It’s the word I don’t want to keep using about myself, refusing to let it define me.
It’s what my children so often are but so rarely admit to.
It’s that two-syllable word that I always am but don’t always want to be.
It’s what I don’t want Christmas and the month of December to be about being.
It’s one more area in which “motherhood is nothing if not sacrifice.”
It’s what I quickly become—of everything—when I am so very so.
It’s something I need to learn to be graciously.
It’s a fact I’d rather wear hidden behind a perky smile than advertised in a loud sigh.
It’s a status which only sleep will cure and time will fix.
And I sit down and rest a moment, praying for the strength not to feel and the grace not to act so…tired.
(Five-Minute Friday Prompt: Tired—which took ten slow, tired minutes to write…)