Tonight is one of those nights where I just want to go to bed. Pretend that problems don’t exist for a while and just pass out.
But my son won’t sleep. We are all tired. And it’s hard.
I wanted to just write something stupid. Just to say I got my post done and check it off the list. But I can’t give you garbage right now. It’s not fair. I owe it to myself to dig deeper and find something to say.
Life is so full. Such incredible highs and lows. Tragedies and triumphs. Losses. Devastating losses. Blessings. Things that light us up. And those that we dread.
I don’t want to write self help articles. I want to be real. And hopefully that realness will actually help somehow. Even if it’s to know you’re not insane like you think you are. Or that you’re not the only one who struggles. Or that it can get better or worse but it’s somehow universal.
I lose my cool a lot. I get angry. I get frustrated. Confused. Scared. I don’t have the answers. And even if I did what works for me might not work for you.
Keep going. Giving up is a cop out. The struggle is how we know we’ve lived a full life. Trying to be better. Trying to know ourselves. Fighting for the person we are right now and who we want to be twenty years from now.
As my son screams in the background all I want to do is help. But sometimes helping means staying out of the way. Letting someone be. Letting go.
