I’m either drinking water and green tea or I’m in the drive-thru with a Coke or a sugary coffee.
I’m either waking up with the sun and getting 63838464 things done or I’m coasting until bedtime.
I’m either an hour into the elliptical or I’m halfway through a bag of Doritos.
I’m either a mom with a bath/book/bedtime routine, or a mom locked in the bathroom hoping they’ll soon fall asleep.
I’m either a wife with the house picked up and supper ready or a wife with an unending list of complaints and needs.
I’m either a home decor project at midnight or a week behind on laundry.
I’m either passing out encouragement like candy or biting my tongue from spreading ugly.
I’m either a half-pound of makeup and hairspray or I’m barefaced and not caring.
I’m a kind word. I’m silent.
I’m tired. I’m vibrant.
I’m so sure. I’m torn.
I’ve won. I’m failing.
I’m always smiling—sometimes genuinely, and sometimes to hide how I’m really feeling.
I’m always thinking—of all the good things, or sometimes it’s just pure worry.
I’m always needing—more time in the day to celebrate, or an end to all the madness and monotony.
I ride a fine line between self-improvement and self-deprecation.
And I often wake up wondering . . .
Which side of the line I’ll fall on today.
This post originally appeared on Whitney Ballard, Writer