Saturday, June 19, 2021


Life is kicking my butt. 

I wish, at 44, I could finally say: 

I got this. Been there. Done that. I'm through that valley and all that is left is the trees and the mountains and sitting around eating nuts and berries.

(Man, writing the number 4-4 is incredible. I am 44? How in the world did that happen? How can I possibly be getting close to 50? Where in the world does time go?)

I know we never arrive. That we are always growing and learning and changing and evolving. But man, you'd think at 44 the majority of the work would be done.

I'm battling feeling overwhelmed. And I know it's because it's June. June on a farm is TOUGH STUFF. It's the time when the meat chickens are present, and that alone takes eight weeks of nose to the grindstone type of effort.

I've done something to my knee.

My weight is higher than I want it to be. 

The Emergency Department is kicking John's butt. Like kicking h-a-r-d. His shifts are brutal and packed and completely overwhelming. There is hope on the horizon but it isn't here yet.

On a farm, plants die if they aren't watered. Animals get eaten by predators if they aren't put to bed for the night. Water must be available. There is no ability to say: "I just can't do this." 

You gotta do it.

Same with motherhood. I don't have the option to say: "I don't want to take care of these children." 

They require complete devotion.

So I'm struggling. Battling some mild depression and anxiety. I never hesitate to speak TRUTH about my life. For people reading. And for future me reading this Blog someday, remembering that there were hard times.

This is a hard time.

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