Spring, Where Are You?

Spring is taking it's dear time to show it's face this season.  The days are filled with cold temperatures and grey clouds.  Our winter jackets haven't made their way up to the attic yet; instead, continue to linger on the hooks by the door.  

We are all ready for lighter clothes, picnics and days hiking new territory.  When the sun decides to peak her head out from behind the clouds, we extended our arms out and welcome her warmth on our face.  

Until warm days and spring like weather, I'll continue to photograph, with my new camera, the few flowers that I have in my house to satisfy a season that  I greatly yearn for.

Healing

 Next month will be my strokeversary (stroke anniversary) and I honestly can't believe its been a year.  Anyway,  I'll have a celebratory post next month about it where I'll cry, jump for joy and maybe even do a little dance for you:).

But what this post is really about is healing emotionally and physically.  The other day I had a hand to forehead moment where I realized that I have spent the last year NOT healing.

"What do you mean NOT healing? What the heck have you been doing?" I'm sure that's the response from most people after reading that last paragraph.

I've been busy adjusting to a new baby and all the craziness that comes with it.  See, I got six weeks after my stroke to be strong enough to deliver him, that's it.  For someone who went through what I did, thats not a enough.  NO WHERE NEAR ENOUGH!  Add postpartum, adjusting the other's to a baby, being a wife, and relearning basic life skills, well let's just say its been tough.

Tough, is not the word for it.  It's been draining.  I have cried so much the last 11 months than I have in my whole entire life and I think I've been through some really tough situations prior to this stroke (believe it or not).

I spent the last year proving to myself that I was the same Leslie prior to March.  That I could still do all that I could do.  That I wasn't broken or tainted.  That I was strong enough to get through this.  When the doctors told me that there was a very high possibility that I wasnt going to get my speech back, that I basically gave them the finger and said "WATCH ME!".  When they said that I would have problems walking for a long time, I ran months later.  That when I heard people whisper "I wonder how she's going to manage ALL these kids." I've done it just fine (ok not perfect but we are surviving).  When I couldn't write, well you know, I said I was going to write a book which now I should have written about what happened (maybe in another life time).

  I spent 11 months in hiding.  Hiding all the pain that I'm in.  Going behind closed doors and screaming into a pillow because I was angry and sad.  I've hidden behind this invisible door because I don't want anyone to see me so broken.  When I got out of the hospital, I forbid for people to see me. I didnt want to leave my house.  It was four months before some of our family even met River.  I've put this huge wall up because I didnt want to get hurt, physically or emotionally. Any type of pain I felt, caused serious panic attacks "is this another stroke" or "i dont want to be angry or sad more than I already am".

On the positive side, I've learned a lot about who I am, health, friendships, family and finding ways to cope.  I've learned that I'm not as weak as I feel inside and that everyday I see the sun come up is a blessing.  That I need to do some decluttering in my life (not just of material things but of things that I thought were important).

So you see what I've been doing, I've been trying to prove to MYSELF that I'm still that woman from last year.  But the truth is, I'm not.

 When I went to see some of my doctors this past month, I got the low down on how important it is to take the time to heal.  We talked, consulted, and came up with a game plan.  I came home and discussed it with my better half and he gave me the ok. So per doctor's order, I've had to register and sign up for things that had nothing to do with writing but to get out there with other people, get dirty and heal.  I'll be posting lots of pictures and words with my new endeavors.

 Healing means;

*talking to people about it (which I dont like to, it gives me horrible anxiety)
*resting
*getting physically strong
*learning to cope
*finding a tribe of supportive people (making new friends and reconnecting with old)
*COMPLETELY changing my life
*getting back out there in the world and not just sit behind a computer

When next month comes and I have to live that day over again, a year later, its going to be a new year for me.  A time to heal and accept that I'm a better version of myself.   A lot of new things are starting next month, new adventures and new doors.

If I dont finally take the time to heal, than it will not only affect me but my family.

Read. Write. Edit. Repeat

READ. WRITE. EDIT. REPEAT.

That's my mantra these days.  I've been editing the first six chapters of Wolf River and its been a slow process.  Hair pulling, screaming at the pages and lots of bleeding going on (from my pen of course).  It's a process that I was told would separate the writers from the authors.  Boy, is that the truth.  It is not easy to edit a story you have written.  To butcher it with the sharpest knife you have in your kitchen.  To chop pieces off that are not necessary and parts that made no sense what so ever.

Even though its been hard, I've been learning about my writing style and my voice.  I'm learning where my strength and weaknesses are.   It's been crippling yet liberating in the sense that I'm making progress and things are coming a long even with the crazy life I live.

What's next? I have to read it over again, keep adding and subtracting then send it back to Rosemi. After that, I'll be on the hunt for beta readers:) oh boy!

I'm A Writer Here Me Roar!

This post is to all the mothers out there who have a hard time saying "Yes, I'm mom but I'm also a writer!"  Yes, you know what I'm talking about.  I want you to scream it. Write it. Tweet It. Take a picture of that word and IG the heck out of it.  Freaking get a cup of coffee and have that talented barista write "writer" in it instead of that heart.

I always meet other moms that say "I wish I was a writer."  Yes, I was one of those until about 10 minutes ago while I was laying in bed nursing the baby when it clicked.  I am a writer damn it. Even if I freaking suck at it and I barely have time to do it.

The last couple of months I've been climbing that steep mountain of writing to the point where I was cliff hanging that bad boy and holding on by my finger tips. I was feeling that ledge quickly slipping away and my arms were hurting from just dangling.  I was putting too much pressure on myself because I wasn't sitting at the computer writing but instead I was busy doing the best job in the world, being a mom.    I caught myself and took a step back and realized "I'm doing the best that I can do for where I am now."  Life is life.  Being a mom is no joke and everything else that we add in our lives is a freaking bonus.

So what that you didn't write 2k words a day like Stephen King says.  So what, that the mama you stalk on IG just finished her triology while she homeschooled, ran a farm and has her own etsy shop.  Kudos to you lady and maybe you should come over and tell me how you did it.  Am I hating? No. I'm just being honest and making all those other mama writers realize that we are doing what we can with the time we have and that you are STILL a writer even if you didn't sit at the computer today.

I am a writer even if I only write one sentence a day.  Even if I write an email to the Kindergarten teacher telling her that I have no freaking clue where Chloe put the library book and if she could just fine me and be over it.  I am writer when the only thing I write is a sticky post it note that says "Just Breathe" over the kitchen sink because I know two seconds later I have a baby climbing into the dishwasher trying to lick off last nights dinner.  I am writer when I text my sister about what color poop my nephew had that day and how engorged our boobs feel.

My point is, to all the mama writers out there, no matter how little you write each day or, lets be honest, how much we didn't get to write today, you are a writer. A freaking amazing one.  So, stand on your bed and start jumping up and down and WHISPER, don't yell we can't wake the kids up, "I AM A WRITER."

Now quickly, nurse that baby back to sleep and turn on Netflix or better yet, write.



Listening to: the beautiful sound of a quiet house

Father & Son

There is something magical about a relationship between a father and son.

Something that I am blessed my boys will have forever.

Moments like these, I am thankful that I carry my camera around all the time so I can capture this.

Moments that dont need many words because the picture tells it all.

I didnt bother to edit this because I want to keep it as raw as possible.

To keep the moment exactly as it was that evening.