I never noticed how much writing is tied to so much of me and how not committing to writing, even a little bit every week, feels like a constant denial of myself. It seems that kids, family, shopping, baseball games, marriage and ministry all get a part of me, the best part of me. And at the end of the day, when I want to commit to giving myself time I’m exhausted. And instead of me getting the best of me, I give myself only the leftovers of what I managed to salvage from the day.
So today I commit to myself to write more and write more consistently. To give myself the grace to write randomly and imperfectly. To be bare, honest and vulnerable. AND to give myself grace when I miss it and overcommit and am too tired to write. I commit to not obsessing over every post to make sure it is perfect before hitting publish. I commit to celebrating my progress, even if it seems small.
So if you come across my blog today and find random topics, imperfect writing, or at times just silence know that its me, learning to love myself well by taking time for myself. Wish me luck.