I’m a person, first of all. A female. She/her/hers. Of the “small town to semi-large city” variety. Wife. Mom. Daughter. Sister. Auntie. Niece. Cousin (oh, so many cousins). Friend. Godmother (the boring kind). Truly inept Tooth Fairy. Anglophile. The family Keeper. Currently middle-aged, I guess, whatever that means. Devotee of all things that contribute to self-sabotage. Because I do that. It’s why I have this blog: it’s cheaper than therapy.
Things to know for context: ginger-haired, freckled, short-statured. Like, my aunt predicted in my infancy that I would hate these thighs when I grew up. Read into that. Your assumptions are likely correct. Now you know everything. Plot twist: I married a ginger and had two ginger-haired kids. We are the Weasleys, with less magic and fewer people.
Also, I’m a church lady who believes in community and recognizing the humanity in others, all my inadequacies fading to the background while listening to those who’ve experienced a broader slice of life than myself. Humans are varied and weird and lovely and complex and maddening. I’m one of them. But the mild kind. The kind that doesn’t like to get in trouble. The kind that gets frustrated by people who don’t follow the rules. The kind that gets inspired by people who don’t follow the rules.
Somehow I’m a sunflower for justice: it’s not that I do much about what I think is wrong with the world, it’s just that I turn toward what seems right and good, and feed off it. I always want to know it’s there. I’m incredibly grateful for those who are more courageous than myself, those who speak truth and act bravely and allow themselves to transform with grace. I value kindness. My Achilles heal is self-criticism: it pushes me to do my best and ruins everything when my version of perfection isn’t possible.
I love the color green. I’ll keep the precise level of affinity I have for the color green a secret for now so as not to be too off-putting. I do like other colors, of course.
The nickname I earned from my besties in college is Jill Spill. I try to be neat and tidy, I really do, but sometimes I’m a mess.
In other news, if you say “me” too many times, the word starts to lose its meaning and sounds weird in your mouth. Undaunted, I still manage to say it too often.