If I'm not careful, I can fill in all the spaces.
Instead of putting on Rolling Stones' Some Girls, I can pick up socks to the soundtrack of silent resentment.
Instead of curling up on the couch with a cozy blanky, I can stand rigid at the kitchen counter checking my phone.
Instead of looking up and seeing that the sun is a clear-bright-yellow-white and the leaves are shimmying and shimmery, I can stare mindlessly into nothing, consumed by a head full of obligation and worry.
It can feel like the stress and the denial of pleasure are badges of honor.
It can feel like motherhood is supposed to hurt and your sense of vitality and desire are supposed to be shut down, snuffed out.
It can feel like your child's pursuit of happiness is supposed to replace your own.
But you deserve so much better. You are entitled to so much more.
Not for any reason other than that you are born, alive in this mysterious, strange, miraculous world.
You can honor the freedom and life you've been given by staking claim to your right to feel fully alive.
You can feel animated, intrigued, curious, energized.
You can feel pleasure, sensuality, sexuality.
You can feel wise, proud, potent, brilliant.
You don't have to run away from home or wait until the kids are gone.
You can find your life, your full aliveness, in the spaces.
You deserve to feel turned on while picking up socks.
You deserve to feel amazed while lying on the couch.
You deserve to feel brilliant while waiting in the carpool lane.
Not only is this your right, it might also be your duty.
To honor the life and freedom you've been given.
To show your children what an adult looks like when she believes her fulfillment matters.