I never really cared about the way my blinds look from the street. I never really thought about it much. Like the people of the world are going to judge me if my blinds aren’t all drawn to the same latitude they were designed to hang at. Like my life depends on whether or not I draw my blinds up or down or at the same height? Who made me this way? I found myself awake in a house full of sleeping people, folding clothes from our long weekend away.  From the broken in couch cushion that’s been my favorite for well over a decade, I noticed the blinds were crooked. Next came the personal OCD test of – can I leave them like that and go upstairs to sleep, or do I have to fix them right here in this moment SO I can sleep soundly tonight?

WHO? CARES? What my blinds look like from the street? I sure as hell don’t. So here I lay, writing, about these little fleeting thoughts, almost intrusive to a woman who’s come this far to worry about what kind of raucous my blinds may be causing to a dark Sunday night!

So yeah. You could say I still feel like I’ve arrived at 40. I’m at the stage of the game that I don’t give a rats ass what my life looks like, I care about how my life feels. Because I know that tomorrow, I still have a hallway full of laundry that smells like campfires and tequila and probably chocolate. I have food from the weekend to put away. I have lessons to teach. I have 3 kids that need to find their routine again, and I have lots of coffee to drink in order to do any and all of those things.

I have finally found myself in a place that feels so cozy, so broken in. It feels familiar and so peaceful. But it’s new to me too. Some days, I think I may get an award for all the tasks I accomplish. I work in this house raising babies, while trying REALLY hard not to raise my voice. I keep the calendar and my finger on the pulse of this household. I think of the meals, put the grocery order together, and sing while I’m cooking for my four favorite people. I clean up the kitchen, beg borrow and steal for a successful bath time, and if I have it in me after books, bedtime routines, google searches and podcasts on how to do it all, I go sit down and fold a load of laundry so I don’t feel as behind as I normally do on a Monday morning. 

Why am I like this? But also, what’s so bad about it? Nothing. And everything. As a woman I feel like I’m constantly racing against time. My kids are growing too fast, my forehead isn’t as smooth as it once was. I’ve been eating too many carbs, not enough water, and oh shit my husband will be home soon.  And what have I done?! Oh what have I done all day?

It all. I truly can say, as a woman raised by a strong one, I can do it all. Even when I think it’s too hard or too late or too soon, or too whatever; us women do it all. So, if you want to judge  the way my blinds look from the outside looking in, I can assure you, you won’t like sitting on my broken couch, either. With a bag of chips never too far. Three homeschooled children who wring the life out of this house, sun up til sun down. A sure fire bet there’s a room renovation going on, day old mail sitting on the counter right next to my bra, and always extra food in the fridge. Because it’s not the way my life looks that matters. It’s how this life feels, and it’s how I get to share my life with the world. And lately, it feels abundantly good. Blessed. Humble. Warm. And so broken in. As women in 2024, we need to be kind to ourselves. We need to grab life by its face, right between our hands, and kiss it. Don’t fix the blinds. Sit in your favorite spot, wrapped in your robe, and have another cup of coffee. Call your best friend this morning, look at the sky. Whatever you do, go ahead and get the love inside your chest out into the world. We need so much more of that 🤍