2015: The Year of Just Doing It.

At the end of last year, I hit a breaking point. The every day ins and outs of being a stay-at-home mom were starting to wear on me, a thick itchy sweater that I couldn't take off or find peace in. I was frustrated and restless, and I knew I needed to find something outside of the identity of "parent" to channel my energy. I even knew what I wanted that something to be. The only feeling bigger than the discontent with the rut I was in, was the fear I had about climbing out of it. I was stuck in an endless cycle of my own making (and of all the cycles to be stuck in, one you actually made yourself is the most irritating).

So, I just kind of...stewed for a while. And obviously by that I mean I complained. To God, to my husband, to all of the crazy voices in my brain and heart. I complained about the lack of motivation I felt every day and the hollow, unfulfilled part of myself no amount of Target shopping runs could fill (forgive me, Target. It was a weird time). I yammered on and on about needing a creative outlet for poor, oppressed moi, all the while avoiding actually doing anything about it. I wanted to write, and in particular start a blog, but I didn't want to do it until I was sure it would be perfect and without fault and I was the best writer I could be. Clearly I had very realistic*, attainable** expectations.

*idiotic

**unreachable, never going to happen

And then one day, a tiny whisper broke through all of the noise I was making about why I couldn't do what I wanted to do (and I'm just going to straight up point out the divinity of this whisper, because I can be quite loud and distracting when making nonsense noise).

Just do it. 

But I can't    

Just do it.

But    

Just. Do. It.

Oh.

You mean I could just try something out and not have to be immediately fantastic or perfect at it? That maybe I could find joy and peace even when things were messy and I was stumbling my way through? Hmm, that seemed super unlikely given my personality. But dissatisfaction with the way things were was at an all time high, so I (very, very, I can not overstate how very slowly) started writing and then sharing. And you know what?

It was hard. And scary. And I didn't always find immediate joy and peace in the moments of messiness and stumbling. Sometimes I was happy right away with what I had written. Usually though, I wanted to scratch my own eyeballs out.

But it was also wonderful and fun and heart changing. And most of the time those things had nothing to do with what I had specifically written, but because I had written anything at all. I didn't stop being scared, but I stopped letting that being my deciding factor. The strength I found in opening up when writing translated into being more honest and bold in my every day life. I found encouragement when I thought I'd find criticism (or at least eye rolls and heavy sighs), and level ground with people I hadn't previously thought I had much in common with. I stopped thinking of every tiny reason not to step out of my comfort zone and instead just focused on actually doing it.

So, cheers to you, 2015. You beautiful, responsive, unrelenting year of growth, I'll never forget you.