Completely Laid Bare (For Your Benefit and Mine)

For some like me, writing is like a medicine.  

I don't know of any therapy, drug, essential oil, or verse that eases my soul more than writing does.  

It's why I named this collaborative blog experiment with my sister, "Honestly:Motherhood". 

And, I don't mean honest with a side of brutality that we often find on social media. Every article and comment about motherhood seems to bring out the wolves. The opinions seem to burn our very souls, and those mothers are bearing their swords as they cut their words deep into and through the screens of so many.  

I mean being brutally honest.  

(Also, I'm a horrible liar.) 

Some of us aren't gifted with expressing our inner most on paper or through the typing of keys, but it always behooves us to be honest with one another. Lovingly, brutally, honest.  

The truth always sets us free

I'm so honest with you, and always have been, because my heart is to see you understand mine. And maybe sometimes, our heart strings will be knit together and a bond will form because we understand one another. You're understood, and so am I. We all long for that. We all long for that "I get you" moment.  

Most of all, I long for you to see that I'm not this Super Human Mothering Hero Thing that has these 100% well-behaved children, with gorgeous homemade goodness wafting about my home, and a love story that belongs in a Grimm's modern day fairytale. (okay, so maybe I do actually have that...but we still argue and I don't like when he watches The Walking Dead in my presence)

I want you to know that I don't have all of the answers. I don't have the perfect homestead, with the perfectly-perfect homeschool, and a flawless laundry system. I don't have a walk with God that you should envy, or a shoe collection that you would want to borrow from. I don't even have the typical scarf collection that most of you have. Nor am I bent to remember to wear jewelry, or shop for myself and actually purchase something. 

And just because I have five children doesn't mean that I have the patience of a Catholic Saint. I don't. Let's settle that right here, right now. (you could do it too.)

I have to work at almost everything I do.  Except for maybe nursing babies and making chocolate chip cookies. Those things I'm pretty fluidly confident in. 

Hardship exposes our faults. I'm sure you've grown tired lately of hearing of my own hardships. That's completely fine. This isn't required reading, thank goodness. I'm writing mostly for my own sanity anyway. If you stumble upon it, can relate, and/or God blesses you through it, then that's a bonus.  

I hope that you have hopefully seen through my honesty, that you too, can be honest. I don't know how you "bottlers" survive keeping your pent-up wordbank to yourselves. I can't relate to that. I'm a word-vomiter. I thrive on making sure all of this swimming in my brain gets out either through my mouth or my fingers. 

One hard thing I did today was to fill my anxiety prescription. After sitting on the thing for over two weeks and running every possible spiritual, physical, and mental scenario in my head, I went ahead and did it. This is just for now, maybe not forever. I have made great strides in my conquering of anxiety so far, but if I must wait to deal head on with my thyroid issue, and my anxiety still is crippling me most days on top of caring for five little ones, then something must give.  

I'm telling you this because I don't want attention or your pity, I'm telling you because it's the truth. Maybe by telling you, you will see that even a girl that seems to have it all together really doesn't. I have a blessed life. I have a husband that you would be envious to have. I have children that are beyond adorable and wonderful by children standards. I have awesome extended family members and most of all, a God that has done it all. He's been incredibly gracious. We aren't immune to trials and hardships. We aren't immune to heartache and confusion.   

Honestly, I just want to make a difference. Even when I'm found in the deepest of trenches, I hope you can look down and see some light. Even the faintest speck would be worth all of this.  

Love, Alicia