A paradox. The more I create, the more stimulated, alive, and happy I am - the less I sleep.
I have a huge amount of respect for mothers that work outside the home. As the kids get older, more and more of my friends are trickling back to work. I am in awe of how they make it all happen, for as my own little business grows, I feel stuck. Between a rock and a hard place called exhaustion. It’s been such a gift to stay at home with my kids, be a part of their everyday lives, but as jobs increase, and it's my arms that still provide the primary childcare with the exact same number of hours in the day to cook, care, love, play & create - I am spent. So if adding art back into my life makes me undeniably more content, why am I like a walking zombie? Eyes burning, I am the picture of exhaustion, with a brain that I cannot turn off 'til two in the morning. Jane asked me yesterday why I am always in my pajamas, hair in ponytail. I was without answer. I am down to only cooking two basic staples, grilled cheese or Annie’s mac-n-cheese from a box. Just today I watched Henry tug open the fridge door and help himself to three cheese sticks in a row. For breakfast. I hadn’t had a coffee yet, so there was really very little I could do about it but watch.
Seems dreadful my creativity is exhausting me. I’d prefer to think maybe I am just getting old.