When I first got into blogging, I was doing it for me, mostly. I wasn't thinking about growing an audience, but I did. For a time, I was writing for thousands of readers. Gradually, as I was unable to keep up my pace, those thousands of readers began to move on, and I began to be there even less. But I have missed it, too, the process of writing, the journal of our days.
My life is a little different now. Our family has grown. Our older children are busy and fun and challenging in ways that they weren't as little ones. I've said many times that I feel more comfortable, in my element, more me, with little ones. My older children perplex me.
My husband has not had a "real" job in almost a year. We have been getting by on nothing more than the grace of God. It is one day at a time. Our needs have been provided for, but it has been very difficult. I'm in my mid-thirties, my husband in his mid-forties, and while most of our peers are moving into bigger homes and thinking about seriously funding retirement accounts, we are starting at square one. I'm stressed about that, and it's hard to put a pretty face on that kind of fear and stress.
But I have to. I have to reclaim my will to live purposefully or I will be adrift. No one else can do the work of sainthood for me. That's my job, it's the gift I've been entrusted with. It is my grace.