Am I the prodigal son,

Or am I the brother?

Am I the repentant and forgiven,

Or am I just a sinner?

Am I Mary with her perfume,

Or am I a Pharisee?

Lord Jesus please have mercy on me.

 

Am I the faithful widow,

Or am I hoarding jars of clay?

Am I stepping off the edge of a boat,

Or am I a rich man turning away?

Am I the centurion,

Or Thomas saying, “how can it be?”

Lord Jesus please have mercy on me.

 

Am I Esther stepping boldly

Into the presence of the king?

Am I David picking up river stones

To put inside my sling?

Am I Jonah running from You,

Or Samson sleeping with the enemy?

Lord Jesus please have mercy on me.

 

Am I Peter three times denying,

Or am I Solomon building a temple?

Am I Joseph with a coat and a dream,

Or am I just Eve with an apple?

Am I watching You write in the dirt,

Or am I pointing accusingly?

Lord Jesus please have mercy on me.

Am I turning the other cheek,

Or am I still casting stones?

Am I laying down burdens and crowns,

Or am I trying to do it all on my own?

Am I waiting for You in an upper room,

Or hanging beside You on a tree?

Lord Jesus please have mercy on me.

 

Please let Your mercy fall upon me,

Please come and make me new.

Like Paul, would You blind me with You glory,

Until all I can see is You.

Will I find within me, faith just like a seed-

To believe that You – Emmanuel,

Would save a wretch like me?


I am forgetting the taste of manna,

I am Abraham staring at the sky.

I am Daniel, on my knees in defiance,

I am Gideon, asking for another sign.

I am beating a rock with the very same staff

That was used to split the sea,

Lord Jesus please have mercy on me.

Who am I that You are mindful of me?

I just can’t comprehend,

How can the One that I call ‘Messiah‘

Choose to call a sinner ‘friend’?

Grace beyond understanding,

Who could fathom such forgiveness –

The King of all eternity,

Washing the feet of Judas.


Lord Jesus…

 

[A few questions from one mother to another]

You were just a child yourself, standing in that place,

A light from Heaven blinding, you as you fell to your knees.

What did it feel like Mary, to hear the words that would change your life?

Was there fear and trepidation mixed with incomprehensible peace?

How did it feel when he said you would carry the longed awaited King?

Was it disbelief, unworthiness or fear taking precedence in your heart?

You said, “I am His servant, let it be as you have said.”

How did you find such faith to trust Him from the start?

What was it like when you had to approached Joseph?

How could you hope to make him understand words you couldn’t even comprehend; 

Knowing full well the consequences of that whispered utterance,

Meant that your betrothal, and perhaps even your life, might end? 

What kind of faith does it take to walk into that room, Mary?

And look the man you are to marry in the eye,

And tell him an unbelievable story of an angel and a child,

Knowing it would be impossible to make him believe it’s not a lie.

And how did it feel Mary, when he arrived at you door? 

Telling you he believed you, and he saw an angel too.

Did you cry in relief when he said he would still take you as his bride?

Choosing to carry the burden of this blessing alongside you.

What was the journey like on that donkey to Bethlehem? 

How much fear and pain and torment did you go through?

As your hips and back and chest ached with the weight and pressure

Of the child and the responsibility you carried in your womb. 

Every jostle and bump and lumber of that creature,

You would have felt it all in every ache of your body.

I can’t imagine how torturous it would have been for you,

To be that pregnant – riding on a donkey.

What was it like the first time you were turned away from an inn?

How did you feel when it happened again and again and again?

When your only option was a barn, did your weary heart begin to hurt?

Or was it easy to trust that the God who brought you this far,

Would protect the baby you’d have to deliver in the dirt?

What was it like Mary, when the pain threatened to undo you,

As you laboured to bring the Son of Man into that unlikely room?

As you breathed through every contraction and strain and unbearable moment,

While Life Himself transitioned through your womb.

And when you first heard that cry, Mary,

As The Word made flesh uttered His first sound,

Could you actually feel the moment, Mary?

When that barn and that dirt became hallowed ground.

Mary, would you have been able to comprehend the nails

That would pierce the tiny fist that clutched your finger?

Mary, could you have even fathomed the blood

That would run down the cheeks where infant tears lingered?

