Sometimes it's still hard

When my babies were babies, I was bored. I didn't know what to do all day long. I was lonely. I didn't know why my newborns wouldn't just talk to me. That was when my depression was really obvious to me, really clear. I sat in my house with my screaming infant on my chest and cried.

It's different now. My kids are four and six. (I know! How did that happen??) They talk to me now. In fact, sometimes I wish they would just stop talking to me for a little while so I could think.

You know what though? Sometimes I'm still bored. 

Because chauffering them to activities isn't fun or interesting. Because I don't always want to read the same picture book again and again all day long. Because I don't wanna clean the house, wash the dishes, fold the laundry.

And somehow, in my brain, bored has turned into boring.

I haven't written because I'm afraid that I'm boring, that no one will care what I have to say.

Today, I remembered something. I remembered how important truth was to me in those early days when I knew I was depressed. I remember how the key for me came from reaching out, from admitting that parenting was hard, from being seen and heard, from having people say "me too."

I remembered that in those early days, I didn't try to be interesting. I didn't wonder how what I had to say was different from what anyone else had to say. I just wrote and published, told the truth, connected. I said that sometimes, it was hard.

Sometimes it's still hard. I bet I'm not the only one who thinks that sometimes their kids are boring, sometimes they want some quiet, sometimes they need to create something themselves or they're going to explode. I have a feeling you're all still out there and you all need truth as much as you ever did, whether you know it or not.

And even if you don't, I need to be here. I need to be telling truth. Hi.