I am both.

I'm both "I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND" and "I hope you don't expect me to put that bra back on and go anywhere."

I am at once "why do my friends never invite me places anymore?" and "oh great, how am I going to get out of this one?"

I am "for the love of all that is holy if one more person touches me I will fall to the ground in a pile of cold ash" and I'm "someone get over here and snuggle me to sleep, already."

I am "I'm so embarrassed my house is a disaster," and I'm "judge me, fedex guy, I freaking dare you."

I'm together sucking it all in until the day I die and proud of the beautiful belly I've earned.

I'm both getting up early to do all the things and making love to the snooze button for two hours.

I'm in four inch heels and big earrings and then too I'm in bleach-stained sweatpants and fuzzy socks.

I'm quinoa and bone broth and whole 30 and I'm chips and dip and caramel lattes and a too-big glass of chilled wine with ice on the front porch.

I'm the kind of depression that hangs from your neck and settles like a weight on your back, dragging you down towards the dark, and I'm also the kind of morning sunlight that bursts arrogant through the trees and makes shadows that look like art and dance when the breeze blows just right.

I'm the woman who doesn't want vacation to ever end and I'm the one who CANNOT WAIT to get back home.

I've never been so tired and I've never felt more alive.

I'm the oldest I've ever been and yet I will never again be this young.

I'm a mom, and I'm still me.

I'm afraid, and I'm still doing it.

I'm lonely, and I'm blessed.

I'm both.

And that's enough right now.