Mary, how could you foresee the depths of the battle

That would be fought to hell and back, and would be won

When there in that stable and in that moment,

All you could see before you was your son.

©️ Ferne Hood 2024

Breath fills my lungs without me even knowing,

Subconscious evidence that proves that I’m alive,

This space inside my chest constantly rises and falls;

In and out, over and over, just like the tide.

It’s almost as if there’s something within me,

Telling my lungs to inflate when I have nothing left;

Like eternity, or hope, or some kind of Holy force –

Telling my humanity to take another breath.

Sometimes the inadequacy threatens to undo me,

And shame walks hand in hand with the fight;

How can I expect to withstand the battle and the fire,

If sometimes I can barely make it through the night?

Pretending masquerades as having it all together,

But let’s lay aside pretence for the sake of transparency –

I have calloused knees and shelves full of abandoned dreams,

Looking again for words to put on blank pages inside of me.

I feel like I’ve been searching for You for my whole life,

While I wonder why You’d even bother with me;

But I find myself here on the worn carpet once again,

Daring myself to fall again at feet I cannot see.


So I kneel in the silence and I wait for You,

Hoping You will meet me here in this empty space;

I try my best not to hide my exhausted expectations,

As all my masks fall with the tears that line my face.

And like a whisper of a wind I feel Your presence,

Deep inside I know You’ve been there from the start;

I know You can put the pieces of me back together again,

Because before it shattered, it was You who made my heart.

And I hear You say ~

“El Roi

I am the God who sees you,

El Roi

I am the God who sees,

El Roi

I am the God who treasures every breath,

And every hair, and every tear.

El Roi

I heard every shattered prayer,

El Roi

I know when it hurt to speak My name,

El Roi

I was there in every struggle,

I was holding you when you fell on your knees again.

El Roi

I saw every tear you ever cried,

El Roi

I told your lungs to rise when hope had died,

El Roi

I never turned away,

When you chose not to seek My face,

When you couldn’t say My name, I still knew yours.

El Roi

The peace that passes understanding,

El Roi

A light shimmering in the dark,

El Roi

I saw every single battle,

And all your pain is reflected in all My scars.

El Roi

I’m the holder of your dreams,

El Roi

I am the rock under your feet,

El Roi

I will give you the words to say,

And I never looked away,

It’s still you I choose to see, even when you can’t face Me.

El Roi

The beginning and the end,

El Roi

Your ever present strength.

El Roi

I am the God who sees,

So lift your eyes and look at me.

El Roi

Theres nothing else that you can do,

I am God who still sees you.”

So I’ll sing Hallelujah,

Through the pain.

I’ll sing Hallelujah,

Although I’m broken.

I’ll sing Hallelujah,

If it’s the last thing I can do.

I’ll sing Hallelujah,

On my face in front of You.

I’ll sing Hallelujah,

With my knees on the ground.

I’ll sing Hallelujah,

When I cant make a sound.


©️ Ferne Hood 2024

I’m standing here in the doorway, staring at Your face,

Wondering if I am even allowed here in this room;

And I’m holding in this jar everything I own,

Wondering what they’ll say if I pour all of it on You. 

I slowly step towards You, as they slowly turn and stare,

Their faces aghast in mockery and disgust;

I hear someone whisper, “What is she doing here?”

As my tears track lines through the dust.

 
But then my eyes meet Yours and I can scarcely breathe,

As You tell them all to leave me alone.

And as I pour everything I have upon Your head,

All I can see is my King on a throne.

 
But now You’re saying words that I don’t understand,

You’re saying people will remember me

As the one who anointed You for Your burial,

But I cannot fathom how that can be?

 
The words You’re speaking, they’re not making any sense,

You’re saying that You will be gone soon;

And perfume runs down Your cheeks, as tears run down mine,

And Judas quietly slips from the room.

 
—————

 
I’m standing here in this garden, staring at Your face,

Heavy with exhaustion and with sorrow;

The things You have been saying, they don’t make any sense,

And I am terrified of what may come tomorrow.

 
I slowly step towards You, and You slowly turn to me,

Something like pain and resolution on Your face;

And You say, “Wait here and pray against temptation,”

And I smell perfume as You walk to a quiet place.

 
My eyes meet Yours and I can scarcely breathe,

As You kneel down and you begin to pray;

And as my eyes begin to close, I see sweat like drops of blood,

Tracking lines through the dust on Your face.

