The last time I sat in this room, it was clean & clear, and I was hooked up to a breast pump machine with tears streaming down my face. Holding a pen in one hand and an ice pack in the other, I attempted to write another scene for my favorite serial. 

I desperately wanted to go back in time to when I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and live without a strict schedule of feedings, pumpings, and doctor’s visits. 

Alas, after about an hour, I realized that time was not willing to rewind itself for me. The dreams and plans I had before giving birth would have to wait until reality determined that I could touch them again. 

So, I opened a different notebook and tried to work on a different book. This one. 

And…I couldn’t make it work, so I tried another and another. 

Then I started flipping through my old books and wondering, “How the hell did I ever complete one of these things before?”

Still crying and feeling defeated, I carried the breast pump out of the office and shut the door, vowing that I would return whenever I snapped out of what was clearly postpartum depression. 

As the months passed, my office became a “tuck away” area. Like Gillian in Turbulence, I tossed all my unopened mail on the desk and then in boxes when the desk became too cluttered. 

I tossed Amazon Prime boxes on the floor and filled them with things from other rooms that were out of season.

On a random Saturday, I walked by and noticed the “I love writing,” “Nothing is Impossible,” and “I got this” artwork on the walls and slipped inside the room to tear them all down. 

When the baby grew out of her bassinet, I rolled it inside and used it to hoard my maternity clothes. 

Aside from putting things out of sight or tossing in new junk, I never opened the door. (I learned to use my kitchen counter for a writing space instead.) 

Until today…

Sometime in September, I snapped out of postpartum depression and penned an emotional novella that showed me that it was time to return to that room. It was time to write in my former haven and dream big again. 

I held off for several weeks, though,

I’d made such a mess of other things in life that I had to address those first. 

Which brings me to today, November 18th…

I wanted to hold off on publishing this post–to make it an “OMG Here’s the stunning Before and After,” but that would be a fucking lie and it wouldn’t be “me” at all…

The truth is, this is the “before” and the “since I’ve been gone” and the “finally facing over a year of not writing in here” space, and it’s going to take more than a while for me to put it back together again. 

But as one of the art pieces I tore down says, “I got this.”

(And hey, if you’re struggling with something similar in your home, I believe that whenever you’re ready, you got this too. <3 )

F.L.Y. + I’ll show you progress as it comes.
Whit

P.S. It’s amazing that The F.L.Y. Store was never impacted by my personal struggles, but it’s 100% because Nicole runs that place flawlessly & is the queen of organization. (I’m sure she’s itching to help me whip my office back into shape <3 )