It has been awhile since I have written. I have had mix feelings about blogging. It was a different place in the blogworld back when I started in 2009. My original intention was to share my story and give me a chance to try writing. This is still my intention. Please forgive my grammatical errors and ramblings. I have wanted to write but there has been just SO MUCH. So much. I need to exercise my writing muscle and this is the best place for me. Thank you for your patience. Time for more love letters…
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Dear rozannelopez.com,
Hi again. It’s time we reconnect. There’s just been so much I have wanted to say but it’s all been too much or too little. I have been drifting in and out of here like the prodigal blog writer I have become – reckless with my commitment to recording and documenting our latest endeavours. I write today because I have some explaining to do. If writing has been such a source of joy and clarity over the last few years, why haven’t I written? Where have I been placing my words? And why have I come back?
Last May, we sold our house. A year ago, on this day, I sat in front of a willow tree and asked some tough questions. The answers came flooding. A torrent of knowledge that I didn’t want to face because I knew what was ahead of me – uncertainty and a heaviness that I hadn’t encountered in almost twenty years.
Back in 2009, I started to write here. Well to be more exact, I started to write on rozannelopez.wordpress.com. It was an experiment and a release. Life with four children was a gong show and I just didn’t want to forget any of it. I wanted to celebrate it. I wanted to confirm to our family what they had told us all along as we decided to expand our family that we were a) crazy and b) we loved every bit of our crazy. My blog posts were filled with humour and sarcasm as I recounted daily living – mountains of laundry, the absurd situations I found myself in, and the things these people would say that made me love being a mom
I started writing on the original blog because I had a third degree ankle sprain which had me hobbling on crutches taking care of four kids aged 1, 3, 5, and 10 for 6 weeks. I needed somewhere to write about our “tomfoolery and shenanigans.” At the time, you could catch me laughing hysterically at any given moment due to the predicament we found ourselves in but looking back, I see that it was the greatest blessing for me as a mom. It took an insane amount of patience and creativity to take care of my peeps. Read more about that on my blog post on 25 inexpensive indoor activities for kids. All of this lead to some beautiful free play and bonding and also opened my mind to homeschooling.
I didn’t write on a public blog to gain followers, to sell something, to showcase a perfect or imperfect life. I wrote because I wanted to share with family and friends what was going on in our little corner of the world. I wanted to connect with others out there who were going through the same things. I needed a place to land and sort things out. I wanted to share my story.
I want to continue writing to share my story and parts of our story.
Over the last few months, I have only written snippets of my life on instagram. Snapshots of what is going on in front of me. I haven’t wanted to write more than that. I have been afraid to write. I haven’t even written in my journal. I look back on what I have written and I am amazed at the power of the words and what has come to pass from writing things down. The power of my intention when I write. It lead us to where we are right now and I have been barely able to keep up with living this life we have chosen. I have been in pieces over the last year and now am starting to put it all together. Writing here helps me connect the dots and keeps me accountable. Over the last year, I didn’t have the mental or emotional strength to connect the dots. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want the answers or clarity. I didn’t want to dive any deeper with my thoughts. I was already trying to stay afloat in the deep end. We were in so deep as we uprooted our life in a matter of months. My words lead me down rabbit holes. I didn’t need to go into that space when I had to focus on action.
What was happening over this last year couldn’t be written about. It has been such a private journey for my family. The emotions have been so real and raw that I didn’t feel right about laying it all out as we were feeling it. It wasn’t the right time to write about it. I could only stay present with them and keep moving. This was the phase in my life where my body took over. The “doing” part. The “hands on” phase. We were in constant movement this year and when I stopped for a moment to think, I risked paralysis. I risked breaking down in grief over the past or feeling overwhelmed at what needed to be done.
I remember a moment when a child was breaking down and instead of consoling them, I continued to pack. I asked them politely to go somewhere else because I just couldn’t go to that place with them in that moment because I wouldn’t be able to get back up. I think I said, “I can’t indulge this right now. I’m sorry but you have to leave the room.” We were about to fly out in a couple of hours and leave a child behind and I had to store those emotions for when I could fully allow myself to feel them without a time constraint. It wasn’t my proudest moment as a mother. In fact, this year has been one of my most challenging ones as a mother. There were more than a few moments I wish I handled better.
When I look back and read you, you patient and steadfast blog, I notice the gaps in my writing. Where there are gaps, they need me. When I can’t be here with you, I am focused on riding a wave with them. As they get older, I am not prepared to share what the waves look like. I am prepared to share what they feel like to me, as a mother. When I have been consistent in my writing, I am in my creative space – my heart. I am ready to settle into my heart again. I am getting used to the intermittent aching and growing pain of a mama’s heart that has to let her children go or stand strong as they get angry or are in pain that can’t be fixed with a hug and a kiss.
Today I read some old posts and came across this one which made me laugh: scumbags and superstars. Whether I am a scumbag or superstar, I am doing what I am capable of doing in that moment. Sometimes it’s enough for one of them, some of them, and even all of them. Sometimes it just isn’t enough for anyone.
A beautiful friend just told me how much I inspired her and my commitment to my children after watching #4 perform aerial silks publicly. I downplayed my efforts and she scolded me. She said to take the credit. I didn’t tell her this but I cried because I never like to take the credit. It’s not that I am being humble. I want neither – the blame or the credit. But after a year of holding them all and navigating how to be a mother when everything is up in the air, I am going to take the credit today. Today it’s Mother’s Day in Canada. My mom is there. My daughter is there. I feel them both. I read the love letters my other children have made for me today. They remind me that they see me. They see me both as a scumbag and superstar. Most importantly, they see me as doing the best that I can.
Thank you old friend for being here so I can remember all the ways I have done the best that I could. Thank you for holding my stories so that I can read them when I am ready to look back and look forward.
I have so much to share. I can’t wait to get started. See you tomorrow.
Sincerely,
Rozanne
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