I feel like nothing is good enough lately. I’m not happy with my writing. I’m feeling depleted and like I don’t have much to give. I’ve written several posts already tonight and they feel like junk.
I actually have the time to write right now but I feel like I’m wasting it. Hmm.
If my mom were here right now what would I do? I’d hug the shit out of her. I’d kiss her cheeks and her forehead. I’d pet her hair. I’d sit down and talk to her. I’d hug her some more. I’d cry. I’d tell her I love her a million times. I’d smile at her. I’d tell her a joke. I’d revel in the sound of her genuine laugh. I’d cry some more. I’d wipe her nose because she’d cry too. I’d see her smile the way she did when she cried happy tears.
I’d have so much to give. All of me. I could give it all if she were here.
There’s proof I am not empty. I don’t lack the love and passion to continue giving. That I have something to say. Even if it’s just to myself.
I can’t get caught up thinking this is it. Or giving up on my dreams. Everything I need is there I just have to tap into it. Let it flow the way I’d let my love flow if my mom were sitting here beside me holding my hand.
What I have to share is imperfect. It’s never going to be. And no one has that expectation of me either. I have to remember this. To find more when I feel empty. To keep going. My mom fought cancer for three years. She would laugh if I told her the blank page was a challenge. And I should laugh too. It’s not life or death this writing thing. It’s a gift. And it’s good enough.
