Unsatisfied. Annoyed.

I can’t sleep. My little bird is getting over a stomach bug I probably gave her. I let my sweet boy fall off a chair and hit his head. I’m a bad mom. I feel like a bad mom but I’m really just having a bad day. I let them snuggle with me in my bed and watch their chests rise and fall as they sleep. I wish sleep wasn’t a thing I needed, so that I could stay awake all night counting their breaths, covering them so they’re not too hot or too cold, and softly whispering to them. I would ask them for forgiveness for my inadequacies. I would ask them to remind me of times I made them laugh or brought them joy.

It’s hard to feel like you’re enough. Like you‘re doing your job and that your faults are human and real and okay. It’s hard when such precious little lives depend on you and smile at you and hug your neck, just because. It’s hard when you support your family. It’s hard when the world feels confusing and chaotic.

I fight with Mr. Jeremy because I feel inadequate. I don’t know how to express the complicated jumble of negative talk in my head and I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that right now. It would be easy to spiral into a feminist rant about how men just assume you’re being dramatic. If only it were easier to explain the voices you hear as a woman.

I follow @luvvie and read this story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and I feel jealous and behind. Like I haven’t done enough for my Latina sisters and though I’m happy that Black women are claiming their voice, I’m still searching for someone who looks and sounds like me. Maybe they’re out there and I’ve missed them somehow, so please point me in their direction.

I log off of Facebook and can’t bring myself back because I’m tired of all the sad stories and anger and ignorance on my feed. I’m tired of basic girls who refuse to speak up for women and hood rats who are trapped in the cycle. And the relentless sharing of the saddest news stories you can find. I can make up my own anxieties, I don’t need any help.

It feels like a slow creep as we count down the last days in December. I can’t stop thinking about how messed up 2016 has been.

I say all of this without being depressed or unhappy. I’m not unhappy and I am grateful. But all of the complexities of being a woman in the 21st century leave me — unsatisfied. Uneasy. Annoyed.

Here I am with little sleep and many worries. Working towards something I can’t define. Perhaps, what I want is the ability to sleep soundly and confidently. Like the sweet babies in my bed. With no anxieties or inhibitions. Just deep heavy breaths and sweet dreams. Knowing there is someone waiting to pick you up as soon as you open your eyes.