My mantra now is radical acceptance. It's radical because, for me, it means defiantly and unequivocally accepting what my anxious mind tells me is unacceptable—the messy, the imperfect, the difficult.
I've been deep in the trenches of motherhood for six years. I had three kids in a short amount of time. Pregnancy, postpartum, breastfeeding, identity crisis, repeat, repeat, repeat. There's been so much trial and error. So much learning and growing. I've been winging it, doing my best to figure things out as I go. After all, how else can you walk this journey?
How do you silence that voice? Where do you go to remind yourself of your worth, while you're reminding everyone else—your kids, your partner, your friends—of theirs?
I will remind myself to call the babysitter in the morning, buy dish soap, call the dentist, and respond to the work email, all in about 25 seconds. When I should be sleeping.
I just feel like this is my civic duty to post and tell whoever's out there right now crying that you aren't alone, that you are normal and that it's going to be alright.
