the draw to hiddenness

There’s this instinctual drive in me to remain hidden. 

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before - though I’ve felt the subtle, quiet call for it since the chaos of 2020. 

But motherhood has only intensified this call to go inward;  to remain under the radar so the speak. 

Not out of fear or exhaustion - but the kind of privacy to grow and learn and become in secret.

To me, this looks like getting off social media - specifically Instagram. 

I want to remain present in this season like I never have before. 

To follow dreams for no one else but myself. 

To redefine timelines and turn off the spotlight of others’ expectations.

To go unseen, yet still, flourish.

Just in my own time. 

In a special kind of ebb and flow as I raise my daughter with the kind of attention she deserves.

Who knows how long this “hiddenness” will last - but I hope long enough to where I crave my real life over instagram stories. Where videos and photos are printed in family books, not pearls in the never-ending, mindless scrolling mud.

I want my days to feel long again. 

I want my days to matter.

I want to figure out what lies behind this next season that I feel at the forefront of. And I can’t do that as I dissociate on a screen. 

I want to read books again. 

Write letters again. 

Create and post online where I’m still disconnected (cue: blog.) 

I want to volunteer.

I want to be uncool as long as I’m being true to myself. 

And more importantly, I want my daughter to see my face without a phone next to it. 

I fear but long to look in the face of the things I used to hide away with mindless scrolling - boredom and purposelessness.

To know this season (and life) of motherhood will only be my demise if I let it.

If I struggle to be my old self and my new self, I’ll lose both altogether.  Or I can let it be one of the most beautiful things in my life if I’m willing to surrender. 

Our world has been fed a lie that significance can only be found when your life is displayed among the crowd - but I’m learning how meaningful the moments are when I’m alone or with just the ones I love.

And the more I keep making my world smaller, the more I crave it.

Catching up through letters or a phone call - taking a walk with a friend - the simple and vital need to just not get back to anyone when you don’t have capacity for it.

To live the life you want, again.

To remain hidden. 

To become wildly present, again.