I am not a writer. I have never been a writer. I’ve never even kept a journal – I don’t think my 4th grade diary that was dotted with profound entries like “Today the boys chased the girls” or “Today it was the girls turn to chase the boys” counts as a journal. I tried to keep a journal when my boys were babies. I wanted to write in the hopes that someday, somehow, someone would read the words and understand how much I loved my boys and how underqualified I felt to be their mother. I always used loose leaf paper to write, however, and the writing always ended up in the garbage can. If I was more aware back then, I would have understood that I threw the pages away because I wasn’t ready to face the words that showed there were serious problems in my marriage.
Fast forward to today. A blog? But why? If no one else ever reads this, I’M ready for the accountability. I want to see my words, my thoughts, my feelings. I want to be able to attribute my successes to my efforts instead of to happy accidents. I want to see the words that I use to justify a lack of commitment to myself. I want to see the words that I use to excuse myself from responsibility to myself. I want to see me holding myself accountable to ME. I want to take care of myself first so that I can better take care of my boys, my Doug, my dogs, my family and friends, my coworkers and my students.