I’m a terrible procrastinator. I mean terrible. That’s not really why I hadn’t posted until now, but it’s right up there.
I wanted this space – my space – to be perfect. Gorgeous images, widget heaven, breathtaking design and perfect posts. Hells bells woman. You would think I’d have realised now (being worldly wise and all that) that NOTHING is ever perfect. Not in the way we imagine it should be. But, somehow it is. And we make do. And we learn and let go.
Madwoman Musing is my space to let go. I’d like it to be beautiful. I’ll get there. For now it’s my space to bitch and moan and marvel at the world, to express joy and sadness and anger and awe. Have you realised how we are so much? So much more? I hope you have. Woman particularly are prone to self-doubt, self-loathing and all the other selfs. I wish we’d be more prone to self-awareness and self-love. I’m seeing more of it though, come to mention it. More people raising others up, more woman spreading body positivity and loving their curves, their scars, their lives. The fact that some of those woman focus on their physical selves touches a chord with me.
My twenties changed me. Yes, I became a mother, and that changes you like nothing else ever could. But my twenties, and I suppose my early thirties, have shown me who I am. Who I can be. And I learned that I am strong. Fearful, but fearless too. I began a silent salute to my own self, acknowledging that I was capable, worthy. This fight will be mine until the day I die, but I’m okay with failing, falling and then getting back on the horse. I have to remind myself every so often that no-one is perfect, least of all me. And yet we are.
And while writing this, I ate half a packet of Doritos. Because I’ve been so good and I’ve not seen results. Self-fucking-sabotage is my middle name.