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t’s Friday and that means it’s time to write for five minutes, no editing, no backtracking, no over thinking (I broke all these rules last week). Lisa-Jo provides a prompt and in this community, we write, and then we encourage one another. So link it up, friends, and share the love because “Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.” E.B White via Lisa Jo.
This week’s prompt is….
Yesterday I cried hot tears of frustration and guilt in the library parking lot and then I talked myself off the ledge and into the story hour and across town for chicken nuggets and my mama and a sweet friend who always gets it.
This morning was better, and I could feel it, the metaphorical turning of the corner in my soul. I could do this stay-at-home gig more and I could write and I could coordinate and I could feel God move.
Then the three year old tantrum woke up the seventeen-month old napping and the spiral downward started spinning. Frustration began to mount and the gulping drowning in the motherhood began.
Because I am never enough.
I am never good enough or strong enough or patient enough. I can’t make the right decisions and I can’t figure this out.
I thought it would be easy. I thought it would be fulfilling in all the ways it’s not.
I thought being home would make me a better mom. That’s the honest truth and it’s an honest lie to believe.
Nothing can make me a better mom except me and Jesus.
In case you’re interested here’s a little truth about getting a girl’s ears pierced at the mall.
Lindsey P. Brackett 