Somewhere along the line I lost my confidence. I can blame it on the bipolar but it's probably just laziness. Laziness and a lack of feeling that my blog mattered. Even to me.
I didn't write about Everett being born, which I regret immensely. I didn't write about my second foray into the mental hospital which was just last October. That was something I wanted to post for future reference. I haven't had the energy, the purpose or the words to document my life the way I wanted to when I started this blog. I had such high hopes for it back then. I'd write every few days, even if it was just a little, expressing my thoughts and feelings with great aplomb.
Instead, a self-consciousness overcame my brain and I began worrying more about how people would view me as apposed to how I wanted to see me.
I began comparing myself to others who had better pictures, better words and better lives.
I sit here contemplating what to write about. My life isn't the most exciting. I'm an anxious, bipolar, stay at home mom who doesn't have grand adventures anymore.
That last sentence makes me a little sad.
I love my life and the people who share it but sometimes I feel I've lost my purpose. The gospel speaks of talents and gifts but I don't know that I've ever found mine. If I have, maybe the many medications have washed them from memory.
So here we are again.
I know I've repeated myself in a dozen different posts about doing better at writing, but this time I mean it. Even if it's just being a little bit better.
