On self care and kindness to ourselves

My family has gone out shopping and left me at home to sleep.

I couldn't resist popping on here for a quick post, though.

I'm not sure if this is to be a rant or just a release, but here goes, we will see what comes out...

I am tired.

I run a house.

Look after two children.

Cook.

Clean.

Do laundry.

Read too many books about childrearing.

Spend too much time on other people's blogs.

Looking at their amazing lives.

All the beautiful things they create.

Their perfect homes.

All the fun they have with their children.

All the baking that they do.

Knitting.

Sewing.

Growing vegetables.

And in all their photos, their lives look perfect.

And there is never a rant.

Never a sad moment.

Never a moment of tiredness.

Now, maybe I just don't have stamina like all these women do.

Or maybe I haven't found the zone one needs to be in to be able to keep going like this all the time.

But, when I speak to other women in real life, they are even more tired than me.

I do yoga.

I self reflect.

I go for regular acupuncture and take Chinese herbs.

I take naps during the day.

I don't send my children to any after school activities.

I try to keep our lives as simple as possible.

And yet, at the end of the day, I am tired.

I am raising small children.

No easy task.

And I look at these blogs of all the super women and I feel bad about myself.

Because I am not perfect like they appear in their blogs.

So I don't write.

Because I have nothing super creative that I have produced.

Raising children is intangible.

You only see the result of your work many years later.

My oldest is five.

So I have many more years in front of me.

And I pace myself.

But, I worry that women are reading these things and they are thinking that they are not good enough.

Because they don't see the tangible results of their constant giving.

I see the need to share all these wonderful things.

They are inspirational.

And I personally do not want to put up a photo of my ever increasing laundry pile.

I want to look at my own blog and feel inspired.

But I wonder how real that really is?

Are we so ashamed to share our darkness with others?

Our imperfections?

Our bad days?

I don't want to.

And why is that?

We are all here together.

A sisterhood of women.

We are all on our journeys.

And none of us have it figured out.

I have a friend who is turning fifty soon.

She has recently declared that her gift to herself is to forgive herself for not being perfect.

I think I need to give myself the same gift.

And now I am off to have my nap.