I feel like I can’t write any more — out of practice. I feel like I wasted those 3 years & that MFA. I wonder what the 30s are all about for me — but career & family. What will 40s bring? This feels so un-me sometimes.
Yet Noah brings me such joy. Life seems all about him now. I can’t really tell what makes me happy any more.
Do I even care about writing this book any more? Telling this story? Trying to write the story I thought I needed to tell is getting harder. There’s nothing there. Only moments. There never was an us — like there is an us here with my little family.
How to be a good mom? How to do more for myself? How to be more present in my marriage?