Today I attempted to exercise for the first time in many, many months. It was rather comical to me, seeing as I could barely walk at a moderate pace without getting winded. This time last year I was in the best shape of my life, and now I'm two weeks postpartum and feeling every bit of it.
Yesterday was the first time in many, many months that I decided it was time to write again in earnest. I've been playing around, but it's time to get another book finished, time to commit to a project no matter how hard it gets. So I wrote a page, and it wasn't easy, even though there was a time where I was writing books in under a month's time.
Basically, it could be really easy to get discouraged right now.
I'm nowhere near where I used to be, but that doesn't make my efforts invalid. I think sometimes we get overwhelmed when we falter on the path, however noble the life circumstances that may cause the setback. I mean, I had a baby—I'm not about to beat myself up over that! But I also don't see it as an excuse to stop moving forward.
Goals don't have to be huge. They don't have to be overwhelming. They should make you stretch—not break. They should motivate you to keep going, not make you feel like you'll never get there.
So for now I'm putting one foot in front of the other, and I'm determined to be proud of every step I take.