Category Archives: Mommyhood

Something more

“You napped until you were 5,” I’ll tell my son.

You were stubborn as any icicle in hell, that’s for sure. Always staunchly certain you’d survive the afternoon until sleep melted your resistance into dreams.

I always loved that moment when I’d peak my head into your room to find silence holding you softly in its arms, your little body in a contorted position, warm and sweaty, with a familiar pink dusting your eye lids.

I’d close my eyes and whisper quietly, “God, I love this little boy, please keep him safe.”

My heart always danced a funny flitter. Any good parent watching over a healthy, innocent child knows this magical, frightening feeling.

 

What will happen when you go off to school? I’d think.

Share your first kiss?

Fall in love for all the wrong reasons?

Will you believe in soulmates,

And find yours in the girl whose eyes pull you toward her spirit?

 

Sometimes when we hit the road,

I reach my hand behind the seat to lace your little fingers in between mine.

We drive, without question, holding hands, and you never seem to ask me why.

I just reach, and like gravity, you reach too.

We sit in the silence because sometimes, as you always say,

We just like the quiet.

 

Yes, the quiet.

 

Today you said something, and I wanted to cry, but we were in the grocery store, and you wouldn’t have understood my tears, or maybe you would have.

Rounding the corner near aisle 6, I watched you stop, scrunch your forehead and say,

“Mommy, there’s something inside my heart that makes me go the same direction as other people.”

My eyes widened, and you waited patiently for my reaction.

I asked you to repeat what you had said because, well because I wanted to hear it again and make sure I wasn’t making things up in my mind, as I often love to do (hence poetry).

 

Again, a bit irritated with me now, you said:

“Mommy, listen, there’s something inside my heart that makes me go the same direction as other people.”

 

You did a little dance around the shopping cart, and the quiet came over us again.

I felt a lump in my throat surface, and tears glazed my eyes,

Spirit wanting to cleanse itself upon hearing this profound truth

Spoken by you.

You didn’t mind that I was at a loss for words.

Sometimes truth is loud enough that commentary seems noisy.

We kept walking in the same direction.

 

Sometimes I wonder who you are, I wonder how you know these things. I wonder why you trust me and love me as you do. I wonder if you know how much you’ve taught me. I wonder what your friends will think. What your teachers will say. Where your heart will lead you. What direction and with what kind of people you’ll walk.

 

Lucas, something inside my heart makes me go in the same direction as other people too. It’s the reason I get up every day. It’s the feeling that moves me to hold you closer. It’s the hunch that nudged me to create this blog. I think what you’re referring to is connection.

 

Yes, I believe that something in your heart is yearning for connection, for love, for compassion, for acceptance. Something greater. Something more.

I know because I feel it too. But oh my wise little Buddha Lucas, you don’t have to look very far – because all of those things are already in you, right there in your heart. You feel it because you were born with those things.

As my favorite poet often says, “We are born whole. We need others to be complete.”

My little light Lucas, you’ve got the answers already, at age 4! Now go and keep walking where your heart wishes to lead you.

Your light will brighten so many people.

 

Thank you for making me smile, even now as I write this. I can’t wait to share these memories with you when you’re old enough to understand how much you’ve helped mommy.

But for now, I’d like to keep walking in the same direction as you, that’s if you don’t mind of course.

 

I love you,

Mom

blackandwhitemeandluca

 

Can we be kinder, please?

“Turn down the mean voice. You’re not being nice, Momma.”

 

It was a Sunday. Lucas and I were enjoying a sunny afternoon lunch.

In a moment of incurable human frustration, I made a negative remark about a friend.

Lucas’ eyes narrowed, and with tiny fingers he made a twisting motion as if to hold the nob of a radio and adjust the volume accordingly.

“That was rude! Turn down the mean voice.” He giggled and again motioned to soften the volume.

I was stunned, embarrassed, humbled. I wanted to say, “Hey! That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

But he was right. I was being rude. I made an impulsive, mean comment. But I was frustrated.

My view was clouded.

 

Lucas searched my face for a reaction, as children do, and I smiled.

“Thank you, Lucas. You’re right, that was a mean thing to say about my friend. I’ll turn that mean voice down now. Thank you for reminding me to be kind.”

He went about eating his sandwich and hummed a silly song to himself.