 
But now You’re here before me, asking why I am asleep,

And shame washes that very sleep from my eyes;

Movement grabs my attention; Judas leads a crowd,

Silver lining his pocket like a prize.

 
The words that You’re saying, they’re not making any sense,

“Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?”

And someone’s sword is raised and now I can see blood,

But You stop them and say, “No more of this.”

 
—————

 
I’m standing in this courtyard, staring at Your face,

And I can’t believe what has happened here.

How could it have all gone so wrong? It makes no sense,

I am quivering with anger and fear.

 
And as I sit by this fire someone is looking at me,

And now I’m doing my best to avoid her eyes;

“This man was with Him!” She is saying to all those here,

 “Woman, no, I do not know Him,” I lie.

 
Now I’m standing by this building, trying to keep track of You,

And I see another man looking my way;

“You are also one of them,” he says to me, again,

“But I am not!” I reply, as I quickly walk away.

 
Now I’m standing here in the crowd, a hint of perfume in the air,

And someone else says, “You’re also from Galilee.”

I say, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

And You turn Your head and You look straight at me.

 
And now a rooster is crowing and my whole world is breaking,

But I see love, not judgement in Your hurting eyes;

And tears line my face, while blood is lining Yours,

Because You were right, I denied You three times.

 
—————

 
I’m standing in this courtroom, staring at Your face,

This man that’s been thrown here at my feet;

And they’re flinging accusations and they’re making no sense,

Because You seem innocent enough to me.

 
Now they’re saying You’re a blasphemer, that You say You are a king;

What You’ve done to deserve this I don’t understand.

And I ask You to defend Yourself, I ask you, “What is truth?”

Because I find no basis on which this charge can stand.

 
Now they’re asking for Barabbas and they’re screaming, “Crucify!”

Draping You in purple as they slap You in the face;

Rage and fury is burning like embers in their eyes,

As they demand I make You take a murderer’s place.

 
And I swear I can smell a hint of perfume in the air,

As I again ask You to defend yourself, to speak;

Confusion creases my brow, as thorns pierce Yours,

And blood tracks crimson lines down Your cheeks.

 
How can I sentence an innocent man to death?

But I’m afraid of this crowd and I don’t know what to do;

So I turn away my face, I can’t look You in Your eyes,

As I wash my hands of the ‘King of the Jews.’

 
—————

 
I’m standing here on this hill, the place they call Golgotha,

And I don’t understand what is happening;

Hanging between two thieves, like some guilty criminal,

Is the broken body of my Lord and my King.

 
I see Your mother standing here, just staring at her Son,

Tears illuminating the anguish on her face;

And I put my arm around her, as I slowly meet Your eyes,

And I wonder why this death smells so much like grace.

 
And the soldiers are throwing dice, are they gambling for Your clothes –

While my whole heart and world slowly starts to crack?

You just told them that You’re thirsty; they shove a sponge in Your face,

As blood weeps from the stripes across Your back.

 
And now You’re offering up hope to the thief there at Your side,

As the other one mocks You in hatred and in scorn;

You’re praying, “Father, forgive them,” as tears of mercy fill Your eyes,

And I can hardly breathe as I look at what they’ve torn.

 
You cry out, “Eli…Eli…” as the world begins to shake,

As You pray, “It is finished,” darkness overwhelms the sky;

And a soldier is saying, “Surely this man was the Son of God – ”

As blood and water flow in rivers down Your side.

—————

I’m walking through this garden and I still can’t comprehend

How they pierced You and killed You on a tree;

And my broken heart’s still breaking as I walk slowly through the dark,

Not knowing how to deal with what’s ahead of me.

 
And I see Your tomb before me, but what I see makes no sense,

How has the stone already been rolled away?

And I begin to run, in disbelief to find the others,

Tears tracking lines through the dust on my face.

 
And now the men are running and I don’t understand,

Why anyone would steal You from Your tomb?

But all we see is linen lying where Your body should be,

And the scent of perfume, not death, is in this room.

 
And now there are angels before me, they’re shining like the sun,

“They have taken my Lord,” I weep, tears flowing from my eyes;

And the words that they’re saying, they’re not making any sense,

Because they’re telling me that You are alive.

