Nearly 4 years ago, I had a spark. I wanted to be creative. I wanted to share what I knew. I wanted an outlet. SoDomesticallyChallenged.com was born. I shared my organizing tips and you all came along with me as our family built our home. In 2 months, we’ll celebrate the second anniversary of that move.
I had a vision of So Domestically Challenged. I thought I’d bring you along with me while I organized our new spaces. I thought you’d share in my delight as I decorated our new rooms. I thought I’d find an endless supply of inspiration once I stepped into the home I had waited for with such anticipation.
We moved in in what felt like a whirlwind. The kids had just gotten out of school for the summer and we were racing around town to this activity and that playdate and even a little summer travel. The precious few, commonly interrupted moments of time I had at home were filled with painting walls, assembling furniture, and unfortunately, finding construction flaws in what was meant to be a dream home. Every day my head filled with ideas that I wanted to share and every day I told myself I’d do it when I had more time tomorrow.
But every tomorrow played as busily as the last. Every day was filled with tasks. Summer ended and the kids went back to school. The need-to-do list grew ever longer while the want-to-do list was pushed ever further back. My posts became fewer and fewer.
Something happened slowly over the last 2 years. I lost a part of myself. I’d want to write but felt that I was empty, with nothing to share. I’d search all around my house for inspiration and end up dry. Every so often I’d get an idea like “let’s show a new way to organize school supplies” and when I’d try to brainstorm, I’d come away with “you put your stapler here and your paper over there.” Not exactly earth shattering news.
Fear became my frenemy: we were thick as thieves but wanted nothing more than to destroy one-another. I added So Domestically Challenged to what felt like an ever-growing inventory of personal failures and false starts. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t think. Honestly, I didn’t feel like I could do much of anything.
I sometimes look upon my life as a collection of embarrassing moments with small lulls between where I somehow managed to pull myself together. I feel like a fraud in all that I do: I don’t especially know how to parent, I don’t know how to be a Girl Scout leader, I’m not particularly talented in any of the things that typically make a good wife, and sometimes I think I’m not even sure how to talk to other adults. There is a nagging fear in all I do that someday, someone is going to see right through me and I’ll add that fresh new embarrassment to my lengthy chain.
I should say, I don’t feel depressed. I’m happy. I love everything about my life. I just feel kinda…fake.
Then, on the radio a few months back, I heard a discussion about a study that showed that around 70% of people feel like frauds. One of the hosts of the show even opened up and said he had always felt that way too.
So here I am, I guess not fully a fraud, but a little more human. I realize now that I’m not as different as I thought I was and maybe some of you feel the same way. I want to come back here, but I don’t want to just share with you. I want to hear from you. I want So Domestically Challenged to be a place with back and forth dialogue, where we can feel our ups and downs together.
Thank you all for keeping your subscriptions. I hope to make So Domestically Challenged a community where we can all feel comfortable being ourselves.