There are times when I forget who I am. I touch lives with others whose thoughts don't match my own, and I spiral into a disconnected circle of doubt.
I look at my life through other people's eyes and I feel lonely and misunderstood. I compare my happiness to that of others and I feel restlessness bite at my soul.
For a few days, I drift though life in a daze, unable to find the peace that I seek.
And I have to remind myself that my life is OK, and that my happiness has been here all along. I have to sit in the silence of my home, and look back at the moments when contentment was easy.
Like this day in a field of drifting seeds. When the sky was blue, and the sun was shining, and the three of us were alone and completely, uncomplicatedly happy.
There was such joy in that day, at the start of the Easter holidays, when the days ahead were full of possibility.
We walked through those reeds with such abandon, such freedom, such laughter.
And I knew exactly who I was.
I was a mother and a wife. A girl who loves the sight of pale gold reeds against blue skies and a woman who loves the sight of her boy walking through a field of dreamy seeds. Someone who loves open spaces and sunny skies and slow, slow walks at a little boy's pace, and laughing with my husband.
Oh yes, I remember now. That's exactly who I am.