The image of his tiny fingers quieting my meanness remained.

——-

I wonder, how many other people have allowed their mean voices to speak louder than the innate kindness that runs its course through us all?

How many times have we become frustrated and sent a nasty text message to a loved one in a fit of sadness and hurt feelings? Or rolled our eyes at the bank teller because he miscounted our money for the second time? Or yelled at the customer service representative because our impatience flooded a sense of understanding that we are just one of millions waiting to be helped? Or how about cursing the driver in front of us who cut us off in an unpleasant manner?

When did frustration and headaches replace patience and kindness?

 

The words of my favorite author and poet come to mind:

Mark Nepo says, “Underneath every headache is a heartache.”

 

There is so much value in this simple, yet deeply profound sentence. Underneath every headache we have, underneath every impulsive, mean comment or gesture that we make, underneath our impatience and misunderstanding, the innocence of our aching heart remains.

This explains why I am frustrated with my friend. She hurt me, and in the confusion of how best to express my hurt feelings, I become angry and speak ill of her.

This is an isolated incident, but this small hurt can turn into years of misunderstanding and estrangement – that is, if I choose not to properly express what is going on inside of me.

My suggestion to you, my wonderful readers, is to pay attention to how you outwardly express what is happening inside of you.

Why do you send the nasty text message?

Why do you roll your eyes at the bank teller?

Why do you yell at the customer service rep?

Why do you allow yourself to become upset with other drivers?

Only when you become aware of these ineffective, damaging habits, can you begin to address what is going on inside of you.

 

Truthfully, when I am hurting, when I feel as though no one hears what I am saying, when I feel like I’ve been wronged in some way, I become defensive, reactive, and I shut down. My hurt becomes anger, my anger becomes tears. My tears become confusion, distortion of words and phrases, a mess of emotions and fear, a chaotic swirl of truth that so desperately wants to be heard. It has taken years for me to observe these outward reactions and address the inward truths that drive my behaviors. I’m not saying this has been easy. Every day is a practice. Living continues to be a process, a challenge, a mighty work of art in the making for me.

 

To my lovely little lights, underneath our behaviors are the untouched hurts within us.

I challenge you to silence that mean voice and let the real you begin to speak.

Let’s be kinder to others — and to ourselves.

The change always begins with you.

 

Light and love,

Ki & Lucas

black and white

The best teacher I’ve ever had

I held my little guy’s hand during our afternoon walk yesterday. He asked why leaves turn colors then quickly interrupted me mid-explanation to say, “Mom, it doesn’t matter why.. it’s just so beautiful. Will I turn colors too?”

I’m so thankful for each moment that brings us closer together. He is the most inquisitive, intuitive, insightful person I know. I wrote a letter for Lucas when we returned home from the park. My hope is that years from now, I can share this note with Lucas when he begins to notice his unique differences as he evolves into the person he’s meant to be:

Lucas, your 4-year-old self told me today that change is beautiful, and you are right. It doesn’t matter why things change, they just do, and it is beautiful when we see with accepting eyes and embrace the moment before us. My sweet little man, evolve and change as you will, and show all your colors to the world. Some of the greatest teachers are the silent trees of the world who show and don’t tell. You seem to catch onto this quite well. Hold onto that. Hold on so damn tight. Few people truly embrace change for what it is. Few people are like you. Few people love as you love. Few people come to know what you know now, at age 4. Thank you for always reminding me why I live and breathe and grow each day. Let’s be like those trees and twist toward the light, turn our colors, shed our bark, stretch our limbs as far as we possibly can, and maybe, just maybe, our roots will grow deep and last a very long time. Your questions make me a better person. Please, never stop asking them. I love you and all your colors. You are the best teacher I’ve ever had. My only request is that you keep playing and dancing and living in the light.

You are loved. You are enough,

Mom

sun

 

The good hurt

He just keeps running from me

A little bit more each day,

Our hands held one moment less today,

Our giggles lasting a minute shorter,

And I keep thinking, how do parents willingly do this every day?

It never gets any easier

Letting go.

I don’t understand this constant cycle

My baby boy walking and talking,

Hilarious and wise,

Laughing and stepping into moments

Apart from me and dad.

