kel, meet kel

Seven days. Seven nights.

That’s how long I will be forced to spend with myself this week. Yep, I said forced. How astute of you to notice.

I am an extroverted introvert by nature. At work, when my role and the expectations are crystal clear, I easily put my leadership pants on. I am charismatic and confident. Strip my professional identity and throw me into a social setting? I suddenly become awkward and uncertain. All the confidence I have leaches out of my body and I’d rather be at home in my pajamas.

That said, I am happiest at home in my pajamas with others. I am madly, obsessively in love with my husband. I adore my children and jump at the chance to hang out with them. I’m even thrilled to meet a girlfriend for coffee, provided I can be home in my pajamas by 8pm. Are you sensing a pattern? My life rarely requires pants.

This week, I will be on my own. My husband is traveling, and my boys will be staying with their dad. I have seven days and seven nights to spend with me, myself, and I.

The problem is this bitch is boring.

I’m a recovering workaholic which means for the last twenty years, I have not developed a repertoire of hobbies which I’m passionate about. I worked and I dedicated my energy to my family. Full stop. One of the reasons I recently decided on a drastic career shift was because I desperately needed to create more balance in my life. I want to discover who I am separate from my job. Now that my boys are on the precipice of becoming men, I am challenging myself to become whole and happy apart from them. Our lives are no longer intricately intertwined, which is exactly as it should be.

It seems the Universe heard my intentions and promptly presented an opportunity for me to walk the walk.

Fuck.

I don’t want to spend the week merely surviving, counting down the hours as they tick, tick, tick slowly by. Nor do I wish to numb myself in front of a screen—mindlessly scrolling social media or watching movie after movie. And, let’s be honest, I’m not one to go out at night strapping on my heels and sipping martinis with the girls. (Do I still own heels?)

Which leads me to ask…
What brings me joy?
What makes me feel fulfilled?
What feeds me with purpose?

Logical Kel understands this week provides me with sacred time to dive into self-exploration. It’s a chance to grow and thrive. Emotional Kel is scared shitless. Can I come out of this with my sanity intact?

I’m trying to embrace the opportunity (which I am fully aware other women would give their right arm for) and move towards it with a positive mindset. I’ll let you know how it goes…
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In the meantime, pray for me. Text me. Send Xanax.