It’s been almost 13 years.
Thirteen years since I have put somebody else’s needs above my own. Every.Single.Time.
Thirteen years since I have been lost behind the title of “Mom.”
It’s a title I wear proudly, one that I would never trade for anything, but it’s also one that has given me shade.
Shade as to who I am and where I want to go.
My conversations revolve around my kids. There is never any “grown up” talk.
My wardrobe is far from fun or trendy or cute. It’s functional. Full of mom clothes. Clothes that can be worn to play at the park. Clothes that are decorated in spit up stains. Clothes that are worn at the knee from getting on the floor 87245 times per day.
My hair is pinned back 99% of the time so that it doesn’t get pulled or streaked with paint.
Free time, though I laugh even using that phrase, is spent singing nursery rhymes, playing Ring Around the Rosie, and coloring inside the lines.
I want to be me again.
I want to put on an outfit and feel pretty again.
I want to catch my reflection in the mirror and actually know the person looking back at me.
I want to indulge in things that are just for me, to build myself back up again.
And so this year will be my year.
I have been exercising and eating healthy, and now that the pounds are off it’s time to show it. I’m going to dress in clothing that is trendy and flattering, rather than hide behind my yoga pants and worn t-shirts.
I am going to take the time to do my hair. To give it some life again.
I am going to carve out time for myself. Time to write, time to read, time to crochet. Time to get away from the busyness of life and just be me.
I need this.
I need to feel like me again. I need to recognize myself. I need to see the sparkle in my eye again.
But I know that I can’t just write this. I need to actually do it.
I need to be.
So this week I did it.
I got my hair done with a completely new look.
I started reading, a real, paper book, not just a computer screen.
It may be small steps, but they are still steps nonetheless.