I’ve started countless essays since Silas was born in March of 2022. Each was left incomplete. I over-thought every word. Every idea. Overly judging every thought. And in spite of my best efforts, I somehow morphed every-single-essay into a diatribe defending my choice to be a stay at home mom. It was like each essay somehow took on a mind of its own and no matter how hard I fought to bring myself back to the topic of origin - my keys found a way to pound out the long list of reasons why I have not returned back to “work”.
And truthfully, who fucking cares…If you judge me for staying at home with my kids, that’s on you. It’s also on me - because I judge myself for it, too.
If I explain why I judge myself for staying at home, this essay will also turn into a long-winded soliloquy of why I choose to stay at home with my kids. Nevertheless, the term “multi-hyphenate” is a thing these days and when I multi-hyphenate, I become a stay at home mom hyphen spiritual being hyphen fiercely feminist woman. And before becoming a mom, I envisioned my “hyphens” looking a lot differently than they do today.
I lost one of my most beloved “hyphens” - writer - since I became a mom. And not writing feels suffocating. My lack of writing is manifold:
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