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Time to say goodbye

This has been a long time coming, my friends. I’ve been blogging for years now. First on Blogger and then to my little home here on WordPress. I’ve loved every piece of it. Going back through my blog is hilarious for me, and sometimes a little bit heartbreaking. I found blogging at a time when I really needed the medium to express myself and I was writing every single day. I feel like I honed my voice here and in the meantime, found many friends.

But, I’ve been thinking about this for a long while. And I think it’s time to let it go.

I told my husband last night on our drive home from our date night that I was going to do this. I knew he’d be worried, because I’m not one to let go of things I love and, if I’m being completely honest, I like the vanity of blogging. But, I told him, this isn’t a snap decision for me. It’s one that’s literally months in the making. It feels right.

My friends. For almost a decade you have come and read my stories, my poems and my anecdotes. You were with me through the move to another province, through the whole ordeal with Shawn’s heart in 2014 and through every triumph and heartbreak since then.

I’m not leaving forever. I’ll keep the blog up and who knows, maybe once in a while I might even check in, but for now, I’m going to stop being a commenter on my life and I’m going to go live it.

I love you all. Be kind to one another. And thank you for sharing my journey.



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Imposter Syndrome

I have had a HUGE struggle with identity for most of my adult life. But I hide it (or at least “hid” it) very well for a very long time. Because I had all these great ways to hide it. I was a big sister of a large family. So I was mom 2.0 for a lot of my formative years. I helped cook and changed diapers and hung laundry, not that these things are out of the norm, I am a firm believer that children should be a part of running the house, age appropriately of course. Likewise, my own kids grew up doing the same. God forbid they became adults who didn’t know how to wash their own clothes or sew a button. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. I relished that mini-mom role in the house. And then in my teen years, I was the trailblazer. That didn’t *always* serve me well, but hey, I went out there and dig into life, hard. I was never really a jock or a theatre kid or a music kid or an academic or member of student council, but I tried a little of everything. I had friends who were into New Kids and friends who were into Metallica. I was all over the place.

And then I became a mom and a wife and I sank my teeth into that role. Five kids in eight years and I stayed home with them for almost twelve years, being a full time parent. But that wasn’t enough either. I also wrote articles for the paper, ran a cake business, did night school, babysat and auditioned for the local radio morning show. I was all over the place, because I never quite knew what place I belonged in.

And then the kids started getting older and they didn’t need me 24-7 anymore so I started going to work. I’ve done so many different jobs. But had no real career. I started one, but a move meant starting from scratch yet again and without college or university to back me up, I found that finding my niche was extremely difficult.

All this to say that I’ve worn so many hats in my life, that I started to really question who I was. To the outsider looking in, I’m this woman with talents in a myriad of places and calm, wise and driven. Actual words people have used to describe me. Inwardly, I was a dirty imposter who had NO clue who she was, but had honed the art of playing roles to suit the occasion.

I’ve been doing a lot of inward reflecting lately (my therapist is so proud) and trying, not so much to “define” myself but more to find what makes me happy, and stop looking for a reason to justify it. To find what I enjoy, and stop needing to be “the best” at it, but just….enjoy it. So if I wanted to write, then write. And not compare my style, medium, successes or abilities to those of my siblings or mentors. And if I want to sew, then to sew. I don’t need to be Christian Siriano, even though that would be amazing. If I want to paint, I should paint. I don’t have to be as good as my sister or mother. I don’t have to be perfect I just have to enjoy it and be happy. I keep telling my husband that I need a large piece of soapstone because I feel like I want to carve it. Does it matter that I have no idea how? No. Because I’m just looking for what makes me happy.

Feeling like an imposter is actually not all that uncommon, once I started to talk to other people about it. But why, why do we all need to work so hard to be defined??

I’m a mom because I have kids. I’m a wife because I’m married. I’m a sister because I have siblings and a professional because I have a job.

And I’m an artist. Because I want to be. Am I famous or renowned or great? No. But I’m happy. And that feels authentic.

My studio. A big mess of three desks for writing, painting and sewing. plus a painting I recently did from a YouTube tutorial.

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