I held on so tightly to the belief that it was all I'd ever be. That's my fault, because I let that belief lead me to rely upon his words to know that I was enough.

This story I've told myself is so important to share- I know I'm not alone. But actually, I took on this story before my ex. Enter: Vulnerable truth.

When I was dating my ex-husband (different guy), we faced an unplanned pregnancy. We were driving across the country to live in California, amidst a break from college and the desire to learn a little more about life on the West Coast. In a Tucson, Arizona hotel room, I took a pregnancy test and got a big fat positive.

We hit the road that same morning for our final stretch to San Clemente, California, and had a long discussion about what to do next. Wedding plans weren't something we had in mind with our cross-country adventure. But he looked at me in the car and said, "I want to marry you anyway. Let's go ahead and get married. I'm not going to change how I feel about you."

And we did. In a small ceremony in the beginning of September, we eloped. Two days later, I miscarried. A month later, he asked for an annulment. We stuck it out and decided that we didn't want to separate, and that he was just confused and uncertain about his commitment, but that he knew he didn't want to let me go. This type of separation request would be a recurring theme in our marriage.

A couple years later, he asked for a divorce. Again, he was going through a brief "freak out" period, where he'd say things like, "I don't want to lose you. I just think we shouldn't be married on paper. I'll still take care of you. Can we be together, just not married?" When I consulted a friend of ours during this time, he said, "I remember talking with him on the balcony of a friend's house back in California, and he did say he was just 'trying to do the right thing' at the time."

My life, from that point forward, took on the story that I was just the girl he got pregnant.

Fast forward to our divorce. I attempted to move on incredibly fast. I searched for validation in men from the local bars. I searched for love outside myself because I was incapable of seeing I needed to love myself before finding any partner- I had no clue. I was just terrified that I was unlovable now that I was a mother with stretch marks on her stomach, a job at a non-profit that certainly wasn't going to pay my bills, and now I had "baggage." I was just a girl who made up a lie about "putting myself out there" while at the heart of it, I was searching for a man to show me I was lovable and attractive.

Six months later, I faced another unplanned pregnancy. (You'd think I had a ton of partners, but I actually only had my first love, my ex-husband, and Abby's father, by that time).

This is the pregnancy with my recent ex. I found that I was going it alone, and unsure of his intentions for seeing through fatherhood and any kind of partnership. I waited for him to come around, not sure who else he was seeing and what else he needed to do before he would find me valuable and worth his time. After all, I was just the girl he knocked up.

When we decided to do life together when I was about to pop at 36 weeks pregnant, I was thrilled. He chose me, finally. I loved him more intensely than I'd loved anyone. But I never let go of that story that I was just the girl who got knocked up. It was reinforced- solidified, even- in this new circumstance.

And for the longest time, that story was my identity. I let it explain away why he never complimented me. I let it explain why he waited so long to choose us, and why I had to do my pregnancy alone. I let it serve as the reason he drank. The reason he didn't value my time. The reason I felt like a permanent babysitter, while he made plans without telling me what his plans were, or when he'd make it back. The reason he didn't think to go on dates, or the reason he expected me to cook and clean, even when I was working. The reason he could love on the kids so easily, but forget to hug me. I used that story to explain why he never made eye contact when he was out in public with me. I thought he was ashamed. I thought he was stuck with this girl who wasn't his ideal partner. I was the girl he got knocked up, and now he was doing "the right thing." I cannot describe the level of insecurity that surrounded our relationship.

That's undoubtedly my role in our demise. I don't think he could have won that war in my mind. I don't know that he could have taken any actions that would shift what I came to believe about myself. It was my responsibility to rewrite that story, not his, and I'm only just now learning how to do that.

My self worth went into the gutter. He had beautiful, creative ideas. I tried to run with them and make him proud of me. He was a great father. I tried to revel in the traditions he created for the girls, and express gratitude for him being the father I never had. He was a hard worker. I tried to tell myself that he was a simple man, who wanted to show his love through his dedication to providing for all of us.

But I never let go of that story. It ate me alive.

The truth is: no one told me that's what I was. I told myself that. No one told me I had no value. I told myself that. I've had to evaluate this horrible story I've told myself for more than a decade, only to realize no one ever told me I was just the "girl they knocked up."

So what's the truth? I've had to rewrite that story. And it's healing everything down to the core of my being. The truth is, I'm an incredible woman who happened to face two unplanned pregnancies. Both of them required me to become a stronger version of myself, and both of them made me more capable of showing love, humility, sacrifice, and perseverance. I'm a courageous woman who embraced adversity head-on, and said, "Come with me. We can do this. I will love you so hard. Just watch."

I'm the woman who opened her heart to love, who just didn't have the same level of commitment from her counterparts. But I'm that woman. I didn't give up. I still won't give up. I continue to strive for healthy, whole-hearted love, and won't settle until it's pouring out of me. They've gone their own way. I'm still the woman who said "I can do this. I can make it."