But I smile and clench the tears,

Biting lips until the coast is clear

And it’s okay to cry.

He’ll never know how good it hurts

To be his mom.

lucas on bridge

I’m exhausted. I don’t know how some moms do it… the ones with multiple. Hell, even the ones with just one, like me. My dog is staring at me like I forgot to do something, which I probably did. You do lose your mind after having kids… that is a fact. I look forward to this time of day though. 2PM. Nap time, or at least I think he’s napping. If he’s playing quietly, I’m okay with that. I just need a break. I can’t believe he’s leaving tomorrow. The next chapter begins, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready.

As I’m sitting here, eyes heavy from the early mornings, I know I need a break. Some days I pray for a relative to call and say he/she is on the way to steal Lucas for the day, but as I stare at the calendar above my bookshelf, I can’t help but feel the nerves swell and swirl in my belly. It’s time to let him go a little bit more. Preschool starts tomorrow.

This is how it goes though, I guess. The day comes when we need less of one thing, and more of another. There are periods of time, months, years, even decades when less of ‘this’ means discovering more of what is next on the list. I’ve had 4 years of unconditional Lucas, 4 years! An abundance of love, growth, challenges, and blind hope, on-call and alert 24/7… and it’s time I need a little less in that direction. It’s time he needs a little less of his momma’s helicopter love. Yes, I can admit I hover. It’s time we both work on ourselves, our own individual paths, apart from each other.

A little less time together doesn’t mean we will love any less, and it sure doesn’t mean he’ll forget me (though I worry). A little less will bring a little more of what we both need, whatever that may be. No, I don’t know where exactly my life is headed. I don’t know what is next. I don’t know Lucas’ path or how he will walk it. But we’re moving and learning and growing together, supporting each other.

There’s a lot I don’t know, and I’m relieved to say that. What I do know is that life is a beautiful cycle of less this and more that. It is certain to happen that ‘the plan’ of what life ought to be always blooms into what my soul knows it will be. Do our lives ever go ‘as planned’ anyway?

I hope you begin to see that every moment is beautiful during times of change and uncertainty. Just because you can’t see what’s next doesn’t mean something magical isn’t happening right now. Look for the good. Hope for magic. Open yourself to every step along the way. We all go through this. Trade less for more, more for less, let life move through you. Be fluid, be in the moment. Trust that in weathering this change, what is next will be more beautiful than you could ever have imagined.

Sooner than later, we find the answers. Keep going.

Ki

I’m getting better at it

My son is a little Buddha — a tiny guy with a big belly and an even bigger heart. I first started the ‘little Buddha’ joke when I noticed skin playing peekaboo from underneath his t-shirt. All parents go through this with their children. Growth spurts ignite the dreaded ‘in between sizes’ phase. One day the shirt fits, the next… sheesh! All you see is belly! We laugh together as I tickle the exposed part of his belly, and that was it for a time.

Suddenly, I find that my once lighthearted reference is now quite a fact: my son is a little Buddha, wise with untainted knowledge and insight, a being capable of unmatched love and compassion. Over a cup of hot chocolate one chilly morning, Lucas eyed me and sternly voiced his concerns.

“Mom… if you give me too many pieces of your heart, you won’t be alive.” He smiled, wiggled in his chair, and continued sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows.

(Cue shivers up the spine) — I mean good god!! What?? How did our conversation shift from Tuesday morning cartoons to the challenges of parenting?? I smiled in silence and stared at the Crayola craft table that separated me and the enlightened being who cheerfully scanned my face for a reaction. I was baffled. Mute and dumbfounded. And as any other over-thinking parent would do, I fell into the depths of introspection.

Am I giving too much of myself? Do I love him too much? Can he sense my anxiety? Does he know I’m exhausted? How does he KNOW these things? Does he know I’m a people pleaser? Can he read the worries on my face? Can a three-year-old know and comprehend the idea that pleasing everyone first leaves little time and energy for oneself?

Well, he’s figured out the secret to life.

He is right. Every word is the truth: If you give too many pieces of your heart, you won’t be alive. His words scared the hell out of me and ignited tears, so I politely excused myself from our hot chocolate date. Perhaps they were tears of relief. Perhaps they were tears of joy. I’m not sure. Perhaps I cried for all of the moms and dads who undoubtedly face this issue: when we give too much of ourselves, we (and those closest to us) suffer the most.

