Once upon a time, I couldn’t write down the words in my head fast enough. The words tumbled around in my brain, heart, and soul, a swirling mix of thought and emotion and logic and questioning. I couldn’t rest until I took the time, sat down, and made sense of it all on paper or screen.

It’s been a long time.

About five years ago, I found myself wading into self-imposed silence due to life transitions, children aging, and questions I couldn’t quite find the answers to at the time. When we lost my father-in-law to suicide in September of 2018, I simply lost all the words. Grief, shock, and the need to keep my four person family afloat left me adrift. I couldn’t make sense of what I felt; I surely couldn’t write it all down either. My therapist prompted me to journal, not even publish, just to get the thoughts and feelings “out” of my body.

I couldn’t do it.

I’ve been journaling ever so lightly for the past few months, dipping my toe back into the waters of words. Some things I’m not going to be able to tackle with my words in a public sphere. I’m not going to dictate my teenagers’ life struggles even though my parenting struggles often stem from their current trials. But, I have found some truths in all of the hard work I’ve done over the past five years.

I exist.

Yes, I am a mother, but I am also so many other things. I can even share some of the trials of parenting teens without sharing their stories. I have less room to share about some adoption things, but there’s room here and there. I can write about running, cooking, dogs, reading, music, mental health, current events, aging, healing, and so much more. It may not be interesting to many, but this is for me. My kids are leaving home sooner than later. I’ve always said I would write the book after they were out on their own and I had five seconds of free time.

I might as well start sooner than later as well.