How is it that out of all the promises we make it is the ones we make to ourselves that are the hardest to keep and the easiest to break?
Are we who and what we are because of the promises we can't keep or inspite of them?
Is there a point where the search to fill the holes within ourself only results in creating more of them?
Maybe some people are just meant to be broken, just like promises.
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The somewhat inane ramblings of a semi-crunchy 30-something stay at home mum based in the NW of the UK. Mum of Thing One (10yrs), Thing Two (8yrs) and The Dude (5yrs) & Moomin (Born Aug 2014). Wife of the long suffering Husband.
In search of the meaning of life, sanity and Gin.
Breastfeeding | Co-sleeping | Babywearing | Mental Health | M.E | Left-wing
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