Word Wandering

I don't usually write much anymore unless I have something specific to say--something I'm going through or irritated with or learning. It's not like my life is absent of those things right now, quite the opposite in fact. This year has been full of things that fall into those categories--so full it's just overflowing. Maybe that's the problem. There's too much to write about, so it becomes overwhelming and I decide to process it some other way, usually by music or photography.

Some people process and thrive through doing and being busy. To be honest, I'm a little jealous of them. I mean, how nice would it be if your stress meant you had a spotless house? I'm kind of the opposite. When things get heavy, I slow down or stop completely. I ponder. I withdraw. I don't exactly wallow because I'm not depressed or hopeless. I just literally have to think quietly about stuff to make the trials useful. And let's face it, there's not a lot of time to withdraw when you're homeschooling three kids, so when I do get a chance to ponder, I don't have time to express it in writing.

And then there's the guilt. I have made intentional decisions in my life, like staying home with the kids and homeschooling. These choices aren't without consequences though. I have no doubts that they are absolutely what I am supposed to be doing right now and I do not regret my choices. But they definitely aren't easy, especially when you're a stressed out introvert. There is no such thing as personal space or down time. My three year old makes sure of that. I've noticed that lately I'm snippy, my patience is extremely thin, I roll my eyes entirely too much, I yell. And I feel so guilty (rightfully so) that I'm doing a miserable job at momming these days.

To quote Tommy Boy, "Good job, you've pinpointed it. Step two is washing it off."

I'm busy. I'm overwhelmed. I'm tired. I'm falling behind on my responsibilities. But none of that gives me an excuse to sin against my children. God's not buying the whole stressed out introvert excuse.

Time to snap out of the funk. Time to start making intentional decisions to speak truth and not give in to my frustration or lack of sleep or my fried out brain. The house can be a wreck and it doesn't equal moral failure. But the years with my kids are far more precious and fleeting. There's no room for giving up.

Well, look at that. Turns out that I did have a point to make, I just didn't realize it when I started writing. :)