I am in this delicious space in my life where I get to choose what I want to do each day and truly be with myself. This was quite alarming for me for awhile, because I have kept so busy over the last umpteen years, that I truly forgot what I was like!

It is just so easy to lose oneself. We become mothers and wives. We lean into careers and hobbies and friendships. We cover up what we think others will not like or approve of. We morph, hide, transform, put walls up. What a lovely thing to just let it all go. To stop caring about what others think of us. My seventh grade teacher told me this would happen at some point. I didn’t know it would take so long!

I told my husband that folks around me have been so surprised that I quit homesteading and my career as an herbalist. Some acquaintances have been truly hurt and have mentioned that they thought they knew me. “I know you fundamentally,” Doug assures me. I bet, like me, a lot of us get so lost in careers and images of what that should look like, or roles in life, that we no longer look like ourselves.

I had a profound internal injury that no longer allows me to be a homesteader. Being a farm girl (the name of this blog, even!) has been a strong identity for me. Because this injury isn’t life threatening, I just kept going. I tried to bring in farm interns, hire folks, do it myself, but I can no longer lift over twenty pounds, be on my feet for a long time, squat, or do a lot of heavy work. Homesteading is obviously out.

I have lost my passion for herbalism after being in the business for so long. I will keep making remedies for my husband and myself, but I will send people to my daughter, and pursue what I am really interested in at the moment. I have learned that doing something because you think you have to, that it is your purpose in life, or that it proves your worth is just a lie we tell ourselves. Our purpose is to just be ourselves.

As I sit in my she-shed weaving away and coming up with new painting ideas, I have time to remember who I am. Who I was at eight years old, let’s say. What I loved (cats, dancing, writing, classical music!) and who I love and what I am passionate about and the vulnerable parts of myself that I hid away because I didn’t want to get hurt. I remember that sweet girl that loves lots of color and leopard print and big gardens and furry animals and who is shy and extroverted somehow at the same time. Who loves to create art but was dissuaded to. Who created images and lifestyles to keep so busy that I wouldn’t have time to deal with the past or the nuances of myself that I thought weren’t good enough. I have cared far too much what others think. I am a people pleaser. I cling to my grown children like they are still six years old. I am fearful and brave and stripped down to the very essence of myself. How freeing. How fun!

Sometimes one needs to step away and remember oneself. Sometimes the universe strips everything away so that we will remember. I hope you remember.