That's my story. And THANK GOD I have finally understood how to let go of that horrible voice. It nearly killed me.

Life's Purpose: Coming Back to One's Self

Today, I took some time and cleared out some things from storage. It's been a long time coming. My mom and I shared a storage unit for nearly four years, from the time I moved out of my house, which was shortly after she had moved to an apartment nearby. I'd downsized to a bedroom in her apartment with Ali, while pregnant with Abby, and stored what was left of the four-bedroom house I left behind after a year-long divorce process. When Mom told me she'd be cancelling the storage unit at the end of March, I knew it was time to go through things I didn't even remember I had, and donate whatever I clearly didn't need.

But I knew there'd be quite a bit in that unit that wasn't exactly disposable- mementos from my childhood that I just didn't have a place for, and other items I may very well use now. It just came down to going through it all.

I elected to do that by myself today. I didn't want to be rushed when going through each box, making sure the ones with books also had my old diaries I'd planned to give to Ali one day (they had some lovely notes written about her father that I wanted her to have for when she's older).

But today I also came across old photos of myself from elementary school- among other things- but the photos are what I got stuck on. I saw this one in particular of myself standing in front of a church door, with a bright blue turtleneck, blue jean skirt, and bright blue tights to match. I'm not sure what I was there for- maybe a Brownies meeting or something- but I saw that bright smile of mine and I was reminded of my life's journey back to her. I'll post the picture on here soon. I'll have to edit the post when I get it.

But the point I wanted to make comes from this feeling that I had when I stared at that picture. I believe that the purpose of life can be summed up in one concept: Life is simply the journey we take to get back to ourselves. Who we really are. Who we were meant to be.

Another way to describe it is by framing all of my fears and insecurities in the metaphor of me housing this little girl inside of me (I like to think of the one in the photo). She doesn't know who's going to stay, who will leave, or if anything's ever going to work out. She doesn't have a clue if she's gonna be okay. But it's my job to be her protector. It's my job to reassure her when she's scared, and to comfort her when she's hurt. It's my job to look at that little girl and say, "I've got you." 

I'm a grown woman now. My mama can't do it for me. My partner can't do it for me. My kids certainly can't do it for me. I've got to take care of that little girl, because that little girl inside of me is still ME.

I'm sure you might have come across this idea that when we're born, we're the purest form of ourselves in that moment. We aren't living with worry, doubt, hatred, judgment, or even an ego. We don't have any of that. We're completely present and receptive to this world and all it has to offer.

And then by the time we're about six years old, we've already had our framework of worthiness and love laid out for us by our families of origin. They've taught us through their relationships with us what's acceptable about us, what's unacceptable about us, what they like about us, and what they don't like about us. They've instilled their expectations, gender roles, and it's highly likely they've instilled some other things inadvertently and subconsciously. We watched them in their relationships, and learned what love looked like (albeit, most of it was probably unhealthy, but to us, it was our only definition). We learned about how we should relate to our bodies and what burdens we're going to shoulder one day when we're their age. I had learned all of that by the time I smiled for that picture.

And then I got older and started to make my own choices with that deeply rooted belief system. I made choices from the subconscious beliefs I learned about money, relationships, self-worth, and body image, because I inherited them without questioning them. We often don't know to question them until we start working on ourselves when things don't feel right and we want to know how we seem to be getting it so wrong. And therein lies the point of this whole life thingy- at least I think so.

I believe we were given the chance to live because we have something to contribute to the world before we leave it. I also believe that if we remained as connected to our soul as the day we were born, we'd accomplish it rather quickly.

But the thing is, we're human.

I think we muddy the waters for the lives we bring into this world when we don't challenge our beliefs and understand how we'd like to contribute to the world before making babies of our own. Odds are our parents didn't figure that out before we were born. So our journeys are cloudy because we develop from this pure, unencumbered spirit, into a human with deep-seated beliefs that steer us away from who we really are. And we spend a lot of our time on Earth wondering why the hell we're here and what the heck we're supposed to be doing.

Why the heck can't we find emotionally available men- why do we like the bad ones? Or why do we feel so insecure about our noses, or our love handles? Why do we fear losing the love and approval of others? All of those things are just big whopping signs that we haven't done the work to come back to ourselves.

The thing is, if we can pull from the most authentic parts of ourselves, we can do the great things we are meant to do with the time we have here on earth. That's the whole point of life. You come in, it gets foggy, and you work to clear the fog so you can get back to that thing you're meant to do before you die.

And finally, I believe part of coming back to ourselves is through recognizing our younger selves as the embodiment of those tricky belief systems. When I'm triggered or particularly anxious, I find it most helpful to take the perspective that I'm housing this little girl inside who still doesn't know how to make sense of her feelings.

