Whiskey on the Rocks

Back in the day, before the baby and husband, I had a certain routine to writing.  Most likely, I was sad or mad  about something (usually boy related), I’d listen to my music, something emotional, and I’d pour a glass of whiskey.  I’d drink until I was ready to write, and then, I’d pour it out (the feelings, not the whiskey.)  Song lyrics were my personal favorite expression of myself… I could be as vague as possible, and only I would know who I was really speaking to or about.
 
And back then, it was just me, so I didn’t care if whatever boy it was became butt-hurt that I wrote an expose on them.  I had no risks; I was free to say whatever I wanted, maybe barring the disapproval of my parents.
 
Nowadays, things are different.  Everyone is on social media, and I no longer represent just myself.  I represent my husband, my daughter, and my stepsons.  It becomes harder and harder every day to separate “Kimberly” the person from “Kimberly” the special needs mom, “Kimberly” the stay at home wife, and “Kimberly” the stepmom.
 
I feel the need to say, that I love all those roles that I fill.  But writing, it’s a different part of me that was always more honest, more raw.  I always felt like writing was this avenue to discuss the things that maybe I couldn’t just post as a Facebook status, if that makes sense?
 
Like, I miss my mom.  But I don’t want to write about it, because, I fear she will see and then it will open this conversation that I’m just not ready for yet.  And then, if you don’t know me well, you don’t know why I can’t have a conversation… I want to work through the emotions, but I just can’t do it the way I have in the past because everything is far too open and fluid nowadays.  I also worry about what the mothers of my stepsons will think.  I don’t want them to doubt my ability to care & love their children because I have human moments.  I constantly fear that I will be judged for being honest.
 
The bible states that the truth will set us free, and I think that says a lot on it’s own.  I’m starting to learn that maybe only God needs to know the whole truth.  Maybe I can pray and know that God is listening, and he will help me work through these issues and emotions without writing them down.
 
The last few days I’ve been obsessively organizing and cleaning my house.  I do that, when I get stressed and need to take the energy out somewhere.  I couldn’t sleep last night… I just couldn’t get my mind to let go of the endless list of tasks I had made for myself.  I suppose, when I feel out of control, I control the things that I can, like the environment I’m living in.   I stack books and pour through photographs and fill trash bag after trash bag of the clutter in my world.
 
And the goal is that, in the end, I feel better.
 
Lately, though, every night I still find myself praying to God to give my mind peace and to help me “give it to God.”  I want so badly to fix all the problems in my life, but I just don’t believe I can anymore, and that burden overwhelms me.  I need to just, give it to God.  He can carry the burden… and he’s proven it to me time and time again.  Letting go of the idea I may have the ability to control my life is excruciating… but yet, I try and try again.
 
So here’s to good (or maybe subpar depending on the budget) whiskey.  Here’s to listening to Butch Walker & Sublime & Jack’s Mannequin & Taking Back Sunday when I can’t seem to word my own feelings.  Here’s to the nights I just take all that heaviness and I put it into something I can look at tomorrow and say, I fixed that, even if it was only labeling the bins in my pantry.
 
God’s got this, right?20180723_230910

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