It is time to write again

It is time to write again.

So, counseling has been interesting. It didn't go the way I thought it would. I thought I would learn how to be happy doing what I am doing.
Guys, I was wrong.
I have learned how to identify what makes me happy.

I feel kind of dumb having to go to a counselor to tell me: writing makes you happy, singing makes you happy, being outside of your house makes you happy. I have also have learned a mantra. I was surprised about the mantra I had to learn.

Here it is:"I have done nothing wrong. I will not feel guilty."

I don't consider myself a person who carries around a lot of guilt. My self-awareness is lacking. I do have guilt. I have tons, and for things I shouldn't feel guilty about. For example: telling people no, setting boundaries, wanting to work outside of the home, friend guilt, family guilt, tons of mom guilt.

Different than what I thought.

All the guilt is layered and comes up at different times, and gives me a lot of stuff to wade through. Currently, I am just dealing with my mom guilt. About this same time last year I wrote about my lack of guilt.  That post is kind of funny when I think about it now. I thought I had avoided it, but I have changed, and my desire to work outside of the home has changed, and I have guilt I need to NOT feel about that. "I have done nothing wrong. I will not feel guilty."

So, that is what is going down right now.

And, here's a poem I wrote.

Little Girl Blue

I see my three year old child

and it is like

looking at a river.

All I see is movement.

The days become a current

with cheese-stick ripples.

and bath-time bubbles.

I forget where the river is headed,

or why I wanted a river in my house.

I forget how absolutely beautiful it is that I

created a river-

a river that breathes.

And I forget that  it won’t

Be here forever.

My young river, growing,

Cutting through the ground,

Water erosion, they call it.

And growing up, other people call it.

At the grocery store, while My daughter

Uses her hands to choose red apples

the woman with short white curls smiles.

She can’t help but smile. Not at me.

 “You’ll miss it” she says.

So I look. Down.

Down at the giggling girl with apples

Spilled around herself .

She is sitting in my cart.

And it is just like looking

into a river.

I see it.

I see it now.