What happens when your dreams are too many to count? One day I want to be a professional writer, and then the next I want to be an interior decorator. And then some days, I’m content with being a homemaker. But I have a longing that has been stirring in me for decades. Being a wife and mother isn’t all that I am created to be. I want to be more. I want to grow more and achieve more. Not for the sake of achievement, but for the sake of fulfillment. I sit and I dream and I plan. But, the getting started, and most of all, pushing through….eh, not so much.
Enter….fear of failure. And the mentality that there are many others doing the exact same thing. And more often than not, nothing comes of it. Or perhaps, maybe something does? Why is the standard of achievement measured by money, and recognition? Why can’t we do something that we love without the internal pressure of building an empire? I’d like to see what happens when we, as women, just do the damn thing, because it feeds our souls and our deepest longings. That should be the standard for success. Starting a revolution of women who find their capability and strength outside of the “traditional” roles of a caretaker. Let’s be caretakers of ourselves. Learning that the love of self is not selfish. It’s perhaps the kindest gift that we can bring to ourselves and the world. What if our biggest achievement is actually learning that we must not neglect who we are? So, start dreaming again. And tell yourself that a dream is still a dream even if the flame burns out faster than you’d hoped. Because the dreams aren’t dead just because the fire is dying down. All it takes is one tiny ember to start again. Even if it’s a slow burn.
I’ll take fulfillment over “success” any day of the week. So, I’m resisting the patriarchy and all of the other systems that try to tell me who I am. Mary Oliver would ask what we are doing with our one “wild and precious life”. For now, you’ll find me pouring my soul out onto these pages that no one is reading. This is my healing journey. My story. What is yours?