Enough.
Lately, I’ve been struggling not to fall victim to this.
Do you do this? Because oh, my goodness. It’s entirely too easy sometimes.
I often find myself making excuses for why I do things a certain way.
Or why my life is the way it is.
Let me be clear.
I feel like I am the luckiest person.
My husband supports me 100% (literally and figuratively)
I get to do exactly what I want every day.
And for some reason, I feel like I have to excuse that.
That it’s not enough for some people.
Things I am not:
- A high powered career woman who makes bookoos of money
- Particularly talented in any one thing
- Particularly smart. I don’t mean that I am dumb; I’m just not very smart. I ask a lot of questions.
Things I am:
- A devoted writer. Whether I like it or not, I show up every day.
- A dedicated wife. Shocker: I actually enjoy being a housewife. And I take that job very seriously.
- A fantastic listener. I am, without a doubt, the person my friends run to with a problem. They know that I won’t judge. They know that I’ll be honest. They know that I’ll do my best to give them the most realistic advice I can. And I’m actually very good at this.
- Good enough.
That last one might have you raising your eyebrows. Good enough for what, you might be wondering. Just that. I am good enough. My life is good enough. It’s funny to me. I can tell all of my friends when they are flailing that all that matters is being happy. Not to worry about what anyone else thinks. And yet, here I am: a hypocrite.
I hate the question: what do you do? I got asked that a lot this summer between attending so many weddings and visiting with family we haven’t seen in a while. Why am I so embarrassed to answer that question?
What do I do?
What’s my title?
Well, if I had to answer that, I guess I’m a writer and a housewife.
And I’m the absolute happiest I’ve ever been in my life.
For the first time ever, my days are filled doing things I’m actually really good at. My days are filled doing things that fulfill me. And maybe that makes you judge me. Maybe you think the fact that I am truly happy doing the laundry, sweeping the floors, making meals and managing my household is stupid. Or maybe you’re thinking “uh, I do that too and manage to hold a real job.” To which I’d reply, that’s awesome. I did that too, once upon a time. And I hated every minute of it. It just wasn’t me. I think I’m just built differently.
I am lucky.
I have been granted the opportunity to focus 100% on my writing career.
I do not take that for granted.
And there is nothing wrong with it.
I never actually addressed this part of my life when we moved. I wanted to. I wanted to scream from the rooftops. But I didn’t. Because I was afraid of being judged. I was afraid that people would think I’m lazy or stupid. I know I mentioned more than once that I was getting to focus on my writing career, but I kept telling myself I had to wait until I was published to say that I was also a housewife so I could feel validated in what I do.
I am not published. Yet.
But I am a writer.
And I’m a housewife.
And you know what?
That’s enough for me.
