An old friend asked me today if I still write.

You see, I thought myself a writer once upon a dream. Whether I was good or not, I wrote. It was an outlet. A way I found my voice. A sense of expression I found easier than words said out aloud. It was also my way of documenting. Documenting my life, milestones, daily events. Things that were (and weren’t) note worthy. Things I could show my daughters one day. Long before I even had the dream of daughters. I always wrote with them in mind. I wrote in hope it would offer them insight into the person their mother was long before she wore that title. Mother.

I had been telling myself since the new year ticked over that I would start writing again. It had been a while. Probably a decade if I was humble enough to admit (which apparently I am). So I set myself the task. I would write something everyday. They say write about what you know. And for me, now, at this juncture in time, it’s motherhood, wifedom, homemaking  and everything in between.

So you may call it serendipity when I got asked that question today.

Had I started writing again.

Not yet. I hate to admit it, but procrastination at this point is probably my strongest attribute. In my defence though, it has been the hardest 18 months of my life with the hardest baby I’ve ever had, so pure survival was all I could (and some may argue, should) manage.

So my idea at the start of the year (and no, I did not intend to rhyme) was to write everyday,  with the intention to potentially compile something I could call ‘366 days of Motherhood’ – or something catchy along those lines (no, it’s not a typo, it’s a leap year).

However, as we just established, Queen of the Procrastinators over here.

As we’re already into well into the year, I may need to rethink the title of this collection. Perhaps we can follow the new financial year calendar instead? Ha.

Alas, I digress.

Back to serendipity. That question today was the kick up the butt I needed to get started. How did she know I wanted to start writing again. How did she know my new years resolution to myself. She didn’t. So call it serendipity, call it God, call it the universe shaking me up. Whatever it is, it worked. And here I am.

My previous writings were either diary entries retelling my days/weekends, or poems and musings about life, heartbreak, heart yearns etc.

However, the intention with these writings is to document as candidly as possible a day in the life of me. A mother. A wife. A sister. A daughter. A woman on her own journey back to self discovery. At the age of 38. A woman on the road to finding some purpose of sorts outside of being a mum and wife, which seems to presently define the entirety of me.

There may be days the musings are far from profound, and merely a documentation of the day that was. Afterall, when you need to write something daily about the context of that day, as a mum, some days just aren’t that riveting. But with this exercise I endeavour to share what I found most significant in that day. What I could learn from it. How I can grow. Or at the very least, just a raw, unfiltered version of life, of parenting, of marriage, even friendship maybe. The simple life. The life that we all live. A life that we can all relate to. Draw from. Take solace in, and know that in this day, in your day, whoever you are, that you weren’t alone in your days. In your challenges, in your thoughts, your musings.

So with these entries, I write with you in mind. You, my fellow mothers, wives, sisters, daughters. I write that I may my impact your hearts, your minds. I write that I may find my voice again. I write that I may find something in my day to day life that eclipses the monotony of the ‘stay at home mum’ existence. I write because I can. I write because I should. I write for my own daughters, who may read these some day, and have a more deeper understanding of who their mum really was.

This is excerpt 1.