To say I struggle with this issue is an understatement. I am consumed with balancing my well-being and that of my family, friends, and blog readers. I am plagued with a hunger to tend to everyone else first. I’m convinced it is engrained in my DNA. I want to ease pain, fix everyone and every tough situation that arises. I smile and tend to others before giving a thought about me and my needs. Motherly instincts remind me that every waking moment with my son is an opportunity to teach, play, learn, and explore. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I sit at the computer replying to emails from friends and new readers of mine across the globe — advising, listening to, and easing others before I’ve showered, eaten, even used the restroom! I am obsessed with helping others; it consumes me; and I think Lucas sees that. I know he does.

I know he suffers because of it. I know he hurts inside when Mommy is stressed and on edge. I know he vibes off of that, and in knowing this, I have a choice. I can keep going, keep doing, keep helping, keep tending to everyone and everything and risk becoming worn down by life and living and caring. I could walk on this winding road for years. I could. I know this road quite well. It’s beautifully paved with exhaustion, sleepless months, and anxiety. But it’s familiar.

Or I could slow down. I could put a pause on all of it. I could prioritize my health, my family, and my goals. I could tell my readers that I need some time to respond. I could take a moment to realize how absurd it truly is to worry about everyone else first before myself! I could toss the selfish feelings aside and go to the gym. I could turn off my phone and reply to emails in the morning. I could go for a walk with my son, and leave everything else in the back of my mind for an hour. Yes, I could do that.

And I am. I am spending much less time blogging, connecting, Skyping, pleasing, helping, etc. and more time focusing on my health and well-being. It feels strange when I choose an afternoon at the gym, but my body thanks me afterward. It feels selfish to spend an hour juicing veggies when I could be practicing counting to 100 with my son, but my spirit thanks me afterward. Sometimes it feels like a waste of time to lay in bed with that book I’ve been itching to read when I could be cleaning and washing dishes. But my mind thanks me afterward.

I wonder if other people are like this? I wonder if people-pleasing is a disease? I wonder if others suffer from it as I do? I wonder a lot about these things. I wonder if it’s curable? I wonder if it’s a plague or a gift? I wonder if it’s possible to live in the Now if I’m constantly caring for others? I wonder what it will take to truly put myself and my needs first? I wonder if hearing my son’s insight is the moment that I need to wake up?

I wonder, what is your moment? When will you wake up and take care of yourself first? I’ll be (less) anxiously awaiting to hear from you guys 😉

Take care, be well, do something for yourself today. Slow down — the world will be here when you get back.

 

xo,

Ki

 

Photo: @redxluckyxcharms

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset

 

 

 

 

 

The ‘little’ things

Sometimes you ask for a snack before bedtime. I know what you’re doing, and for whatever reason, I give in, let you eat whatever I’m not too tired to throw together. Your belly has impeccable timing, you know that? It always knows exactly when I’ve retired for the night, hung up my apron of motherly duties, and just about closed up shop. At that precise moment, it alerts you to be my final customer. I bet you don’t know why I do it, do you?

I know you’re not hungry, I know you won’t eat it, whatever it may be, but somehow I’m flattered that your little belly ‘wants me to feed it’ one last time. This is an invitation no momma can refuse. To steal ten extra minutes from the day in which no one else gets you, but me?! I’m sold. And you know what? I’m really not mad when you don’t eat the bedtime snack, I just pretend to be disappointed because that’s what parents do.

I’m quite fond of the sound your little feet make when you prance down the stairs one last time. I melt at first sight of the extra twinkle in your eye when you lay on the charm and ask for the snack we both know you won’t eat. You may think you’ve won extra minutes past your bedtime, but the real winner of this little game we play is me. Only I can recount these memories no one else shares but us. The sound of your singing and giggling as I smear jelly atop warm toast and dance to a made-up jingle we’ve composed together. The shake of your rump as you incessantly demand, “Watch this Mommy, watch this!!” The way my belly flutters after you’ve nibbled your snack and whispered, “You’re the best nest, Momma.” Or a personal favorite of mine, “Hey babe, I love you.”

