I’m tired

I’m tired. I’m tired of having to stay at home, I’m tired of wearing a mask, I’m tired of having to slather hand lotion on my hands cause all the washing and hand sanitizer has made my hands crack and peel, I’m tired of being scared. I’m also tired of having to listen to people bitch and moan about how COVID isn’t a real thing and we should not be scared, I’m tired of having to explain that I’m social distancing at the moment because I work in a hospital and I’m trying to protect them. I’m just so fucking tired of being brave and reassuring all the time. I’m tired of being strong. I’m done.

Goals and bucket lists

I’ve never been a good athlete. In fact, I’ve never really been an athlete at all. I struggle with motivation, so the thought of training for an event and then not doing well is something that terrifies me.

Last year I set out to run a half marathon before my 35th birthday . I don’t remember why I decided that I need to run 21km but I wrote it on my to do list. The training didn’t go very well, I struggled with injuries and staying motivated. But I did it, less than 2 weeks before my birthday I completed a 21 km race. I won’t lie and say I enjoyed it. I really didn’t. And I’ve only done 3 more since then so it’s still not my favorite thing in the whole world. But I did it. I set a goal for my self and I achieved it. I haven’t put anything else on my list, instead I’m working on improving my running times and distance. I’m hoping that by removing the set goal that I find it less stressful and it will help me to stay on track.

Favorite songs

My kids hate the fact that I don’t have a favorite song. They don’t understand that I have a favorite color (blue), a favorite season (spring),and even a favorite meal (Mac and cheese) but I don’t have a special song.

I love lots of songs, I just don’t love one more than the rest. I guess it’s because I associate songs with memories and emotions. Some songs make me happy, so I’ll listen to those when I’m in a good mood. I use other songs to get motivated or when I’m depressed, I have songs that make me cry. I wish that I had a favorite song, it would make filling in those “about me” forms so much easier, instead I usually just pick the first song that pops into my head

I’m also a fan of different types of music, from Vivaldi to Green Day. Once again, depends on why I’m listening to music. Do I need to get pumped before a run, am I mad at someone, or do I need to calm down and relax.

Today feels like a podcast day, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts so I’ll listen to other people talk instead.

What I find beautiful

Beauty is an odd thing. Everyone sees beauty differently. For some people, it’s in the imperfect, for others it’s in the big things. Lately I’ve been looking for beauty in the quiet moments. The moments between the big events, those quiet little pockets where you just breathe.

This weekend I found a beauty filled pocket. The kids were playing in the garden late Sunday afternoon so I made some coffee and just sat and watched them. They played soccer, screaming with laughter as they tripped over each other and rolled on the grass. Their dad came out and joined the game, their laughter filling the air. The shadows crept closer but they didn’t let that stop them, they played and played until the night came.

The beauty isn’t in the dirty feet or shared joy but in the fact that the moment was so short. That perfect combination of golden sunlight, children’s laughter, the creeping shadows, and the perfect cup of coffee will never be replicated again. And it was the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen.


A year ago, I would never have been able to type this post. I hated myself. Not the “inside me”, rather the “physical me”. My actual body. All the bits and pieces that allow me to exist. I don’t actually know when I started hating my body, I don’t remember disliking it when I was younger. I guess it kinda creeped up on me when I wasn’t paying attention.

I suppose I could trace the start of my dislike to when I first discovered social media. The pressure to always be perfect is not easy, but I don’t think that that is where the rot started. It more than just not liking how I look, I don’t like my organs, bones, vessels, skin… my actual body. If I’m truly honest with myself, I stopped trusting my body after my first miscarriage. I started hating my body after the second. It’s not an easy thing to admit. Up until that point, I had taken my body for granted. It just did it’s thing and carried on. And then it didn’t.

I wish that I could say that I had an easy answer, that I suddenly woke up and loved my body. But I don’t. I don’t hate my body anymore. I’ve accepted that the are certain limitations to my body. I can’t regulate my hormones so staying pregnant is hard, I have terrible skin and bruise super easily, I gain weight very quickly and struggle to lose it, I get debilitating migraines at the drop of a hat, I have anxiety and depression, and I’m allergic to cats. All of those thing are just part of my body, they aren’t the whole thing. I don’t have a long list of things that I like about my body, I guess the main one is that it keeps going even though it misbehaves sometimes. Hopefully I will have a super long list of positives someday soon. But today, just existing is enough.