I miss writing. Writing brings me joy and I hate that I've been missing out on it. For me, writing is an overflow of my soul. But the reality is that in this season of my life, my soul has been empty. There is nothing to overflow. So I stay silent. And I soak in. And I learn.
Another reality? I'm at Starbucks, and my daughter pooped, and I somehow got out of the house without any extra diapers. But she fell asleep. So I sit here, in Starbucks, with poop girl, wondering why no one wants to sit around me... Now THAT is reality.