The quiet of my mornings is lacking.
Sleep isn’t filling up my nights.
Small people envelop all of my waking hours and steal minutes, moments, more from my dreams.
I pull myself out of bed, but not early enough.
I pour coffee, steaming and swirling, into my cup, but not strong enough.
I plan to get out of the house, to do projects with children, to…anything, but I deny the plan often enough.
I’ve walked away from the writing, and from the mental peace it brings.
I’ve woken to more questions than answers.
I’ve wondered where pieces of myself have been hiding.
Today. This quiet moment. This stolen peace. I grant myself grace. I whisper gospel to myself. I forgive my own shortcomings. I do.
I’m looking forward to writing again y’all. Life is sort of just taking a bit more from me than my mornings can give back. There is not enough quiet, enough margin, enough of me. I’ll admit; I am struggling. With this winter, with not sleeping, with not meeting my own expectations. With turning the jumbled mess of thoughts into words to type coherently out on paper.
This too will come to an end I know. I miss sitting here; ideas, impressions, pieces of my heart pouring out onto the page. I’m actively looking for the time, exhaustion need not rule in order to express oneself…
For now, I pray peace over each of you and beg it for myself as well.