This weekend I paused enough to play. I didn’t just watch my little ones play or say “I’ll play when I’m done with …” and then never get around to being done. I really played with them. For hours across the last 3 days.

I realized in those moments I love being their mom. I love being a stay-at-home-mom. And that’s ok. It’s more than ok, it’s my purpose for my family. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or does or says about how we do this life. What matters is that we stay close to our family values and live our best lives. If I am truly honest with myself, being a mom alone brings me all the purpose I need. It’s not a cop-out for worries over not succeeding in a career. It’s exactly what I am supposed to be doing right now. And that might change over time but I don’t have to worry about the future.

I was feeling gratitude and peace from these thoughts.

Then I stepped on the scale at the gym.

The peace and gratitude bringing life back into my spirit was instantly annihilated. Suddenly, I am worthless because the number is too high. Suddenly I don’t deserve to feed that spirit. To allow for joy, to be present. Suddenly, even though I am keenly aware, I can’t stop the reckless and relentless fears that I am too much, unworthy, unloved.

The fucking scale.

It’s just a number.

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