I rocked this day.

Sometimes I think that women are taught from birth to downplay themselves. We question what we do, we look for approval, and when we don't get it, we think we've failed. We work, and work, and work... and for what? To finish the day thinking about all the things we didn't get done?

Well guess what? When I got home from the grocery store tonight, I looked in the mirror and for the first time ever thought, "You rock. Seriously. You rocked this day."

I grew up hearing this verse of scripture:

"The worth of souls is great in the sight of God."

For some reason, I always thought that only meant that everyone else's soul was worth a lot. Not mine, not little old me! I have so many shortcomings. I have so many failures. I never get anything right. I'm too fat. I'm not spiritual enough. I'm too dumb. I'm too lazy. I'm not good enough. I'm not happy enough. I'm not worth anything.

Oh no, no. I was sorely mistaken. Because guess what? The verse doesn't say, "The worth of everyone's soul but yours is great in the sight of God." Souls. Everyone's souls. Even the people we don't like-which most often includes ourselves. So make a list. Write down everything you accomplish, because you may discover that you actually accomplished quite a lot, and then acknowledge your own personal wins for the day.

Then, you look in that mirror at the end of the day and say something to the effect of,

"I rocked this day. I mean seriously. I took it out back, and I beat the crap out of it. I took care of a sick, whiny, clingy toddler today. I worked out. I went to the grocery store. I unloaded the dishwasher. I did laundry. I kissed my husband.

Maybe I didn't make a ton of (or any) money. Maybe I didn't earn some big award. Maybe I didn't only think nice things.

But you know what I did? I loved on my kids. I didn't kill anyone. I even took a shower and let myself look at pinterest for a while. Take that, Thursday."

You know why? Because you did. You made it through the day. And you did some good things. So. Here's to Friday. Rock your day, and then give yourself credit. You're worth it.

Loud.

Sometimes there’s an undeniable disparity between who I am and who I want to be; between who I am and who people think I am. Sometimes in the quiet hours between the time when everyone else falls asleep and the time I finally drift off (read: wrestle my racing mind into submission and force my weary eyes to close) I have the opportunity to sit and ponder who I really am.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

When I was a teenager, I was LOUD. Not your average, run of the mill, no volume control loud, we’re talking loud voice, loud laugh, loud personality. Everyone knew who I was, and people either loved me or hated me. (I like to believe everyone loved me, obviously.) I told jokes that weren’t funny, they were just louder than everyone else’s. I made fun of people behind their backs loud enough to make myself seem cool. These deafening traits weren’t a mark of confidence, they rarely are.

I would spend my entire day at school refusing to eat, the bulk of the afternoon and evening cramming every morsel of food I could find in my mouth (duh, I was starving) and a portion of the night in a locked bathroom throwing as much as I could back up. But I wasn’t loud about that.

When I was about 12 and starting to have all those really super bizarre physical changes that happen to a girl, I really started, for the first time, to realize that my mom was dead. She’d been gone for six whole years, but it hadn’t sunken into the deepest parts of my mind. I missed her profoundly. I felt isolated and alone. I felt like nobody in the whole wide world would ever be able to understand me. I felt dark and depressed. I felt the agonizing mental torment that accompanies the death of a parent. But I wasn’t loud about that.

When I was in high school, I wanted more than anything to be cast as the lead in a musical. Nearly every time I came in second or third. It made me question whether or not I had the musical talent I’d been told I had. My senior year, I was cast as an absurd character who goes on stage and makes a fool of herself. I played my part well, earned a mention in the newspaper for my less than ten lines, and never felt talented again. But I wasn’t loud about that either.

And now I’m an adult. I’m not so loud anymore.

I’m strong.
I’m a fighter.
I’m fiercely loyal.

I went through my own personal Hell to get here, but I survived. I made mistakes along the way. I’ve spent my share of nights crying myself to sleep, and regrettably my share of nights screaming at anyone who would take it. (Usually my husband, who happens to be perfect for me in every way, but that’s another story for another day.) It’s been a hard road, and a long one. In fact, I’m certain I haven’t yet reached the end of this journey, but there’s one thing I know for sure:

I don’t have to be loud anymore, It’s okay to just be me. Even if I’m not completely sure who that is yet.

Katrina's Kitchen

Want to know how we made this transformation over 6 months without going on a diet, and while still eating dessert every night?

I had the opportunity to be a guest-blogger at Katrina's Kitchen, and my post will be up on Tuesday! Stay tuned!

I can do hard things.

Sometimes being a mom of two tiny ones is the hardest thing I've ever done. Strike that. Being a mom of two tiny ones is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I've ever done. Hard isn't always bad, per se, it's just, well, you know, hard. (I think there might be too many commas in that sentence.)

Sometimes it feels like the whole world is spinning around me and I can't even have a second to clear my head. Sometimes it feels like there's so much screaming going on in this house that it will never be quiet again. (This is a result of having two children who are not capable of talking.)

James has taken to loving a new game. Not really a game, but something we do together. I hold him in my arms, with his legs around my waist, and we spin. Fast. He lies back, closes his eyes, and then he laughs. I change directions, and he laughs harder. Well, I noticed something when I was doing this the other day. The whole world was spinning. Fast. All I could see clearly was that sweet little boy's face-laughing with me. For a split-second, I was carried away into a world where no matter how fast everything was spinning, all that existed was my little boy and me.

Laughing.

I guess the only real difference between that moment and every other crazy second is that I took a moment to focus on what was right in front of me.

And who wouldn't feel some peace in the crazy world while looking at something as precious as that face?