I’m Afraid to Write

I’m Afraid to Write.

Afraid of rejection.



Making a mistake.


Fear is holding me back.

Fear of failure.

Fear of not being good enough.

The best.





But most of all, I’m afraid that if I don’t write it down and don’t say what I want to say, and no one reads it or sees me then that’s the biggest mistake of all.

So I will write. And it may not be perfect, but it will be raw and real and honest and that’s what makes me ready.

PPD: 7 Years Later

It has been seven years since I was hospitalized for Postpartum Depression. There are so many thoughts swirling in my head about that time in my life. It still boggles my mind that I was ever admitted to a psychiatric inpatient hospital. I said it then, and it has stayed true seven years later: Postpartum Depression was paradoxically the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. It was certainly the scariest time in my life, but it has also taught me more Truths about myself than I ever dared to know. Going through PPD has opened doors to my soul I never deemed possible.

Postpartum depression taught me how to manage my stress and anxiety. I wasn’t even aware I had childhood anxiety until I dove into numerous hours of therapy. I sometimes imagine what my life would be like now had I not gone through what I did, and I cringe at the thought. I cringe because I envision myself utterly uptight. I know I would still be sweating the small stuff and suffering from panic attacks. But mostly, I know I would be missing out on LIFE. I would be stuck in “playing it safe” and always reaching for the Easy Button. Now, let me not be mistaken… it’s not that I don’t experience insecurities and difficulties like everyone else, but I’m not paralyzed or plagued by them anymore. 

Postpartum depression has guided me towards a more grateful heart. It has helped me see the gratitude in any situation. Is it hard to do this all the time? Yes, of course; I’m only human (with three kids!) But the amount of therapy I’ve experienced has helped me implement this practice into my daily life. I believe this will always be a work in progress, but “practice makes progress” not perfection. 

Most importantly, PPD led me to Catholicism. I haven’t shared with many people the story of my “Awakening”, but it happened during my stay in the hospital. The priest who married my husband and me, visited and performed the sacrament of “Anointing of the Sick” (something most people receive on their death bed). It was in that moment that I felt The Holy Spirit envelop me with His love and say, “It’s okay. I am here. I will never leave you.” It is bringing me to tears just writing these words and revisiting that precious moment. I used to repeatedly ask myself, “Why me?” Why did I *get* PPD? But going through what I did was suppose to happen to me. It was GOD’S WILL, and I believe that with my whole heart.

Even though life is seriously crazy, demanding, messy, and chaotic with an elementary school-aged child, preschooler, and infant at home, I’m much happier and confident with who I am NOW, than I ever was before. 

And I have Postpartum Depression to thank for that.

loyally (& always learning),

Ballet & The Boobie Barre

If you would have told me five months ago I would be nursing my baby in the middle of ballet class, I would have thought you were a crazy person!

Five months ago I was struggling so much with breastfeeding. Every other day I wanted to quit. Practically every other day I was visiting my lactation nurse. I was constantly text messaging friends for support. I was telling my husband, “Don’t let me give up!”

And look at me now:

It brings a whole new meaning to “The Boobie Barre”!

I also didn’t think I would be getting back into dance at three months postpartum. But I did it! I was determined to stick to my mantra of “just get moving!” I’m so thankful that my ballet class allows me to wear Adelaide, and bring Emmalyn. This class is something I look forward to each and every week. Sometimes I am super stressed leading up to it (…Emmalyn doesn’t want to get her shoes on, I accidentally take a wrong turn and end up on the interstate, Adelaide’s crying, etc., etc.) BUT I leave it all on the dance floor!

I couldn’t do the class without the amazing women and teacher who help and support me each week. They help me schlep my entire house baby stuff into the studio, and hold Adelaide while I do pirouettes across the floor.

Oh! I could easily make excuses for not going. I could easily say: “It’s just too much work… It’s too far of a drive… I’m too tired…” because let’s face it–all the latter are completely true.

But it’s so worth it. 

The hour-and-a-half my feet glide across the dance floor is therapy to me. It’s hot and sweaty therapy! For that hour-and-a-half I get to be me.

I never foresaw nursing my baby at the ballet barre in my future. But looking down at her sweet cherub face, catching her smiling at me mid-plies, is quite magical. Sharing my passion with my littlest one is special and unique, and well–just magical.

Five months ago I would have thought you were crazy for saying this was in my future.