 
Now I’m standing in the garden and I hear another voice,

I can scarcely breathe as You gently ask me whom I seek;

I say “Did you take Him? Can I please just go and find Him?”

But You look me in the eye and You say, “Mary…”

 

©️ Ferne Hood 2024

 

 

 

I know that this mess is my own doing,

I know this chaos is the work of my own hand,

I know I could sit here and complain to You for hours,

But I really don’t have a leg on which to stand.

I know I often fall below the standards,

The ones which You have laid out for me,

And I know my vain ambition and selfish desires,

Make this “holy” life of mine a mockery.

My heart knows the right way to do things,

But my flesh always seems to get in the way.

What I want to do, I don’t do,

And what I don’t want to do, I do anyway.

I wake up every morning and make a decision,

That today will be better than the one before;

But most of the time I take three steps backwards,

Before I’ve even taken one step out the door.

I pray for You to use me and anoint me,

Then I get distracted by my selfish wants and needs;

I strive for a life that’s worth Your calling,

But I so often see failure staring back at me.

I know Your strength is perfect in my weakness,

And I know Your grace covers a multitude of sin;

But I can’t help but feel I’m letting down the Kingdom,

Every time I quit before I can even begin.

I beg You to send your Holy Spirit,

But then I’m so eager to push Him aside,

When the trials and the tests of my failing existence,

Make me look for a rock under which to hide.

My soul longs to forever sing Your praises,

My spirit wants to live in constant truth;

But the truth is that I am just a sinner,

Falling every day; desperately seeking You.

Who am I that You are mindful of me?

I don’t understand why You’d even be here?

Why would You bother with someone so fickle?

Why would infinite Glory and Power even care?

Why would the God of the universe choose me,

When I let You down every single day?

Why would You leave the 99 just to find me,

Even though I’m the one who ran away?

I wonder if here is where You’ll meet me,

If all I have to do is come and knock;

Will You fling the door wide open for me?

Will You reach down and bring me out from under the rock?

The Word says when I knock You will be there,

If I choose to seek You I will find

That you bridge the gap between my self and my eternity,

Even though it make no sense in my mind.

So Lord here I am in my humanity,

Once again falling on my knees;

Even though I know it wont be long ‘til I’m here again,

I’m asking for You to again forgive me please.

I believe You know my tired heart is trying,

That I fall sometimes but I’m doing my best;

And I’m trusting alone in Your mercy,

And believing that Your grace will do the rest.

And as I take another step forward,

I’m hoping that You’ll remain here at my side.

And even though I know I’ll no doubt fail again,

Its under the shadow of Your wings that I now hide.

©️ Ferne Hood 2024

There is nothing new under the sun

I have no profound thing to say,

I keep trying my best to articulate

But all my words get in the way.


Do You get tired of “hallelujah”

Casually spoken from my lips?

Like a catchphrase or a slogan

With no weight or significance.

You made us higher than the angels

But we don’t worship You the same;

Every sound that comes from them

Is to glorify Your Name.

And here we are, the ones You died for

The ones You gave it all to save

Throwing out casual “hallelujahs”

And going about our day.

We don’t stop to think about

The grace in every breath,

We don’t stop and remember

The price You paid for our every step.

We are so consumed and caught up

In our petty wants and needs

That we fail to realise

We should always be on our knees.

Do You get tired of the “amen”

While we just sit back and nod our head,

Like a full stop on a sentence

When we like what the preacher said.

You gave us dominion over the creatures

But we don’t worship You like them;

When every lily, lion and sparrow

Lives to give glory to The Lamb.

The rocks cry out to praise You

And the mountains testify

But we just say “amen preacher”

And go about our lives.

What would change if we recognised

In Whose presence we dare stand?

What if we remembered we’re complaining

To the One with the universe in His hand?

If we realised our insignificance

But that You chose us anyway

Would we choose different words to say?

Would we mutter quick prayers and walk away?

Would we have the courage to actually come

When You tell us, “Come, seek Me”?

If we understood Your majesty

Would we even be able to get up off our knees?

You made us higher than the angels

But we don’t worship You the same;

Every sound that comes from them

Is to glorify Your Name.

You gave us dominion over the creatures

But we don’t worship You like them;

When every lily, lion and sparrow

Lives to give glory to The Lamb.

The rocks cry out to praise you

And the mountains testify

And who are we that we don’t even try?

