I didn’t tell him that the reason I went out last night with him was because I knew it was a situation I would normally have avoided: a room full of people I don’t know, making small talk abound; a night that didn’t even begin until 9:30pm, and in this case didn’t end until 1:30am when I collapsed into bed.
I didn’t tell him that I went last night because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it, do it well, and make it out alive.
I can’t recall if it was last night or this morning, but I was laying in bed and thought: I feel as though we’re different people now. I feel like I can’t relate to her the way I used to; I thought we’d at least always have that. I’m trying to recall what we have in common, beyond motherhood, but I’m drawing a blank.
I read in a book the other day that too many people feel they go through their lives not really living it, rather, simply existing. Reading that was like a punch in the stomach. “That’s me,” I thought. “That’s exactly how I feel.” And after I caught my breath I thought, ok,now that I’ve said it, what can I do about it?
So here it is, the truth: I’m too hard on myself. I can’t be everything for everyone and I can’t sacrifice what I want it order to make everyone else happy.
I’m a good mother. I may be impatient at times and need time away from DJ, but I am a good mother.
Stop being so hard on yourself, Rachel.
You are a good mother.
As I collapsed onto the bed in tears, all I could think was: this is the second time I’ve cried this week and it’s only Wednesday.
Excerpts from my journal, inspired by Ronnie.