And now? I’m the crazy person.

And I love it!



P.S. Do you think So You Think You Can Dance will add another genre of dance next season called Boobie Ballet? 😉

*TELL ME: What do you like to do for exercise post-babies? What *excuses* are holding you back? I encourage you do go after what you want–and make it happen! You are way more capable than you think!

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How to Make Friends: Building Your Community Wherever You Go

I’ve been fairly shy my entire life. The whole “putting myself out there thing” has always caused me quite a bit of anxiety. I used to get butterflies in my stomach whenever my dad would have me call someone on the phone to thank them for a gift. I’d silently wish for the answering machine to pick up instead. Just thinking about it now brings back those all-too familiar flutters.

When my husband joined the military, we knew moving around frequently was something our family would have to get used to doing. In just the past four years alone, we have lived in three different cities. I was born and raised in the same house for eighteen years, and only ventured forty-five minutes down the road to “go off to” college. To say I like being in my “comfort zone” is an understatement.

Living in a new town requires you to put yourself out there and make new friends. This is something that has never been easy for me. I get so nervous approaching people. I feel as if I’m bothering them, or interrupting whatever it is they’re doing.

However, over the years, I’ve come to realize that people are usually just as nervous as I am when it comes to making new friends. Just like me, they’re waiting for someone to make the first move.

I admit, it’s definitely less intimidating to meet new people when you have a child. It’s a lot easier–in my opinion–to open up a conversation with “How old is your son?” rather than “How old are you?” But my problem wasn’t necessarily starting the conversation, per say, it was building upon it. I would be at various children’s play places and make small-talk with other moms, but that was the extent of it. I might bump into them again at another event and smile politely, or I might never see them again. I’d come home and my husband would ask, “Did you meet anyone new today?”

I’d tell him about so-and-so, to which he’d ask, “Well did you get her number?”

Umm, no… We would joke that making new mommy-friends was like dating all over again. My husband challenged me numerous times, “Why not? Why didn’t you ask her if she works or stays at home? Why didn’t you ask her where she’s from?” and other various “get-to-know-you” questions.

Repeatedly my response was, “Well, I don’t know. I guess I was too nervous.”

My husband’s response was, “Don’t you think she may have been just as nervous as you?”

He made a valid point. I pondered a lot about it: If I was nervous and shy about striking up a conversation that lasted more than thirty seconds, maybe other moms felt this way too?

“Make the first move,” my husband would say, “I think you’ll surprise yourself.”

So I decided to put on my Big Girl Pants, step out of my comfort zone and make the first move. And when I did, the results were amazing.

One of my first instances of “putting myself out there” led to some life-changing and memorable events. I used to take my oldest daughter, Emmalyn, to a weekly music class. There was another little girl there, the same age as Emmalyn, named Whitney, who usually came with her nanny. One day her mom brought her. I heard my husband’s voice in the back of my mind say, “Just talk. Ask for her number. Just do it.” When the class was over, I found myself conversing with this mom, who was super pleasant and equally engaging. She told me she recently quit her job to be a stay-at-home-mom and was looking to meet new moms. Ding! Ding! Ding! Hello, Opportunity.

I took a deep breathe. “We should exchange numbers and get the girls together for a playdate sometime,” I spoke up.

And thus became the start of a beautiful friendship.

On our first playdate, we learned that not only did we attend the same college, but were a part of the same sorority–just a few years a part! Our friendship quickly grew over the next few months, as did our daughters’. They were soon calling each other “Ems” and “Whit” and telling everyone they were “best friends.” Somewhere along the way, I too, found a best friend.

As our friendship was developing, I knew a move with the military was inevitable. It would have been easy to not let myself get involved, knowing we would be moving in just a few short months. Yes, it would have been easy, but it wouldn’t have been fair. Friendships don’t have to be One-Size-Fits-All. I can’t imagine my life without Meri and her sweet daughter Whitney, and I know my daughter feels the same way.

My relationship with Meri is just one example of how putting yourself out there can have such rewarding results. When we moved seven hours away last year, I had to make new friends all over again. It still didn’t feel “normal” for me to make the first move and ask for another mom’s phone number, but I knew the importance of building a community. I didn’t want my only friend to be my three year-old. It took some time and a few missed opportunities for me to realize how silly I was being. “Just do it,” I could hear my husband say.