[Holy Jesus, how could we forget

The honour it is to speak Your name,

Every hallelujah and amen

Let us not say them the same;

Let us remember who You are,

Every nail and every scar –

As we join with the angels

And with all created things

And say nothing at all but

Holy Jesus.]

©️ Ferne Hood 2024

12 years

144 months

620+/- weeks

4,340+/- days

That is how long I have been breastfeeding and/or pregnant without a break.

A third of my life.

I do not say this to boast, hear my heart. I know so many do not have the privilege of even one of those days. And the fact that I have had so many is the greatest honour of my life, never for a moment have I taken it for granted. I have felt the weight and the responsibility and the privilege of it every one of those days.

It has been the hardest, most beautiful joy.

This journey, this chapter, this season of my life came to a very abrupt, yet not entirely unexpected end this week. I had always planned on feeding Mallee until he was three. I had always planned on beginning the weaning process around this time, but the nature and circumstances around this milestone have not been quite what I had in mind. I did not expect the medical issues or the time away from him, the antibiotics I did not want to pass on to his beautiful little tummy and the suddenness of it all. Yet there has been a beautiful grace in it. Even though it has been so incredibly hard, it has been easy. He is so excited for Daddy to put him to bed like the big kids, to have his little chats and his bottom pats and a hundred million sips of water.

He is so ready.

It’s me that isn’t.

But even so, I know it’s time. Time for me to heal, for me to replenish vastly depleted resources, for me to sleep, for me to have ownership over my body again after it being a vessel for little lives for the past 12 years, for me to be a better, more present wife and to figure out who I am again.

There is definitely a mourning here, as any mother would agree, when you realise that your babies still need you desperately for life but they no longer need you for survival. There is a letting go. There is a shift. And it’s hard. And it’s beautiful. It’s what life is. It’s the ever passing passage of time. It is change.

And it is also joy.

Joy for new seasons and new days and all the adventures ahead that life with all these growing up kids promises – kids who will hopefully have a mom who is well rested and well nourished and not back to who she was before, but maybe back to something better.

I am proud of myself.

Proud of myself for the pregnancies, the births, the newborn days, the newborn nights, the tears, the exhaustion, the pain. Proud of myself for over a decade of wearing feeding friendly clothes and making difficult dietary choices, for the missing out on so much but really not missing out on anything at all.

And mostly I am proud of myself for today, sitting here, with my body that looks nothing like it did, my new and old curves and stripes, my scars and my tears… and I am proud of myself for knowing that right now it is the right time.

Time to let this go. 

And I am so grateful to Jesus, every day, for giving me the strength and grace that I have needed over the last 12 years. I couldn’t have done it without Him. I can’t do it without Him. And I know I am going to need infinitely more of that grace and strength for the decades to come, where there will be so many more moments of letting go. 

My pastor recently said, “Being a mother is choosing to give up your body for the sake of another… a sacrificial love… that you would have had honour of choosing to sacrifice yourself for the life of another human being… it is sacred.”

What joy to have had that honour 5 times over. What an honour to have lived 12 years, a third of my life, in this sacred space of nourishing little lives with my body.

What peace there is in this moment.

What hope there is for the future.

Thank you James McGilvray, Lydia Eden, Lachlan Honour, Eveleigh Joy, Malachi Michael for being patient with me, for loving me, and for making it so easy for me to give my all to loving you.

Only upwards from here.

Do you ever wonder how you will react or respond when things happen that you don’t expect to happen? When life doesn’t look quite like how you thought, or your plans get thrown out the window when life sends you on an unwelcome Segway. Do you like to think of yourself as an ever ready pillar of light and love and hope, ready to face all of the hard with all of the strength and determination, but also with poise and grace and everything befitting of a strong capable human being who has their life together and can cope when life isn’t very awesome?

Things have an uncanny way of flinging themselves into perspective when your world goes a little lopsided and you find yourself standing, shaking, on uneven shaky ground. And if you’re anything like me, and I hope to goodness at least someone is, when the hard comes (and the hard does come) you find yourself not so strong and rosy after all, all resolve gone. Instead of standing strong and courageous ready to face the battle, you actually just wants to scream and run away, but also curl up and cry.

So heroic.

