free writing (#write31days)

I saw this #write31days on somebody’s blog, and I’m jumping in, without thinking about it, because I know, in my bones, it’s what I want to do. Ten minutes, every day, for the month of October (only one day late).


There are a bunch of mosquitos in my house right now, and I don’t know why, but getting bit inside is much more frustrating than getting bit outside. I have a swelling bite just above my knee right now, and it’s about all I can think about.

I have been kind of floating through life for the past few weeks, for reasons I can explain in a later, more thought out post. But I have been having these moments where I look around, and think, I’m just watching all this. I’m sort of floating, and observing, but not really living my life. I feel a disconnect.

And I suddenly had this realization last night, this vivid flashback to crying to Matthew, years ago, and saying I felt so disconnected. I didn’t know what it was, then. But last night when I remembered that, I knew with certainty that it was my depression. My as yet unrealized depression.

And when I realize things like that, it makes me unspeakably sad. And angry. Both of which can be really good catalysts for continuing to move forward toward health. But I also can tend to feel, in those moments, like it’s too late. Like in the five and a half years of being a mom, I’ve missed out on so much, and it’s just too late for us. For me, for my kids.

I was talking to a friend today, and she asked me which lie is speaking the loudest to me right now, and that’s it. That it’s somehow too late. I can (and do) believe that I will get better. That I will not always be in this place. But it is so, so easy for me to believe that it’s too late to be the mom I want, to be the person I want, that the “damage” is already done in my relationship with my kids (which, come on. What am I even thinking about with that? They know I love them, and they love me. They still come to me when they hurt themselves, to be hugged to my chest. But all I can think about is the hundreds of smiles I’ve smiled at them that haven’t reached my eyes because of that disconnect.)

But it’s not too late. I know that to be true, even if the lie is so much louder.

This is not the end.



Author: rebekahkayosborn

I am attempting to capture the events, non-events, and thoughts about each, as they occur in the increasing busy-ness of life. As my professors always said "You might want to write this down." Who knows what could turn out to be important?

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