These moments we share remind me what living feels like. It is you who taught me how to laugh with my belly until I’m blue in the face. It is you and your rock-out moves who taught me how to dance to the rhythm of my own silent, and possibly insane, drum. And truthfully, I can’t begin to thank you enough. I just can’t tell you these things now because then you would know how much I look forward to your ‘bedtime snack plea’ and the silliness that ensues. I can’t tell you all of my secrets now, can I?!

I’ll just keep on pretending to hear that little growl in your belly as we giggle and sing in the kitchen together, dancing past your bedtime…

….because that’s what momma’s do, and oh how truly grateful I am to be yours.

———————————————–

Every moment is precious, and with gratitude in my heart, ‘the little things’ are no longer little — but rather monumental occasions in which my heart is wide open and ready to receive what is happening right now. Ready to receive, and ultimately softened.

Be open to everything as it is right now. This moment you are in is truly perfect.

Allow yourself to see it as such. This is where living begins.

My every day

Forget the cake

And the flowers

Forget the cards

None of that matters

It’s you that makes this day so special to me

beach

I feel it in the warmth of our morning snuggles

And your eagerness in waking with the sun

It’s the moment you say I’m ‘beautiful and pretty’

Conveniently when you want something sweet to eat

It’s your honesty in telling me I have a terrible singing voice

It’s your obsessive, compulsive habits like your dad **cough, and me**

It’s our secret missions

And the lessons you teach

The inside jokes

And the subtle looks we give each other from time to time,

Our unspoken language

It’s our silent walks

trees

And afternoon talks

It’s the way you laugh when I speak in funny accents

It’s the shape your eyes make when I tell you I have a surprise for you

It’s the way your little hand fits perfectly inside of mine

It’s the shrill in your voice when I agree to read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

One last time

It’s our spontaneous dance parties to music daddy hates!

It’s the late nights

And early mornings

It’s the sound of you snoring

sleeps

And the smell of your snuggly head when you first open your eyes

It’s in your “Please and fank yous”

It’s the way you talk yourself through tough situations

And your personal mantra, “I’m breathing,” when you’re scared

I hear it in your giggles when daddy makes you laugh

And in the songs you sing when the radio is on

It’s in the tears we both shed, and wipe for the other

And your concerns as to why Mommy is sad sometimes

It’s your courage

courage

And your strength

It’s the shape of your little hips

And your almond eyes, like mine

It’s in your incessant questions

And curious mind

It’s the sound of your laughter when I pinch just above your knee

It’s the way my heart feels funny when you leave

And the way I feel in this moment,

Holding back my tears.

It’s the comfort in knowing that parenting you is the greatest privilege I’ll ever have

And my greatest accomplishment as a human being

It’s the pride I feel in beginning our story at age 19

mommy and lucaman

And continuing on a path of happiness, health, and unconditional love with you by my side

And Lucas, it’s all of you that makes all of this day and every day

So special.

 

Mother’s Day is my every day

And for that, I am grateful.

I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much,

Big hugs to you, my little man.

black and white

 

 

Would you?

Lucas

Your nostrils flare

Just like your dad’s

When you chew.

 

And your cheeks,

Rosy as hell

Like his, too.

 

I think you’re beautiful

When you lie to me

And say I’m beautiful.

 

For a moment

I believe you.

Each moment adds up,

Trust me.

Maybe instead,

I should trust you.

 

You don’t know it yet

But I started a book

For you

Filled with everything you say

That leaves me struck

In awe of your wisdom.

 

“The sun speaks with her light,

I can feel her.”

You said this,

Among countless other

Lucasisms.

 

Do you know how proud of you I am?

Do you know how amazing you are?

Do you know how much you scare me?

 

I’d do anything for you,

Would you promise

To forever and unconditionally be

Lucas?

 

would you blog post

–Original Poem, for my love–

@kileybw

Facebook

 

Luminous little Lucas

I offer to you, a ray of wisdom shown through a tiny little Buddha I call my son. During a conversation over scrambled eggs and Golden Grahams, his light filled the room and warmed my soul.

 

-Mom, I wish I could fly like a butterfly.

–Lucas, do you think people can fly?

-Yeah!!!

–Can you fly?

-No, but I can run!

 

Children play, wonder, believe, and live each moment – for a living. They see the good before the bad. They hear the song in a silent wind. They do what so many of us adults cannot, or shall I say what we choose not to do. Lucas bypassed his inability to fly and excitedly focused on his strength.

