If you ever wondered what really goes on inside my pretty little head, read my post over at IzzyMom.

It’s one I wrote about a year ago that was  well-received by readers but for some reason, had been unpublished. I have no idea why.

Today I got the coolest email from someone who had read that post and bookmarked it, only to find that it was no longer there. She inquired about it and asked if it was still available.

She paid me/my post some compliments that made me feel so good and I was so happy that something I had written had resonated to the degree that someone would ask about it in it’s absence.

I found the post in question. I read it.  It still felt real and true. I could still relate to it.

And suddenly I was inspired. I don’t want to just dump my disjointed thoughts into a text editor. I want to write again. Whether I will, I don’t know, but at least the flesh is willing…

I republished this post for Sarah and for me. And it was like coming home.

Did I ever tell you that my name used to be Erica?

Yes, for three days that was my identity…Baby Girl Erica H.

Before I was adopted.

Sometimes I think of changing my name back to Erica. I’ve always liked it.

Of course, nobody would understand and I would get tired of explaining myself…

Identity is important, though. To me.

Female, adoptee, daughter, wife, lover, fighter, mother, friend, woman, designer, writer, human being…

It happens much too easily.  I become attached and then it scares me because I really don’t want to be attached to anyone or anything.

The only people worth being attached to are the ones who will fight for you and not let you go no matter how hard you try. The tricky part is figuring out who those people are before they disappoint you or hurt you or pull away first.

The unfortunate truth is that attachment is a part of human nature. We all want it and we all need it, even when we fight against it.

Driving many quiet hours in the dark last night,  I accidentally figured out why I can’t let this blog go…

The Caffeinatrix is what you might call my…alter ego. Letting her go would be like letting a part of myself go and I’m not ready for her to die.

I have a tendency to compartmentalize various parts of myself, as illustrated by my many blogs. Each one represents a fraction of who I am. I’m not sure if this is incredibly unhealthy or terribly brilliant.

But alas, it’s a new year and time for more self-reflection (and the requisite navelgazing). Maybe this will be the year that I…