Homebody & Heart

My friend Chris was the first person I told about the blog.

Chris is one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever met. Literal cartoon-jaw-drop beautiful. When we were younger we made a pact that if neither of us had kids by 35, we’d have each other’s. Via turkey baster. He’s gay, I’m extremely not his type, and the turkey baster was a critical part of the agreement.

I had my son at 35.

By his brother.

I’ll let that one land for a second.

Chris and I had fallen out of touch for years, but we finally caught up the other day, just the two of us, and it was the kind of conversation where you remember why this person knew you before you knew yourself.

I told him about the blog. I told him it’s called Homebody & Heart.

He laughed and said, “How very live laugh love of you.” Chris has always been the kind of funny that doubles as a core workout. My abs have missed him.

And honestly? He’s right. It IS very live laugh love of me. I’ve spent the last decade getting sober, becoming a mom, leaving a real estate team under circumstances I’ll get into another time, navigating a four year old who is developmentally right on track which is another way of saying he has no impulse control and it is MY job as the adult to regulate through it, and welcoming a new puppy into the chaos because apparently I needed MORE things to keep alive. Of course I named my blog Homebody & Heart. Of course I did. There’s a sign hanging in this metaphorical kitchen of my life that says “But First, Coffee,” and I’m committed to it.

Then Chris said something else that stuck with me. He said it really seems like I’m doing the best I’ve ever been in my life.

And I said, without thinking: “Am I though?”

The “social media isn’t real life” thing is something I’ve heard a thousand times. I’ve said it. I’ve nodded along when other people said it. It’s become background noise, like “drink more water” or “sleep is important.” You know it. You don’t feel it.

But something about Chris, who I hadn’t really talked to in years, telling me I seem like I’m doing great, and me hearing that sentence like it was being said about a stranger. That cracked something open.

Because on paper? I AM doing great. I’m sober. I’m a licensed realtor. I have a son I adore. I left a situation that wasn’t serving me. I’m building something of my own. I have a new puppy, a blog, a business, a brand.

On the inside? Some days I feel like I’m held together with dry shampoo and prayer. Some days I cry in the bread aisle. Some days I look around at the life I’ve built and think, wait, who authorized this.

Both things can be true. Both things ARE true. That’s the part that doesn’t fit on an Instagram story.

And if we’re really going to talk about it, here’s a thing nobody warns you about getting sober: posting gets HARD. When I was drunk and 22, I’d post the stupidest things without a second thought. To this day, every time Facebook sends me a “you have a new memory to look back on” notification, I race to see it so I can make it private before anyone else sees it. Sober me overthinks every single caption. Sober me talks herself out of posting at least twice before actually doing it. Sober me, building a business that requires social media to survive, has to fight herself to hit share on a reel.

Every single post you see from me was preceded by me staring at my phone like it owed me money. I write the caption. I delete the caption. I change the photo. I close the app. I reopen it. I read it back to myself in three different voices to see if any of them sound normal. I change the caption again. I lie on the floor for a minute. Eventually I get to the “okay, fuck it, just be who you are, it is what it is, no shame in my shenanigans today” part, and I post. And then I panic for the next 45 seconds and have to not look at my phone because what if nobody liked it, what if everybody liked it, what if my fourth grade teacher saw it.

This is not the energy of someone who is Thriving™.

And yet, also, I am. Both things. At the same time. Sober, building, becoming, stressed, posting through it, crying in grocery store aisles, raising a human, training a puppy, taking up space, and absolutely, unapologetically, live laugh loving my way through it whether I meant to or not.

So yeah. Homebody & Heart. How very live laugh love of me.

And honestly? Chris nailed it. That’s the whole thing. I’m living this very messy life, laughing at the parts that aren’t funny yet, and loving the people in it hard enough to keep showing up for all of it.

Turns out the sign was right. I’m keeping it. Even if it lives in the back of the catch-all closet, waiting to be rediscovered during the next spring cleaning.

Image by geralt on Pixabay