So I did. I began interacting with other moms at play places, eagerly exchanging contact information. It felt a little foreign and quite random at times, but it was so worth it. I’ve exchanged numbers with moms at parks, in department stores in the baby section, and at Story Times. When I would come home with a new mom’s number, I’d be all giddy–like I was fifteen years-old again, sometimes even throwing in a happy-dance for good measure.

Building a community with other moms is vital. I’ve learned a lot from them, and I’ve learned a lot about me through them. It’s fun watching our children develop friendships, but it’s even more fun when we leave the kids at home and meet for breakfast after dropping them off at school, or grab a glass of wine for Girls’ Night, or meet once a month for Book Club.

I’m so thankful I decided to abandon my inhibitions and anxiety over meeting new people.

Imagine all I would have missed out on if I hadn’t stepped out of my comfort zone and introduced myself? A whole heck of a lot–that’s what!


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 This is an oldie, but goodie. I have several friends who could currently use some prayers and encouragement. I want to share this with them, and you. It’s one of my favorites–from May 2011.


Have you ever tried worrying and being grateful at the same time?

Go ahead. Try. I’ll wait.
Did you do it?
Didn’t think so.
The antidote for worry is gratitude and well-being. It’s impossible to worry about something when you’re busy being grateful. Unfortunately, the same is true the other way around. You can’t be grateful for something if you’re too damn busy worrying about a million other things.
Have you ever been stuck smack in the middle lane of the interstate during 7AM traffic? Do you cope by blowing your horn, or huffing and puffing because you’re going to be late to work, only to get yourself so worked up, you actually break a sweat? And what does all that blood, sweat, and tears (I exaggerate. Kinda.) get you? A headache? Maybe two inches of black top, only to be cut off by a punk on a motorcycle? …aaaannnd, now we’re cursing.
Next time, instead of focusing on the negatives, why don’t you try being grateful? Katie, how can I be grateful for morning traffic?! Well, my friends (& I hope we can be friends!) it’s simple. You have to change your way of thinking and count your blessings: I may be sitting in bumper-to-bumper agony, but at least I have a car. There are people who have never even set foot in a car, let alone have paved roads. I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful I have the money (at least for now) to fill up my tank. I’m grateful this seat belt is keeping me safe. I’m grateful I don’t have to walk to work. I’m grateful for my air conditioning & music to keep me company. And if, and only if, I’m stopped at a traffic light, I’m grateful for Facebook on my iPhone.
Have we forgotten about that punk on the motorcycle yet?
Good! And trust me, it works in all sorts of situations: Baby screaming? I’m grateful she has working lungs. Shins and calves burning after that two-mile run? I’m grateful I have legs to run on. With practice and determination, you’ll soon be riding the “Grateful Train” first-class to “Calmville.” Scout’s Honor.
Now how did I get to be all expert-y, noble & wise about gratitude?
{Hi, my name is Sarcasm. Nice to meet you.}
I am who I am today because of a nasty thing called Postpartum Depression; or “Hell,” for short. The past six months of my daughter’s life have been a whirlwind for me, to say the least. I, probably like most women, skimmed over the PPD sections in the baby books since ‘yanno… never thought it would happen to me. Ain’t that how the story goes?
Anywho… long story short: I found myself hospitalized for a week at a behavioral center. Most terrifying and astounding life-changing experience of my life! I’d like to share with you my personal testimony after spending an additional month in an outpatient recovery program:
Written on February 15, 2011
I have certainly come a long way in this ever so challenging journey. This has been by far the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. My dream has always been to be a mom, so when the foreign and nightmarish thoughts hit me like a brick, it scared the living day lights out of me, to say the least. The anxiety attacks were like nothing I’ve ever experienced or even seen before. I didn’t know who I was anymore.
The best decision I ever made was going to the hospital. Although it was absolutely terrifying at first, it was the right place for me to be. And PHP [the Partial-Hospitalized Program] has continued to help me tremendously. I have learned so much—especially about myself. I never knew I had so much strength and determination.
I learned that in order to gain massive momentum in my recovery, I had to get moving! That became my new mantra. I lacked a lot of motivation when I first stepped foot in here, but I soon realized it didn’t mean I couldn’t still do the things I used to love. I am capable. I am capable of so much. It took a lot of practice, but my mood is finally catching up.
I made a promise to myself to never give up no matter what! I wanted things to change, so with the picture of my husband and daughter in my mind, I knew the only way I was going to make that happen was to JUST DO IT! Even if I didn’t feel like it, I made myself do it because it was the right thing for my recovery. If I didn’t change my thoughts and behavior, then things were going to stay exactly as they were, and I definitely didn’t want that! I took my first step, stayed committed to my recovery, and things started becoming easier day by day.
Seven weeks ago, I was crying and screaming on the bathroom floor, begging to die; and now I’m playing flag football and caring for my daughter like I always knew I could. It’s hard to imagine I once thought about taking my own life, and now I would give it away in a heartbeat if it were to benefit my daughter.
I despised the fact that I got Postpartum Depression. I thought, Why me? Why is God punishing me? But now? Now, I see the beauty of this experience and how it has strengthened me. Every day I’m a little bit more of who I want to be. Every day I become a better person; and for that, I am truly grateful.
You can’t have a testimony without a test, right?
A fellow patient—a mom, who lost her twenty-six year-old [former soldier & current police officer] son, to a heinous murder as he was called to a robbery, told me I inspired her. Well if that doesn’t humble your heart, I don’t know what will! If she had the courage to dust herself off, then I surely didn’t have any excuses. I could hold my baby in my arms—she no longer could.
Life isn’t always easy. But it sure is worth the fight.
So that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it! I’m Katie. A devoted wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend, who strives to be the best I can be, every day, for all the right reasons.
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Emmalyn’s 1st Day of School!