She doesn't know why she feels so scared of being abandoned. She doesn't understand it's because her dad always left her without giving her a clue as to when he'd reappear. She doesn't understand why she's drawn to emotionally unavailable men. She doesn't know that she's scared of never making any money because she spent the late night hours of her childhood listening to her parents fight about bills. She just knows that she feels these things. And my journey back to myself is to see that little girl and say, "It's okay. I've done the work. I know why you feel this way. Don't worry, though... I'll take care of you. I know how to do it now."

I Became a Freelance Writer... Here's What it Taught Me

I've waited a while to kickstart this blog again, and for good reason.

I've been ridiculously "busy" and I've found a million reasons to think I'm not a good enough writer to bring any value worth reading or listening to. Essentially, I've spent a couple years exploring myself, bringing upon doubt, depression, and the disorientation that comes from being a mother who tries to parent and work (while finding her elusive passion) at the same time. It's not easy stuff, guys. I don't suggest having kids before discovering some of the things that ignite the passions that give you a clear vision of what you'd like to do with your life. Just sayin'.

In the past couple years, I've gone from wellness coach, to stay at home mom, to workaholic- completing every freelance position I could handle just to make a few bucks and reclaim my independence. It hasn't been easy- it's actually been downright exhausting, and I'm here to tell you all about what I've learned in that time frame.

So here's to a new beginning. A beginning rife with lessons learned from the many roles I've assumed in different careers, jobs, and networking roles alike. I've managed co-working spaces. I've worked for a lobbyist, a lawyer, and a newspaper. I've worked in cybersecurity, supported my partner in a manufacturing business, and I've made my own jewelry. I've also served on a board of organizers for a non-profit about which I still remain passionate, even though I've recently had to pull back. I've had the chance to meet some wonderful people and dream big on their behalf, but something has always been a little off in my approach. I've always wondered what the hell I actually want to do in my life, and how I can make an impact doing it.

Of one thing I'm certain: if you ask me what I want to do for the rest of my life, I'd say, "I want to be able to sit down with people who have dreams, goals, and visions (particularly with regard to startup businesses), and I want to ask them all the questions that come to my mind."

Yeah, I've thought what you're thinking, too. How in the world can I monetize this passion, and what in the heck does a career of asking questions actually look like?

A year ago, I'd tell you that you that I'm trying on a bunch of jobs and seeing what sticks. But after playing around and loving the process, I began to face the reality that I wasn't making enough of an income to support childcare costs for my girls, or even to offset the time that Jesse would be missing work while I went off and met new people and formed new relationships.

What a hard fricken pill to swallow. You don't make enough money to keep doing this. You can't live on compliments. You can't just spend all day at that place and work for trade. It doesn't pay our bills. These are all things I had to come to grips with to understand that I had a little bit of a warped view of what my passion would look like. I couldn't continue to do the same things if I couldn't monetize them. Maybe if Jesse were the sole breadwinner and we had the flexibility of income and time, I could network and continue to volunteer my time in a work-for-trade space, but for now, it's not what works for us. It's impractical and unsustainable.

Now, before you get all chase-your-passions-and-you'll-make-it-work on me, I know that there's a degree of deep-seeded beliefs that could possibly change the outcome, but with two young daughters, my particular approach wasn't working, and stepping back to understand how to move forward in a more thoughtful way was absolutely necessary.

So here's what I'm doing with what I'm learning so far: I'm now a freelance writer.

I'll tell you in another post how I became a freelancer, but for now, I'll explain how it suits my passions.

I'm an avid reader and a lifetime student. When I was in college, I found it painful to choose one major and stick to it. Could be the novelty-seeker in me, but I happen to love a LOT of subjects, and I hated the idea that I'd have to pick one area to study and limit myself to for a majority of my career.

Enter: freelance writing. My job is to Google the shit out of topics until I can feel comfortable enough to write about them. I have to know the subject intimately in order to form an article that's cohesive and informative, which quenches my thirst for the kind of knowledge that would (at the very least) make me a decent contestant on Jeopardy!

My writing skills have improved over various editing requests from clients, and I feel like I'm finally in the groove of providing content that people enjoy reading. But I'm also doing something that brings in an income while I'm still home with my 3 year old, cracking raw eggs on the floor as I lose myself in research. And I can finally say I'm happy with what I'm doing. Wholeheartedly, I embrace the challenges of each client's needs and desires for their online content, because I know I'm privileged to learn skills that build my own businesses while providing value to theirs.

In the end, I wouldn't trade the "trying on" of jobs that I've done, because they all taught me something new. But I wish I'd have noticed earlier, that I've been obsessed with the teaching all along. I think I've finally found the thing that I can do- and no matter how much I suck at some of the topics I write about, I find that I believe in myself more than ever with the power of Almighty Google. I don't believe I'll be transitioning from this role any time soon.