The Leftovers

It’s the hardest thing I’ve gone through. And just when I think I’m free of it–and back to my regular family history/hormonal depression, thank you very much–the leftovers of it hit me again. The guilt I feel for how I struggled. The worries. The fears. 

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Mini-Me

However, while G was “working out” with me, he would quit, and say, “I can’t do this.” “I fell down, I can’t do it anymore.” “I don’t feel good.” And it broke my heart, because I know exactly where he heard those things. 

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To My Boys

My children are three and three months, so obviously they don’t understand, they just know maybe mom isn’t there as much as she normally is, especially G. He’s more cognizant of it. If I could tell them anything, I would tell them something like this…

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Definitions

I don’t think we’re so easily defined. I think life is so much more complicated, and we’re an ever-evolving sum of a variety of things. There’s beauty in that chaos.

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Whoop, There It Is

It’s…isolating. Exhaustion. Frustration and frustrating. I just want to sleep, and sleep, and sleep until this feeling goes away. 

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