“I can do anything.” –Madeline

That’s the mantra I went in with today as I dropped Emmalyn off at her first day of school. (so maybe we watched Madeline a bazillion three times yesterday while it was raining) I just can’t believe my little girl started school already! & I can’t believe I’m old enough to actually have a little girl starting school.

Granted, she’s only there for an hour and a half today–but still!

For this first week, the children only go for a limited amount of time to get them acclimated to the classroom. Next week, Emmy will go two days a week, for four and a half hours at a time.

Seriously, this whole time leading up to her going to school I’ve had My Brave Face on, and truly I believed it. But, y’all, when I drove away from her school this morning, it hit me!


I cried painful sobs all the way home.

& it wasn’t even because she was crying, because she wasn’t.

I think the depth of the whole situation took me by surprise. My little girl is growing up. Sounds terribly cliche, I know… but it’s true. She baffles me everyday with her ever-growing conversations and stories, her kindness (we’ll leave out the part about her ever-growing temper), and her sense of wonder and curiosity.

You might wonder why, as a stay-at-home-mom I’d be sending my child to school? Why not soak up every.single.moment? Well, to be honest, we were getting bored with one another. It’s not like we didn’t go out and explore almost everyday (and with other kids) but I could tell that I wasn’t giving my daughter enough at home. She needed something else. 

And I’m okay with that. Not an ounce of guilt. 

She’s insanely curious and always getting into things. When we moved to our new town, we literally went “school shopping” until we found what we thought was the perfect fit for Emmalyn. This school focuses more on the child’s freedom to explore, discover, and select their own work. They empower independence through asking questions, puzzles, and focus on learning without having to be “spoon-fed” by the teacher. This is something we felt was important for Emmalyn based on her personality. 

This whole summer I’ve been extremely excited for her new adventure! Practically every day we talked about her “First Day of School”, and Emmy would always ask, “You’ll come with me?”

Well, umm… not exactly. I feared she would cry and protest on her first day considering how attached she is to me, but Nope! She was a champ! I was so proud to see her walk confidently into her classroom with her head held high. I think that’s the pivotal moment that sent me over the edge into Cry Town… Seeing my little love take on such a brave task.

So how did she do?!

She was super! Which bring me to my next Madeline mantra: “I’d rather be super everything than super nothing.” She came out of that classroom with the world at her fingertips. Smiling. Accomplished. Happy. Ready to do it again!

And Mommy was relieved! …and glad to have my baby back! 

& what made it all the more sweeter was having Daddy surprise us at pick-up. Icing on the cake to the Best First Day of School!

The first thing Emmalyn told us about her day was that she made new friends.

Can I get an Awwwww???

I’m so proud of my little love and can’t wait to see what she does next!


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Stop! Being! Lame!

