and over again.

It's kind of amazing to me how quickly my attitude can change when I am faced with a blinking, blank Word document, knowing that I have to hammer out 800 words on some mundane topic, as opposed to the "post" page that is just waiting for me to say whatever it is that I want.

I mean, we all know that I have a problem with authority and people telling me what to do, but this is a little ridiculous.

Anyway.

I kind of had a breakdown on the living room floor the other night.

I finished putting Jameson to bed, and as soon as I walked into the living room, he started to fuss. I had the weight of a week's worth of work needing to be finished in one night on my back, and I just couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't even cry (at first), I just laid flat on my back in the middle of the carpet and stared at the ceiling while babbling on about everything crammed into my too-small-to-carry-it-all-around brain.

"I just want to do what I'm created to do, and I don't even know what that is. I just want to do that thing that brings fulfillment, that lets me know that I am doing that thing that God put inside of me to do, but I can't find it. And how do I know when to fight for a dream that I think I could have, or settle for a life of responsibility?"

And then my wise and patient and ever-loving husband said, "What if you're not supposed to do all of the things you were created to do all at once?"

And I just thought, "I guess I'd never thought of that before."

Which is kind of dumb that I hadn't, if we're being honest. I mean, I've always tried to approach my life as having seasons, and I don't know how I didn't relate certain seasons of life to the things I'm supposed to be doing at certain times.
I was clearly not meant to be a wife and mother when I was seventeen and in college.
I probably won't be raising children when I'm seventy and living in my dream house (right? Ha).

But seriously. I'm here.
I'm a wife and a mother right now. That's what I do, it's who I am.
I also happen to write a little bit on the side to bring in some money, and if I'm not completely mentally inept after finishing that, I spit out messy words on a computer in the hopes that someone else will see and understand.
Maybe someday, or maybe even tomorrow, someone will see these words (or I'll get up the guts/energy/willpower to send them to someone) and they'll say to me, "Hey. I really think you've got important things to say, and the way you say them is intriguing and relate-able, and we want to give you some money to write more of these things and tell them to more people."
And I will be a happy, happy lady.

But for now, I need to focus on being here.
(Isn't that what it always comes back to, for me? Seriously, I don't know how anyone can keep reading this--it's got to get so redundant after awhile!)
I am enough, even without all of those roles.
I am enough when I don't write, when I don't mother, and when I don't wife.
I am enough in this depraved body, because Christ said I was enough.
And if He said so, why am I trying to say otherwise?

Ladies and Gentlemen, here sits Camille Nicole, back in the place she always finds herself--the beginning.

And it's okay.