There have been many times I have assured myself that when ‘such and such’ happens I will most definitely respond like the wonderful giver of light and love and grace that I am. But in reality, I just find that I am fully let down by me. Once again disappointed with myself and my human response to my humanity. Naive little me likes the romantic version of myself, I like to think I could cope really well with all that life would throw at me. But that rose coloured version of Ferne was blooming in my mind before life had really thrown much at me at all.

We went through a season of big change and big hard recently. And I did not respond to it the way I thought or hoped I would. In hindsight it’s easy to say “If only we had know, we shoulda, woulda, coulda…” but I didn’t know. Void of security and certainty, surrounded by ifs and maybes and nothings to build on, second guessing ourselves every step of the way, no longer seeing things through rose coloured glasses, barely seeing anything at all. Things could have gone very differently and we are blessed with the way things did work out in the end, but in the midst of the battle it is so hard to stand tall and strong and courageous when there is nowhere solid to place your feet. Don’t get me wrong, the season brought many silver linings and blessings I will be forever grateful for. We are stronger and better as a result and I am so thankful for it. But it was hard in ways I didn’t know. And the hardest part was the disappointment in myself for not quite getting anywhere close to the ‘flourishing in the face of adversity’ benchmark I naively thought I could reach.

But my ever loving, ever long suffering husband told me I needed a focus shift. He said I was looking at it all wrong. He told me to stop focussing on the what ifs and the failures and the wasted time, but just take a minute to see what battles I did fight and win, the times I did get back up again or get up at all, all the tiny moments where I didn’t let it all consume me. He even told me to count the literal loaves of bread I baked and seeds I sowed in the garden, the times when I didn’t yell at the kids, the kilometres I did run. Dinner on the table. Clothes on the line. Tears wiped away. Kisses on foreheads. Words written. Because they were all wins. Every single one. Tiny victories. I thought that all that time I was standing still, or worse – going backwards… but when I stopped to count the little triumphs it turned out that, in spite of the war waged against us, we never once stopped moving forwards. Even when the motion was so slow I could barely see even see it. It was there. A pillar of light and love and hope. Strength and determination. Grace.

Hello. It’s been a while. Turns out I didn’t have much to say. I guess the last two years have crushed the old creativity somewhat. But here I am, back again. Or at least trying. Still not sure I have much to say but maybe I’ll find some words along the way

It occurred to me the other day that most peoples instagram feed isn’t filled with homeschoolers and homesteaders, the odd prepper and a bunch of goats and I thought, “who on earth do ‘normal’ people follow if they’re not following all this?!” I’m genuinely curious, because if you’re not learning how to make your own chicken feed, the best way to preserve meat and how to teach your kids the anatomy of an octopus, what exactly are you doing?!

If you’re anything like me (and I hope at least some of you are, so I’m not a big loner in all this ha!) the last two years of the world imploding has meant you’ve spent bit more time in a virtual world of scrolling and watching and insta-rabbit trails, whether its watching videos of goats (I really love goats hey) or travel or design or politics or memes about cats or whatever Blake Lively wore to the latest event. If that’s not you then well done amazing human ha, but for those of us who often find ourselves escaping through a screen, maybe these thoughts could be for you.

I know a million people have said a million things about ‘comparison,’ it’s a well discussed topic. But I had a little personal revelation that I thought I’d share. So here are my 2 cents that maybe no-one asked for!

As I said, I follow a lot of homeschoolers and homesteaders because that’s my world, well at least the homeschooling part is (working on the old ‘steading!) So I see all sorts of different people doing all sorts of different things. I get inspired and motivated and encouraged… by most of them. But there is one account which I found having the absolute opposite affect. A family that I have followed for years, who are doing everything I want to do.. but seemingly better. And who are doing everything I wish I was doing and all the things I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do. Her kids are brilliant, and so good at life and learning, and so helpful and don’t seem to ever fight. Her home is immaculate and there are no screens to be seen and there’s lovely reading nooks in every corner and everyone works in this glorious peaceful environment before they come together to do the housework and tend to the farm. Then her youngest cooks dinner with homegrown meat and veggies and it’s a gloriously wonderful life.

