2023 kicked my ass...

2023 was a hard year. As was 2022, 2021, 2020...basically every year since I became a parent in 2009. From long drawn out court proceedings to get to adopt all four of our children, or the house fire and relocation, or the multiple mental health services our family has encountered over the years - it feels as though each year is a little tougher than the last.

This is not a post to complain. Becoming Eeyore is not my New Year's Resolution. But, being a little more transparent, being a little more honest, being a little less independent could be. I am an eternal optimist. One of my dearest friends teases that I believe even the devil is redeemable. But this optimism sometimes kills me a little. I always hope for the best and rarely prepare for the worst. I am constantly disappointed that the world is not rose-colored and that love isn't all you need. So, this year, as a form of self-care, I'm going to admit when I struggle. I'm going to ask for help when I need it. I'm going to be honest about the brokenness I experience and not put on a brave face for others. I'm going to cry in therapy instead of afterwards in the shower alone. I'm going to admit when I can't take any more and reach out instead of retreat. I'm going to acknowledge that this life I've chosen as a mother of four adopted kids is a hard one. I'm going to acknowledge that this life is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. And I'm going to experience my life as it is, not as I wish it to be.

And so my New Year's hope, for myself, and my family, is that we can learn to live this life we have for what it is and not what we think it should be. That we can learn to accept what we cannot change and try not to shoulder our burdens alone.