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I sit down at the kitchen table with a desire to write, not knowing where to start.

My body foggy from the remnants of a gastric bug picked up from Giorgia; I’ve been fighting it for days.

My mind is distracted by the sound of the Pope babbling in Italian on Michele’s phone a few metres away, and in the other direction towards the living room where a squabble is escalating between the girls.

It feels similar to the state I was in a couple of hours ago, in Hobbycraft, trying to stay attentive to the woman at the till while purchasing a small pile of crafts for rainy weather.

Anna was trying to engage me, my left eye was spinning 180 towards Giorgia undoing tape and wrapping it around a display basket, the remaining fragments of my attention clocking Michele simmering in his own world, completely oblivious to my struggle.

As a mother I spend so much of my time here, in a mind consumed and scattered.

Not by choice, by the very nature of the role.

Feelers up and out to manage everyone and everything around me.

Grasping in and down for grounding and clarity in the midst of it all.

I have got used to losing momentum in what I am doing.

Momentum in a single thought even.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve walked into a room to get something only to forget 30 seconds later.

Life has become a series of fits and starts.

Momentum begins rolling until the next curveball hits.

Creativity and inspiration flourish, and then depending on what’s going on, I hit that baseline again.

Strangely, this rhythm has become so familiar that it doesn’t rattle me so much anymore.

It is what it is.

My lifeline becomes those moments where I can meet myself with kindness.

When I’m in a place of doing so much but feeling like I’m not getting anything done at all.

After leaving the shop, and playing back over my mind what the onlookers thought while they watched me hectically juggle my family and loosely hold myself in my interaction with the woman at the till.

When I’m not feeling inspired and creative, nor feeling the high of momentum or inspiration.

When I'm so overwhelmed I feel I could combust.

Kindness is breathing deeply.

Kindness is staying present.

Kindness is giving space to my feelings.

Kindness is acknowledgment.

Kindness is turning my mothering energy towards myself, dissolving feelings of shame.

Kindness is moving slow and taking my time.

Kindness is reminding myself that I am enough and that what I am doing is MORE than enough, regardless of what my ‘inner mean mama’ might say.

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