Why do so many of us lose this innate positivity? Why do we dwell on what is not? What we are not? What we cannot? How do we get that excitement for living back? How can we begin to appreciate what is in front of us NOW?

It’s as though we’ve conditioned ourselves to incessantly look to the future, at that place just beyond the horizon that seems so beautiful, yet slightly out of reach. We think, “Yes, we can and WILL arrive at a more positive, more productive, more successful, more satisfying life soon, tomorrow perhaps. I call bullshit.

I don’t know much, but I do know that you will never be satisfied with who you become IF you do not see – today – that who you are right now is enough. Tomorrow will be no more satisfying than today if you do not take a moment each day to recognize all that you are: a beautiful, worthy, successful, ALIVE human being.

We are so caught up in our plans for tomorrow, how do we live for TODAY? How do we, like Lucas, see our strengths before being swallowed up by the reminders of who we are not?

We’ve all heard the saying, “Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction.” Well, STOP! And start over again. Right now. Start small. Look around you, in your office, in your home, wherever you are. Think of a few things that are right in front of you for which you are grateful. Sit with that. Admire the ‘things’ around you. Even if it’s as simple as a cup of coffee, smile – and take a sip, enjoy it. Be grateful.

Then think deeper. What are a few things about yourself that you are grateful for? Who are you, what do you do well today, here and now? What are those characteristics that make you uniquely YOU? Sit with that. As silly as it may sound, think to yourself: I am beautiful; I am doing a great job; I love you. Try it. I dare you!

See the positives in your life, and if you can’t, it’s okay to ask for help. I ask for help every day of my life, really. I email friends; I ask the sun; I consult trees, often. I ask Lucas for extra hugs and kisses when I need more affection. You, too, can have many sources of light in your life, if only you’d ask. If it scares you to ask for help, it might be a good idea to try. There is an abundance of love and support in the Universe. Are you willing to accept it?

You see? Start with gratitude. Be grateful for what IS now. Be grateful for the support you have in your life, and be grateful for who you already are. With gratitude in your heart, you can truly start to live today, now. I promise you, you WILL start to see your strengths. You WILL be able to make plans for the future while appreciating what today offers you.

For my constant sources of light – Thank you. I have an abundance of support, and we take turns, one helping the other. Some weeks, I encourage and hold those in need. Recently, my light sources instinctively know to shed tremendous light on my path. Holding my hand when I’m hesitant, allowing my worried head to rest upon their laps. I need help at times. We all do. Come back to square one. Start with gratitude. Your heart will thank you.

Cheers, readers. Take care.

 

lucas

 

 

Say Anything

If I could say anything exactly one year ago yesterday – I can assure you, I would not have uttered a word. My head was crowded with thoughts; my heart, corroded by fear. I was crumbling. Screaming, yet you heard nothing. Crying, but you saw no tears rolling. I was hiding, clinging to the demons that quieted my dreams and fed my fears. What a mess I was. A mute, suffering mess. If your eyes met mine, I’m sure the fog was too thick for you to feel me, to know me. If we chatted, I’m sure I lied. I told you I was fine. I told you I was strong. I told you I didn’t need you. I didn’t need anyone. As I said, I lied.

Even if I could say anything one year ago yesterday, I didn’t know how. No motivation, no courage, no confidence. I was shivering; I was sinking; I’m surprised my bed didn’t swallow me whole some mornings. When you called, I didn’t answer. When you wrote, your letter collected dust. I wrote you off. I wrote me off. Nothingness was bliss, for a time. Faith in nothing. Fear of everything. Darkness dug my grave, shoveling the heavy dirt that would suffocate my existence. I wasn’t living. I was sleepwalking in daylight.

What a beautiful time to start a blog, eh? I don’t remember the who, what, when, where. I don’t remember who encouraged me to write again. I don’t remember much. But I do remember the overwhelming sensations that rushed my body as I felt the sudden urge to brainstorm ideas for the blog. The creative flow flooded every inch of my being. Appearing like a sharp winter wind, line after line, word after word bit my flesh, awakening my senses to the core. It was the most intense experience I had felt in months. My heart raced. I began to cry. It just kept coming. The thoughts. The ideas. My spark. I felt it again. I was alive. I had a purpose. I had a duty. I had to share, with you guys. Something woven in my soul had had enough of my bullshit drone of an existence. It was my time, it said. And for the first time in years, I listened.

