I am.

I am woman.

I can roar louder than most, but I’d rather you hear my pumping heart, beating loudly with life and love that runs deep & thick through each vein.

I’m intelligent but not always logical.

I carry the weight of my hips & the weight of the world; I’m stronger than I look & I’m stronger than I feel.

I am made in the image of God and I am emotional. I don’t want to keep my feelings bound up in the bars of my ribcage.

Stop telling me it’s not okay to feel. Stop telling me it’s okay not to feel.

I am a relentless woman.

I am mother.

I have given birth. I have labored and pushed out life into this world with my own body and I am a partner in creations new.

I have nursed and fed and soothed and protected. I am a fearsome thing to behold. And even on the worst days, when the discipline track gets played on repeat, I hold a fierce love that could set a forest on fire with the smallest kindling.

I am survivor.

I have clawed my way through the valley of death and I did fear evil because it reigned in my mind. I continue to walk the hills of depression but I know that the hurt means I’m alive and isn’t that a gift?

My skin has been sliced and diced by words and knives alike and the scar tissue doesn’t numb the remembering but it makes me stronger than I was when I started.

Yes, I am a relentless woman.

I sit in the early mornings, hot coffee between my hands and I wonder how I’m going to avoid the shallow end of the pool today. I fear being too safe and I fear the risk. I am a contradiction but I walk it out and figure it out and learn that I need to say yes to the mess. Yes to the risk. Yes to really living it full.

Because this life… this one life I have & everything I pack into it is a gift.

I’m re-learning the graceful art of counting the gifts, the blessings.

I think of that quote, “What if you woke up tomorrow with only what you thanked God for today?”

And I am haunted.

I am reminded.

I am compelled.

I am counting.

Again.

 

281. Blank journal pages and a pen that works.

282. I have the most inspiring friends. Even the ones I haven’t met yet.

283. Hot coffee out of the french press.

284. The way the clouds settle in low on the hills, as only Oregon can provide.

285. Our house is selling – we close August 27th. A new adventure begins and a new family awaits us!

286. Tiny hands that reach for mama in the tired hours.

287. The gift of child sponsorship that so many will offer to kids in Bolivia.

288. A new suitcase. With wheels. And a handle that works.

289. Hot summer days spent by the pool, watermelon in hand.

290. The way he wraps his arms around me in the dark.

photo


20 Responses to I am.

  1. I appreciate your honesty, your struggle with depression. I, too, seem to live there, but I’m learning to crawl my way out one step at a time. I’m rooting for you!

  2. Beautiful boost I needed today.

    Steph

  3. “I’m intelligent but not always logical.”

    Um, yes. I should hand that out on business cards to people I meet. :)

    I love everything about this because I love everything that you are. Thanks for sharing yourself with us the way you do. Thankful for the way you inspire and CONSPIRE.

  4. Powerful words, Nish. Thank goodness that the truth is it’s more than okay to feel – it’s necessary and life-giving; otherwise we’d all implode. Excited for the adventures that are before you!

  5. Holy sweet Jesus. GIRL. Oh, this is good, good, good. (and now we have the first one. Yay!)

  6. You capture it. Perfectly. So, so, unspeakably good.

    I love all that you are, friend.

  7. Beautiful post Nish! Absolutely beautiful!

  8. Nish, this is just beautiful. I’m tempted to print it out so I can save it. It is so you and it is also so me. And SLC? Really? That’s a big culture and temperature/weather change from Oregon. Praying blessings on your move!

  9. Pingback: counting with family and friends | From: The Little Pink House

  10. I love the way you wove it all together with the gift-counting.

    Especially the shallow side of the pool!

  11. Tears. And yes…on to the real living.

  12. “I am a fearsome thing to behold.” hell yeah, lady. love this manifesta.

  13. Oh. So. Good.
    Can I print this one up, and hang it on my bathroom mirror?
    If even just this:
    “I am mother. I have given birth. I have labored and pushed out life into this world with my own body and I am a partner in creations new.
    I have nursed and fed and soothed and protected. I am a fearsome thing to behold. And even on the worst days, when the discipline track gets played on repeat, I hold a fierce love that could set a forest on fire with the smallest kindling.”
    Wow.

    I need this reminder, daily. Gratitude for this life, this noisy mess, this that He calls me to. Conviction to walk worthy of my calling!

  14. Beautiful words! Love that you started counting again.

    I’ve never posted before but have been a loyal reader for about a year now and I love your blog, your words are always inspiring and so true. All the best for you move and the new beginning in SLC! So very happy for you!

  15. That quote struck me hard this morning. What if I DID waken to only the things I had thanked Him for. Unfortunately this morning I would have opened my eyes to nothing. When I realized that, I was crushed with overwhelming regret. They say regret is the strongest emotion… I believe it now.

    Thank you for the reminder!

  16. Beautifully written. I felt like you tugged the words straight from my heart today and I was left sorta breathless. I need to start counting too. The pretty blank journal is waiting patiently by my bedside. Thanks for the reminder!

  17. Oh wow. I am speechless. You have an amazing gift…not only the way you write, but the way you put your feelings (and my feelings) into words.

    A few months ago, I clung to my daughters in the basement as a tornado came through my neighborhood. In that moment, I had clarity of exactly what was important; the trivial fell away. I promised myself I would not forget that feeling, to be grateful for my life and all of its mundane ordinary details. I have fallen short… but your powerful words get me back on track. Thank you.

  18. Pingback: New Year’s: A letter. | The Outdoor Wife

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