Me

Normally when I write, I start one of two ways.  I start with an idea or story and mull it over in my head until I hear it work.  Or, I start in the moment and write where I am and see where I end up.

I don't have an idea today.  And if I start in the moment, with my fluffy red socks, with Peg Plus Cat on the TV, with my pajama clad daughter's foot on my stomach, with the empty coffee cup I keep absentmindedly lifting to my lips, with the overflowing laundry basket in the middle of the room, if I tell the truth as it is now, will anyone still be reading?

There's truth and then there's Truth.

Every morning, I'm on the couch.  The TV's on.  I stare absent-mindedly at Twitter, longing for a time when Twitter felt like playing, like I was at a party where everyone liked me, where it felt like a break instead of feeling like nothing.

Every day I empty my dishwasher.  Every day I fold laundry.  Every day I get dressed.  I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I watch my daughter color.  I read Olivia, Green Eggs and Ham, Madeline.

That's what I do.

That's not who I am.

I am a mother.  I am a reader.  I am a writer.  I am compassionate and empathic.  I am wise.  I am goofy.  I like wordplay.  I like crossword puzzles.  I like psychology and brain theory.  I live in my head and in the computer and in the world.  I believe in the power of words and the power of love.  I believe that the ordinary things matter as much as the extraordinary.

I am someone.  I am not what I do.

I want to write the truth, I want to be authentic.  I want to be the same me everywhere I go.  I want to live a life out loud, to not be ashamed or afraid.  But I'm not my laundry, and I'm not my depression, and (even though I really forget this one) I'm not my kids.

I want to tell the truth, but I don't even really know what it is.  There's something in my head that I desperately want to get out there but I don't know how to say it or how to even hear it.  I want to be seen.  Me.  The real me.  Sometimes I feel like the more I talk, the less people understand.