I try to write. The words come but the fear follows. Worries about judgement settle near by. And the words find their escape. I am trying to be brave in this new world of mine. I know it will be good - eventually. But sometimes change can hurt.
There are moments when the bad is so bad I hurt all over. Some days my beaten body carries me to my warm bed and I nestle beside my baby girl. I look at her sweet lips pressed delicately together. I watch her feather-like curls swirl this way and that around her round lovely face. Kisses flow and our embrace tightens. She is my Ella-Shilloh.
The past year and a half she has endured this treacherous life with me inside and out. While I carried her my life endured pain that I never thought I could endure. The horrid details are imprinted in a place I seldom visit anymore. When she was born more pain followed and still kept following. I tried to find peace in happiness. Sometimes it was their waiting, other times they both escaped like runaway brides.
Lately I feel like my life is a race against time, money, and falling in over my head. You get it. You've been there. Maybe. In the last three months I have gone through homelessness (for a short time), separation, and working outside of my home for the first time in a while. My life became foreign to me. My plans floated beside me out of the reach of my future. The life of baking loaf after loaf of cinnamon bread, homeschooling, drop-ins, coffee breaks with the girls and diy-anything slipped by.
In three weeks I had changed my whole life and people couldn't recognize me anymore. The honest truth is the hardest part about this brave new world of mine is not the separation, or the homelessness, or the work - it is the part where I have to find a new dream.
Here's the fear again. Yet, I write.