Lately I’ve been asking myself, “Has being a mom made me lame?”
Reason being
The hubs and I acquired (free) tickets to our alma mater‘s home game a couple of weeks ahead of time, but we waited until the day before to call anyone to see what their plans were. {we’re last-minute like that} This whole time we had been planning on taking Emmy with us, although we never really discussed the logistics of bringing a toddler to a college football game. Until the morning of. When it was raining. Then reality set in & I began premeditating the scenario in my head:
Do we bring the stroller? Or wagon? Or neither?
She’ll probably be okay with holding our hands for all of two minutes. So that means, she’s either on Daddy’s shoulders or Mommy’s hip.
I thought… it will be fun to *show*her*off* to people, but then I rethought that one through… they’ll all be shwasted any way…
Then, I continued in my daydreaming mental state… Is she really going to sit and watch the game? 
Oh, but wait. I forgot that it was raining that morning. That posed a whole other list of logistics:
How would Emmy feel with a soggy, rain water-filled diaper?
The thought of handling a wet diaper bag, and a wet baby… no, scratch thata Wet And Very Wiggly Toddler… made me question going to the game altogether! 
I looked at Blake and said, “Well, if you want to go, I’ll go.” To which B responded, “Well, I was only going because I thought you wanted to go.” To which I asked, “Well then why are we even going?”
All of these scenes played out in my mind made me extra sleepy; and wasted a lot of time, let me tell ‘ya! Instead of putting a plan into action, B and I ended up taking a nap with the babe. 
How lame are we!? I even said to my husband… “Is this what we’ve become? Why are we so lame?” Then I satisfyingly drifted off into dreamland…. sleeping through the first-half of the game.
When we woke up, we realized just how pathetic we were being; threw ourselves together, and within ten minutes we were out the door. Baby in tote. No stroller.
We walked in just after the third quarter, and while we didn’t get to tailgate with our friends, or show off our pride ‘n joy, we did have a fun time as a family of three. & Emmy was a happy camper the whole time.
{even though she looks so serious in this pic}
I learned a great lesson here, people: 
Plan ahead 
& make things happen! 
You cannot recover the occasion after it’s missed, nor the time after it’s gone.  
Never again will I let life pass me by like that!!
If you’re a mommy, do you ever feel like motherhood has turned you into a lame-o?

“Learn New Words” … Lesson Learned!

When I had set out to write a post yesterday, I wanted to write freely, quickly, and in the moment. Call it a little experiment, if you will. Instead of waiting for The Perfect Piece of Writing, I wanted to let my fingers do the talking, and not give it a second-thought. I needed to take a leap-of-faith and stop over-thinking-slash-analyzing-slash-beating-myself-upover not writing something “good enough”.

While Blake was at work and Emmy was napping, I pulled out my laptop and didn’t look back. I closed my eyes and wrote exactly what I heard, and what I felt. With the television off, the sound of the clock and the rhythm of my heart beating were immanent.
Before hitting “Publish”, I read once-over only for spelling typos, and then that was it. 
No over-thinking. No second-guessing.
It felt good.
However, what I didn’t take into consideration was how my piece would translate to my daily 150+ other readers… kinda um, well… depressing.
Often times I get embarrassed when I read my writing aloud to my husband. I don’t know why?!
Regardless, I knew I needed his opinion.
After prepping him with the scenario of the latter, and sucking up my embarrassment, my husband said intently, “You need to learn new words.”
Flashbacks of last-minute cramming sessions for middle school vocabulary tests awkwardly danced through my head. I’ve never been very word-worthy—at least in my opinion. But I knew instantly what word jumped out at him as alarming: Nothingness.
And it made my husband feel about ye big when I sheepishly chose that word. Which is when I realized that word gives off the connotation of worthlessness or insignificance, both of which I know I am not! When I wrote, “staring out into nothingness,” what I really meant was “space”, where my mind was clear, and I was at peace.
So I took my husband’s sound advice and pulled out the thesaurus. And by “pulled out” I mean typed “nothingness” onto Thesaurus.com.
Scanning through the synonyms, I spotted “free space”. That’s more like it. From there, free space led me to “diddly-squat”, “goose egg”, and “hill of beans.”
If I had to choose a new word for “nothingness”, I think I’d choose “diddly-squat”. Yes… Staring out into diddly-squat.Sounds much more light-hearted, and totally UN-depressing, don’t you think?

