Well it's been quite some time since I've posted anything. 2010 was a whirlwind year. It was filled with some of the highest highs and lowest lows. My son turned two in November and just before then, I realized I had resented him somewhat since he was born.
That's not something a mom likes to admit, especially to the entire world through a blog post. I got married at 22 and started a family at 24. I realized I went through a quarter-life crisis last year. There's so much pressure on people in our age group to be at a certain place in our lives at this age. I had to grow up so fast, and hold so much responsibility that I cracked under all the pressure. It damaged a few close friendships and countless other intangible consequences.
In times like this, I like to focus on what I gained and learned from my experiences. I learned more about life and myself in one summer, than I had in the last few years. I'll start from the beginning but this is going to take more than one post. I'll try to get the whole story up too...
It started about a year and a half ago. I suddenly had a renewed self-confidence that was bursting right out of me. At the time I had just graduated from college and landed my dream job. I had a hard time in college. It was a lot of pressure to keep up with school, work, buying a house and being a wife - and that was before I was pregnant. I remember crying on my way home one day thinking, why can't I handle all of this? There are so many more people in this world who do it in worse circumstances than I am. Why can't I handle it as well as them? After graduation in June of 2009, I of course felt relieved. Relieved that I no longer had to be a wife, mother, full time student, and super star employee (among other things like sister, daughter, best friend, etc.). I could scratch one thing off the list of responsibilities.
My career was thriving. I was promoted to Senior Account Executive in late 2009. Though it seemed I had everything a girl could ask for, I had a feeling deep inside that I was missing something. An emptiness I couldn't understand.