How MOMentity StartedThe house was  finally quiet. My four children were in bed—for now. Even my husband had gone to bed, leaving me sitting on my favorite couch.  Just how I wanted it.

My favorite couch is an old hand-me-down love seat with a bold, plaid pattern that really was trendy fifteen years ago. But pattern or no pattern, I love that love seat. And, in the dark, I don’t notice the forrest green and maroon.

I only notice the way the cushions support my back. They are always there for me. I could also feel the familiar heat from my laptop warming my lap.

The room was dark, only the light coming from behind that laptop keyboard and my screen.  So many hours we’ve spent together, my laptop and me. As a writer and stay-at-home mom, it’s often my window to the world.

This particular night, I typed and typed as fast as I could.  Lots of type-o’s and run-on sentences. I didn’t stop to edit, reread or correct. My goal was to get the frustration in my soul onto the screen as quickly as I could. Venting on paper—or keyboard—is much safer than venting in person.

The words I typed scare me a little.

“I feel like I’m going to explode inside.
I feel like a part of me had been buried and now—at this random time—is trying to find its way back to the surface.
I want to be successful. I want to be “good” at what I do…whatever that means…
I feel like I need recognition desperately. Maybe I just need daily adult interaction….”

I secretly envied my husband.  How awesome would it be to ride the train into work—an hour ALONE each way—and build a career?

I wondered how did I get here?  Is being a mom all that is meant to be? I just knew there was a greatness inside me dying to get out.

My venting continued.

“I have no desire to play with the kids. It takes *effort* for me to want to interact with them. It doesn’t feel wrong when I live it but it feels wrong as I type it.

 I find no reward in laundry, cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids, nagging them to clean, to do homework, to not fight.

I know that “the days are long, and the years are short” and I should appreciate this time but it just stresses me and I feel resentful. I KNOW I should cherish all of this but instead I just want 8 hours a day to work on *my* stuff. As I type it, that sounds terrible.”

I realized the feelings I was throwing onto the keyboard were not rational but to me they were real. I needed to find a way to deal with them. As I typed, my electronic venting turned to problem solving.

That night, in a dark room, alone with my laptop, I was able to identify what I needed to do to change. The seeds for what would become The MOMentity Process began.