PPD + My First 5K

My journal entry from February 2, 2011


Written first-thing in the morning:
Affirmation of the day: I AM CAPABLE.
Today, I am staying home from the partial-hospitalization program to be with Emmy. My therapist suggested this so I can put my coping skills (and everything I’ve learned) to use. Then tomorrow, I can talk about it in group therapy.
I am feeling confident that this day will go well. I know what I need to do, and I can do it. I will persevere!
Written later that same day: 
I am feeling discouraged right now. 3-4pm seems to be the time of day that gets me down. It’s really frustrating. Right now, I feel like, “How can I do this everyday? Is this really my life? When will it all be over?” I know I’m not supposed to project predicaments into the future because I’m going to feel different then, than I do now, but I can’t help it. I don’t know what I need. 

I was doing so well this morning. 

But now? 

Now I feel very discouraged and incapable. 

It scares me because it’s not who I really am. 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

My dream was to be a stay-at-home-mom.  

So why is this happening to me?  

Why am I so miserable? 

This isn’t supposed to happen to me. 

I feel like I’m being punished.

– – – –

The latter is just an example of how mixed up my emotions could be. I felt like this e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y. for months. I’d wake up chipper and confident, then throughout the day I’d feel like my world was crumbling apart and I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. 
Over and over… again and again. It. Was. Exhausting!
I recently ran my first 5K. It’s the most I’ve ever ran my entire life. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to give up and walk. But I promised myself from the beginning that walking was not an option. I was going to run the whole damn thing! The race wasn’t a straight line. No, it would be too easy if you could see the finish line. Instead, the race took me through neighborhoods, downtown offices, and a lake–turning and swerving all the way. [Just ask my poor unsuspecting collar bone who got a nice jab from the elbow of a 6’5” man.]

& just like the race, Postpartum Depression took me through numerous turns and swerves. As soon as I was confident that my triumph was finally coming to an end, BAM! another curve would pop up.

Damnit… it’s not over yet. 

Okay, just a little bit more….

You can do it. 

Just keep breathing.

Keep moving.

Keep doing.

You’ll get there. 


Don’t walk. 

Don’t let yourself down. 

I imagined my husband in the sea of cheering people, running alongside me, shouting encouraging words: You can do it, Katie. You’re doing great, Sweetheart. You’re almost there. Just a little bit longer. Look! You can see the finish flags!

My husband was my #1 supporter and encourager during the toughest stretch of my life. Not a day went by where he didn’t tell me he believed in me–that I’m a wonderful mother. I was surrounded by many people who told me it would get better. And just like the race had to come to an end at some point, so did my postpartum depression.

I just had to keep moving, believing, and persevering.




Making things happen, yo!

I bow down to Working Mothers. I don’t know how they do it! I teach dance one day a week (next year will be two days), but I don’t consider that “work”. It’s more of a hobby to me. It’s hard enough to take care of a soon-to-be (eek!) toddler, but throw in a full-time job (?!!) well, that’s SuperMom status to me, girlfriend!
Being a SAHM can be difficult on a girl’s mental capability. Singing “Wheels on the Bus” 56.5 gazillion times, putting on tea parties, banging on Tupperware drums, and modeling macaroni-and-cheese spotted T-shirts all day can take a toll on Yours Truly. 
The aforementioned is precisely why I’m expanding my horizons. It’s been a long time coming, but through a lot of soul-searching and prayer, I’ve decided to delve into the world of freelance writing. With the professional instruction of Meagan Francis ( The Happiest Mom), and the encouragement and constructive criticism of my peers, I am jumping in & going for it!
Only a few weeks into Meagan’s class, and I’ve already learned so much about myself. Currently, I’m working on a postpartum depression essay (which is harder than I thought because it’s such a long and personal story), figuring out how I want to market myself, and experimenting with pen names….
I’m excited to welcome this new and challenging journey in my life–it’s exactly what I need to balance my sanity. I realized I needed something maturely stimulating; something that involves learning and adult interaction. Sure, I’ll still talk about poop on occasion, but I’ll be doing something mature with that poop! ;o)
It’s a very vulnerable decision for me–as I’m not notoriously known for putting myself out there; but if I want to live life to its fullest, and get something I’ve never had, then I have to do something I’ve never done. This includes hitting bumps and making (probably embarrassing) mistakes along the way, but I’m OK with that. I’m only human.
So with that said, wish me luck and courage! 🙂