Now obviously I know all about highlight reels and people only posting the good things and all that, I’m seasoned enough in social media not to be naive and I have certainly posted my fair share of rose coloured pictures. But I also know, from the years following her, that they are actually genuinely crushing it at this life I am aspiring to, and after encountering her in other homeschool circles I follow, I know she is the real deal. But instead of following her to feel inspired and motivated, every single post I see started making me feel awful – like an inadequate failure with a messy house, a weedy veggie garden and kids who can’t get through 10 minutes of ‘cleaning up’ without making each other cry. I know the heart behind her account is not to make anyone feel like this, she is just sharing her days, and it’s actually my own personal struggles, insecurities, lack of self belief, little space and sleep and time that make me feel like this.

BUT the revelation was this – I don’t actually have to keep following her. And that is more than ok. It may be obvious, but apparently it wasn’t all that obvious to me, that I can make the choice to simply press ‘unfollow’ and remove that temptation for comparison and feeling awful about my life. I have the utmost respect for this mom, I am in awe of how well she does life, I would love to meet her one day to just be able to tell her how incredible I think she is. But my heart and my mental well being and my children do not need me obsessing over how well other people in different hemispheres, with different environments and different circumstances are coping, at the expense of me feeling like I’m failing because I don’t seem to be doing any of it as well as she is.

I’ve unfollowed lots of people in the past for various reasons but I hadn’t ever unfollowed anyone for these reasons. I felt guilty, like I was judging her. But that was not the heart behind it. And I promise you, unfollowing that account was so releasing for me. And I went on to unfollow a few more. Not because there is anything wrong with these people, they are incredible, and I am in awe of them, but I do not need to spend time watching their lives every day wishing my home and my schooling and my laundry and my hobbies and my bookshelf looked like theirs. Instead I can pour that focus and energy into making our lives the best they can be.

My kids are beyond perfect and I know I am the perfect mom for them, as much as I tend to doubt it a lot of the time. And they may never learn the way some other person’s kids on the other side of the plant learn, and that’s more than ok. And my house may never ever be spotless and that’s more than ok. And my veggie garden might need some major miracles, and I may have 7 piles of clean washing to sort out, and things may not be Instaperfect and that is so much more than ok. Because this is my life and it’s spectacular in it’s imperfection and I actually don’t need to compare it to anyone.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is, if there is someone you are following and you find yourself feeling really down about yourself or your life or your job or your body or your anything after you have seen their posts then why don’t you try to simply press ‘unfollow’ and focus on the real right in front of you instead of the best parts of someone else’s reel, someone you may not even know… or maybe even someone you do.

Maybe it’s ok to just unfollow. And live your own best life.

She sat on her bed, tears on her cheeks. She felt like a failure. Again. She was exhausted. Another day had come and gone. Full of elaborate stories and never ending questions, constant bickering and whinging, and the way they always needed all of the things. Harsh words, long tantrums and short tempers. Overreactions. Noise and chaos. Feeling like she wasn’t enough.

She loved them with all her heart. She wouldn’t change it for the world, this life she chose. Or did it choose her? Sometimes though, it was just so hard. But she knew time was fleeting. One day they would leave her and go off on their own adventures. Spread their wings and fly while she watched on from a big old empty nest. She spent so many nights beating herself up over too many “not nows” and regretting all the times she said she was too busy, all those frustrated moments of “please can you just leave me alone so I can finish this!” She knew that whatever ‘this’ was, it definitely wasn’t worth their heart; it wasn’t worth the minutes with them that she would never get back. She wished she could remember that, when stuff thrown all over the floor, and never ending washing and dirty dishes and dirty nappies and the need to repeat herself fifty thousand times made her forget. 

Every day she forgot. 

She stared out the window at the sky. It was full of stars. They looked like little polka dots of grace in the dark.

Everything seemed right out there. The moon, the stars, the frogs and crickets, that owl off in the distance somewhere. They all knew how to do it right. She wished she could do it right. She wished she could capture the way they could simply be, the way they shone, the way they sang and danced together without a care in the world.

The way they made each other better. 

She smiled as she wiped her tears. She snuck into their room. Gently she nudged their shoulders, rousing them from their dreams. She was met with grumbles from the middle one. She bundled them up in an odd assortment of warmth and she looked at them, standing there in front of her like a little band of half asleep lost boys.

Tears were in her eyes… again. 

Maybe there really was grace for tomorrow. 

“Where we going, Mama?” the little one asked. 

She picked her up and kissed her little face. It was full of freckles. They looked like little polka dots of hope in the dark. 

“We’re going to catch the moon.”