The reason I started the post about being stuck in a "rescuer" mode is because this life style often causes a blogging dilemma. My life is very often wrapped up in lives that I do not have the right to write about. I write or indicate so often that I am stressed or tired; I must seem like a person who is incapable of dealing with the world. Not true. I just can't explain what is going on. Maybe, when someone asks for help I should have them sign a disclaimer, allowing themselves to become part of my blog. Perhaps I think too much.
Right now my life is quite full of the girls and watching my friends raise their babies (I feel like some sort of fairy godmother. Maybe this is why my mother loved middle age so much. A chance to share wisdom when asked and watch people grow.) I am also in rescue/caretaker mode for others. But somehow, in all of this I have to find me. I spent my week of vacation problem solving via text and phone. I need to wean myself from swooping in and cleaning things up. This is not my job. I also spent a good deal of time telling others' stories.
I can't share private information about others (even if it keeps me awake at night and tints my life all day/every day). I really can't share much about the girls except updating newsy stuff. Lily is wise to the whole thing. I am now forbidden from telling baby stories about her to my friends with babies. "
"There's nothing worse than sitting there and hearing you tell the lipstick story from when I was two. I am ten now. I don't play with lipstick. What will they think of me?" "Please do not tell stories about me during you little meetings." You get the drift. So do I.
I knew this day would come. I need to start creating my own stories.