I have opened this box to write a caption multiple times over the last several days, and stare at the blinking cursor. What can I say? What can I write? Sometimes the truth of things are hard for even me to say. Let me tell you this: I’ve been happy lately. Like, really happy. Diet and exercise and no alcohol surely play a role, but so does sunshine. I’m not working as much, though I need to be. To get everything accomplished that I need to accomplish, I’m still at seven days a week. We both have been, for too long now. I should work fourteen hour days and I deliberately don’t so I can be wife and mother and person, but I feel the pressure of it when I don’t. Despite my happiness, my genuine change in heart, this fresh and welcome rush of natural seratonin, I’ve been down this past week. I’ve been scared and wondering and stressed out and feeling the pressure to work harder, to make those ends meet, to have seen on our taxes how little we really make for how hard we work has reminded me that we undervalue ourselves and our work and do we do it because we are women, or because we are scared? Both? Scared we aren’t good enough to charge what we’re worth and not wonder how to make ends meet? To get the emails when we send over our quotes to potential clients and they write back: “you’re not worth that”. There has to be more than this, to wonder if we’ll ever get out of this cycle, to be so busy that we really mean it when we say we are, it’s all we know right now and I get you’re probably tired of hearing it, but I’m tired of living it. I’m tired of scraping by and wondering what’s next and if we’ll ever, ever get to really live on the road again. I’m tired of being undervalued and underpaid and a burnt out shell of a person. I thought about how I used to plan these lovely meals at least once or twice a week, and I would set the table and light beeswax tapers and cook a fantastic meal and turn on Rosemary, and I can’t even remember when that last was, and will I ever be that woman again?

birchandpineさん(@birchandpine)が投稿した動画 -

Kate Oliverのインスタグラム(birchandpine) - 4月30日 01時27分


I have opened this box to write a caption multiple times over the last several days, and stare at the blinking cursor. What can I say? What can I write? Sometimes the truth of things are hard for even me to say. Let me tell you this: I’ve been happy lately. Like, really happy. Diet and exercise and no alcohol surely play a role, but so does sunshine. I’m not working as much, though I need to be. To get everything accomplished that I need to accomplish, I’m still at seven days a week. We both have been, for too long now. I should work fourteen hour days and I deliberately don’t so I can be wife and mother and person, but I feel the pressure of it when I don’t. Despite my happiness, my genuine change in heart, this fresh and welcome rush of natural seratonin, I’ve been down this past week. I’ve been scared and wondering and stressed out and feeling the pressure to work harder, to make those ends meet, to have seen on our taxes how little we really make for how hard we work has reminded me that we undervalue ourselves and our work and do we do it because we are women, or because we are scared? Both? Scared we aren’t good enough to charge what we’re worth and not wonder how to make ends meet? To get the emails when we send over our quotes to potential clients and they write back: “you’re not worth that”. There has to be more than this, to wonder if we’ll ever get out of this cycle, to be so busy that we really mean it when we say we are, it’s all we know right now and I get you’re probably tired of hearing it, but I’m tired of living it. I’m tired of scraping by and wondering what’s next and if we’ll ever, ever get to really live on the road again. I’m tired of being undervalued and underpaid and a burnt out shell of a person. I thought about how I used to plan these lovely meals at least once or twice a week, and I would set the table and light beeswax tapers and cook a fantastic meal and turn on Rosemary, and I can’t even remember when that last was, and will I ever be that woman again?


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