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I’m running out of stories to tell here. I don’t think I’ll ever run out of stories, whether it be my standard navel-gazing introspection, or the mundane and the complex and wonderful things about being a parent and a person and trying to be both things at once.

But I’m running out of stories for this space, for this little spot, just for now. This may not always be the case. I’ll probably find something to talk about, sometime, that’s not a suggestion about what shoes to wear or sales to look at. But lately, I’ve pulled back, just a bit. 

Writing is cathartic for me. I love it and always have. And, part of the reason I enjoy this space is because I can write amongst so many of you. Sometimes shouting in an empty room feels just right. Sometimes shouting in a crowded space feels better. Mostly, right now, I like the empty room.

There are so many things I want to write about: I want to tell you about Isobel, about her getting so much bigger, about the way parenting has changed for me. I want to tell you about me, about how depression has truly crippled me at times this year, and offer you a hand if you’ve felt the same. I want to write about all those things, in detail, spread them all out here, but this is all I can do right now.

Blogging about clothes is so stupid, right? The title “lifestyle blogger” is terrible. Like a life is something you can construct out of gold accents and Anthropologie sale racks. That’s not to say there isn’t value in self-care or in indulging occasionally, because there is. I had a massage right before Thanksgiving and it was so phenomonal, so completely blissful, that I almost forgot I was a human on this earth for 90 minutes. (Yes, I sprang for 90 minutes. I encourage you to do the same.) My mind was quiet, my body was still, and it was an indulgence and that’s okay. I needed it. (“Oh my god, your shoulders.” I know, lady. I KNOW. They’re well up around my ears most of the time.)

But, anyway: this space. It might feel empty, or even bland for a while. Maybe it has already–if so, I’m sorry. (I hope you like books. -___-) At some point, I want to be here again in earnest, talking occasionally about things that matter to me that are not just oversized sweaters. (I love oversized sweaters.) Still, I’m not sure how to do that yet. I recently stumbled on a couple old posts–things I wrote about being pregnant, being scared, having a new baby. Those were real feelings, and I enjoyed writing about them, hearing from you (many of you who are my friends) about you feeling the same. That’s really lovely when that can happen.

For now, it’s almost the holidays, and then–praise! The new year. 2016, finally. I’m excited for Iz to turn 4. My sister is coming back from Ecuador soon for a brief stay. Oh, and it’s 70 degrees today, December 14. I am wearing an oversized sweater. This is me, saying hi. Shouting in the crowded room.