So I started a blog, and for twelve long months I cried, I wrote, I was frustrated, I was happy, I was terrified. Publishing a post felt like I was running naked in the streets of my hometown. Eyes upon me, judging, laughing, snickering, joking – or so I thought you would. I never thought anyone would take me seriously. I never thought anyone would see beyond the forced smile that I painstakingly painted upon my pale, sunken face each morning. I never thought you would look at me and hear what I was not saying – the desperate cries for a connection with YOU. A longing for support. A desire for acceptance.

Each new post was a little less scary to publish than the previous. I received wonderful feedback, and you have your favorites – but it wasn’t until Weeks Like This that I truly started to feel your warmth. It was as though my chilly, morning air was lifting – allowing for the sun to rise again. Peering through the blanket of trees that surrounded me, I could feel something more just beyond the brush. Within reach I felt something so familiar, yet so foreign. Something lovely and terrifyingly close. My dream was being realized. I called out for help, and finally my answer arrived.  

You guys trickled in through the cracks, my wonderful readers. I was broken, and you snuck in somehow. You took my hand as you witnessed my struggle. You celebrated my triumphs; we’ve laughed together; we’ve cried together. You know I doubt strongly and love passionately. You know I would do anything for my son and family, and I continue to take care of myself lastly. (I’m working on it! I need your reminders!) You guys know it all, and you still come back – to this day, this is not real to me. The reality of your support is something I am learning to accept and understand. It is difficult for me to accept that which I am not sure I truly deserve. I am indebted to you guys, really.

A year has slipped from my fingers again. Like sand through the cracks, it has disappeared forever, kidnapped by Father Time. I’m left alone with memories, burnt quietly into my flesh. I sit here just as I have many other afternoons during nap time, thinking quickly – pondering my next post. I’ve thought for a few months now – what do I write for my ‘one year’ post?? How profound do I need to be? Gosh, there are countless people to thank, where do I begin? You guys – I’ve cried over this, I’ve laughed, I’ve obsessed – as always. Yet now as I sit here, it’s funny because I’m just sitting here like an idiot, smiling. Grinning from ear to ear. In this moment, I am so thankful. I know without a doubt that in the end, I can say anything. And you guys will continue to support me. You’ll come back for a post here and there. I know that as long as this blog is a labor of love, you guys will be with me. Along the way. In the end, I just need you with me. I don’t need a thing from you. Just knowing that the passenger seat next to me is warmed by your presence is all I need to write my next post. I don’t expect much from others. I don’t expect a massive following with this blog. Honestly, I don’t even put faith in humans. I put my faith in love…  and as long as I’m sending love out there –to where you guys are – I know you’ll send it back, in whatever way you have to love.

That is what is so crazy about this life, my life – I receive so much love from you guys in many different forms. From ‘likes’ to ‘comments,’ emails to Skype phone calls – hell even some of you ‘argue’ with me until 1AM insisting that my views are limited (you know who you are – and you know I appreciate your efforts) you guys are with me, encouraging me to say anything. To always say anything. So for you, I am thankful. This outlet allows me to love and to be loved; to share and be shared with; to connect once again with my heart and now, yours. You know….. you really don’t break when you decide to let go. I am living proof. As I shed these layers, I feel nothing but a warm embrace from each of you as I continue to say anything.  

One year ago today, I opened my world to you guys. I started a conversation about love, parenting, sex, religion, challenges, sacrifices, fear, you name it. As a friend of mine often reminds me, I am an incorrigible dreamer. I love that, but I can honestly say I never could have dreamt of the adventures that this blog would take me on. I have met some of the most intriguing people around the world. I have reconnected with long-time friends over issues first discussed on this blog. Support from my family is astonishingly pure. And quite amazingly, some of my best friends are people I’ve never even met in person – people who at first simply connected with something at LifeofKi.com, and who over the months have grown to be a part of my life.

 

A year ago yesterday, silence ensued.

Today I can say anything.

There is nothing left to say now but Thank you.

 

-Ki

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