(Honestly) Everything.

My name is Alicia Rebecca.  

 

I'm a transplanted Hoosier, adopted by the great Tarheel state at age seven. 

 

I am the oldest of three; the oldest grandchild on one side, and one of the youngest on the other. 

 

In elementary school, I used to be that "girl that laughed like Daffy Duck". I would laugh about everything. In fact, most of the time I was laughing alone.  

 

Nothing used to make me more furious than when my little sister would sneak into my room and steal my clothes straight from my dresser.  Nothing. 

 

I always wanted seven children. I recall telling my father at age 10 that having seven children seemed like the coolest aspiration ever. And, when Bobbi McCaughey had septuplets back in 1997, I thought I had found my new hero. "I'll be the next to do that", I thought. What other 14 year old thinks like that? No wonder my mother gave me the dumbest look when I expressed my new life goal over baked potatoes one night. 

 

I used to want to travel everywhere, and big city living, in the heart of a bustling metropolis, was my ultimate goal. I would walk to get coffee and visit old, quaint bookstores with my toffee nut latte in hand. I would come home with a fresh bouquet of blooms every Thursday and 

 

When my sister began voice lessons and her amateur singing career, I was insanely jealous. After all, I was the contemporary-Christian-music-obsessed-one with big dreams to be the lead singer of my own band one day. Music videos would be my medium. (I still want to be in a music video). 

 

I want to be a midwife. After I graduated from college and got my undergrad,  I knew what I wanted to do...and it had nothing to do with what reflected back at me on that paper.  

 

Now, I am seeking to seriously pursue becoming a published author.  

 

And yet, almost every morning I wake, I have no desire to do anything but cry. I've become self-absorbed, pathetic, and unmotivated.  

 

I think anxiously, selfishly, and sinfully as I'd rather believe lies than the truth that I possess.  

 

I no longer dream, but instead, I want to scream. Scream because I know what to do and I don't do it. Scream because I'm angry I've allowed this sort of thinking. Scream because I know this isn't me.  

 

I know I speak candidly, so often, on this trying year filled with anxiety and fear. I'm apologizing for staying on that hamster wheel. But it's what I believe God wants me to write about in this season. I can't write about what I don't know. 

 

I've stopped caring about how I look and dress. In fact, I gave away almost all of my clothes because they don't fit and they were all really old anyway. I've left myself a few tshirts and yoga pants. The token "SAHM uniform". 

 

I stopped wearing makeup and doing my hair. Well, maybe that part hasn't changed much...I don't really like fixing my hair anyway.  

 

I say all of this because it's both a blessing and a curse to mentally playback who and what you remember yourself to be. 

 

Yes, change will come. I don't expect to be the same "daffy duck laugh-y taffy" crazy fourth grader anymore. But the core of that 10 year old girl should still be there somewhere.  And, she is. 

 

I admit, I spend more days forgetting to smile, and in its stead, I allow my dark-circled eyes to become puddles once more.

 

Next Thursday, I'll turn 32. I don't care much at all about my birthday anymore, as I feel is the natural progression for most adults. But I do and should care that I, Lord willing, will be able to celebrate the gift of another year lived and another yet to live.  

 

So, I took a selfie today. Yes, a real selfie. Not because I think I look awesome today or to seek your accolades...but because I want to remember this day as the day that I woke up sobbing again; I woke up having already given up, but I had both lunch and dinner and another meal put in the freezer for later all before 11:00am. It was a day where I just sat and watched my children run around the sun-kissed yard for an entire hour and didn't get distracted by anything else. 

 

It was a day I put a bow in my hair.  

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And no matter how hard and trying the battle gets and currently is, no matter how many tears I cry before 10 am each morning, or how many times I think that pain under my left rib is a sign of an impending heart attack, no matter how weak I feel or dizzy or incapable, I will keep fighting to be all of those things that make me, me.  

 

And you should be, too. We all have obstacles and shortcomings. Yours may be more mild or more severe than mine, but know that giving in and up is not an option. Motherhood especially doesn't give us that option.  

 

So the next time you feel like giving up or giving in to the circumstances, thoughts, and occurrances in your own life, look at yourself and then look at the little faces that love everything about you, and keep going forward. 

 

And then, go put a fun bow in your hair...and smile.