In my more life-romantic moments of my life, I loved the idea of “redefining” oneself. It was this magical type of thing that anyone could do to change who they are and learn more about themselves. I’d imagine myself sitting, staring out the window, eyes slightly scrunched, maybe some twinkling dust particles dancing in the sun’s rays, and a seeming freeze of time, all to realize something so profound about ourselves our lives would never be the same.
In my real world, this is not called redefining myself. It’s just called growing the eff up. Ain’t nobody got time to stare outside with scrunchy eyes and think about “Who am I? Who do I want to be?”. Seriously. When I have a spare second, I’ll sit on the toilet an extra minute telling the boys (ok, shouting at the boys probably) “MOMMY NEEDS PRIVACY! LEAVE ME BE!”, so I could just shut my mind off and scroll through instagram.
But whether I had time to realize it or not, I’ve grown. And not just my pant size. (That’s another post for another day.) I’m not going to call it “entering my mid 30’s”, because there is something so trite about that. Even if there’s some truth to the aging/maturing/growing wiser crap. Perhaps it’s that I’ve been here long enough to know what I don’t want. I know what I don’t like and the things I don’t get enjoyment out of. And there is no longer the need to pretend or try something again to make other people happy like I did I my 20’s. This is me. Take me or leave me. What used to feel risky now is just what happens on any given Tuesday afternoon.
This past year, my risky decisions have been more and more frequent. Risky decisions of my 20’s? Most involved inappropriate boys and too many vodka-redbulls. Risky decision at 35? Shutting down the business I worked my ass off to build and legitimize for 7 years because I just felt “done”. Between that and the decision to have another baby, 2016 was full of things that should have scared me. Things maybe I “shouldn’t” have done. Yet, here I am.
So, no. I haven’t “redefined” myself. I have grown the eff up. I have things to say and more photos to take, I have quilts to make and more expensive fabric to ruin. Cookies to make and scarf down before my husband comes home. More legos to step on and laundry to ignore. And I’m a maker. I’m a terrible “homemaker” other than those delicious cookies. But I’m a modern woman, a feminist, a stay at home/work from home mom, who loves her kids and drinking bourbon, making quilts and listening to audiobooks, and who is ready to use this forum to say more than maybe ever before. So. You’ve been warned. Welcome.