Hey there! I’m Mikala—a wife, mother of 5, family doctor, well-being advocate, and the author of Ordinary on Purpose. Each month, my writing reaches millions of women, but I am thrilled to be connecting with YOU. I’m truly grateful to have you here!
All tagged #showthereal
Because high school sports (and so many parts of life, in general) are lots of fun until they’re NOT. But even when they’re not, we’ll be there.
I may occasionally wish for a moment or two that I could step into those seemingly picture-perfect lives that surround me. But the truth is, I love this life. THIS one.
Life only gives us a few. But when we find them??? We just know...
What if I don't want anything MORE? Or need anything MORE? What if I refuse to STRIVE anymore!?!
The Bad Guy is met with lots of eye rolls and huffing and “That’s stupid!!” and “You’re the worst!!” But I’m not too concerned about their immediate happiness because I’m mostly focused on the end game.
Maybe we knock ourselves out trying to give them everything…but then our kid will remember how we lost our temper or rolled our eyes or apparently ‘always’ forgot to bring soccer treats.
Look at the way our brilliant young people JUST KEEP SHOWING UP!!!
I realize things are beginning to open up now, and I want to feel excited. But mostly I want to lay down and sleep for a year.
We’re ALL worn thin. We’re ALL about four incidents away from a meltdown. And none of us knows which number any other person is on.
I’m realizing I don’t want 2021 to be my year. For anything. Like finally achieving whole house organization. Or finally getting into the best shape of my life. Or finally achieving some grand purpose.
I wish I could say I’m the perfect mother. But the truth is…I’m not. Not even close. Day after day I mess up in a million ways. And some nights as fat tears fall onto my pillow, this little whisper of peace settles into my heart…
And this year, I’m learning to love the people in my life who carry very different convictions than I do.
She carries her children’s joy and sorrow. She carries their goodness and pain. And every night she casts ALL the things she’s carrying off to Jesus as she prays over her children’s souls.
Saying ‘I’m tired’ is like saying ‘I’m chilly’ when I’m buried up to my neck in a snowbank wearing my bathing suit while my little black toes begin breaking off one by one.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get it. Will I ever be the patient, loving mom I strive to be? Will I ever be able to control my temper? Will I ever be able to keep it all together?
I looked at myself in the mirror just now and thought, “WHOA, I look tired.”
I can serve and love and work and pray and give the very best of myself to the task right in front of my face.
Can I just tell the truth?? This is HARD. We are struggling. And it is okay to say so.
