When Did I Become Last?

Somewhere between becoming everything to everyone else, I quietly stopped becoming anything for myself.

"I don't think I became last overnight. I think I simply forgot to keep putting myself on the list."

The other day, I caught myself asking a question that I never expected would feel so heavy.

Not last in someone else’s life.

Last in my own.

At first, I wanted to blame motherhood.

Then marriage.

Then responsibility.

Then the endless cycle of work, appointments, laundry, meals, deadlines, and all the invisible things that keep a household running.

But the more I sat with the question...

The more I realized it wasn’t really about any of those things.

No one wakes up one morning and decides,

“Today, I’ll forget myself.”

It happens quietly.

One postponed dream.

One cancelled appointment.

One hobby that slowly disappears.

One, “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

One, “They need me more.”

Until eventually...

Tomorrow becomes years.

Motherhood didn’t make me disappear.

Marriage didn’t make me disappear.

Work didn’t make me disappear.

None of those things were the problem.

The problem was that somewhere along the way, I started treating my own needs as less urgent than everyone else’s.

Not less important.

Just...

Less urgent.

And when everything feels urgent, the least urgent thing is usually the first thing sacrificed.

For me...

That was me.

“Sometimes we don’t lose ourselves in one defining moment.

We lose ourselves one small postponement at a time.”

Lately, life has been changing.

Two of our four children are becoming adults.

One is preparing for her own future.

The other is already building one.

Our younger two still need me deeply, but even they are growing more independent every day.

For the first time in years...

Life has become just quiet enough for me to hear my own thoughts again.

And those thoughts have been asking questions I wasn’t ready for.

Who am I becoming now?

What dreams have I left waiting?

What parts of myself have I unintentionally placed on a shelf, promising I’d come back for them someday?

I don’t regret choosing my family.

Not for a second.

If I had to do it all again...

I would still choose them.

But if I could whisper something to the woman I was years ago, I’d tell her this:

Not instead of them.

Alongside them.

Because those two things can exist at the same time.

You can pour into your children...

...and still pour into yourself.

You can love your marriage...

...without abandoning your own identity.

You can build a beautiful life for everyone you love...

...without forgetting to build one for yourself.

Note from the Margin ❤️

You don’t have to be first.

You just have to remember to put yourself on the list, too.

I think that’s the lesson I’m carrying into this next season.

Not that I need to become someone completely different.

Not that I need to reclaim the woman I was twenty years ago.

But that the woman I’m becoming deserves my time, too.

She deserves dreams.

She deserves rest.

She deserves curiosity.

She deserves care.

Not because she’s earned it.

Simply because she’s here. That’s why this question has stayed with me.

Not because I needed an answer.

But because I needed an awakening.

And perhaps that’s all awakening really is.

Not discovering someone new...

But remembering not to leave yourself behind while you’re busy loving everyone else.

Until next time... keep filling the margins.

— Phill ᥫ᭡

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Returning to the Classroom… and to Myself

The first note from the Margins

“Sometimes beginning again looks less like chasing a dream and more like remembering who you were before the world asked you to be everything for everyone else.”

There are moments in life when you realize you’ve been surviving for so long that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to intentionally build a life for yourself.

That realization found me this year.

For the past seven years, my world has revolved around my family.

I became a stay-at-home mom.

Then a work-from-home mom.

Somewhere between school drop-offs, meal planning, business operations, doctor’s appointments, and ordinary days, I stopped asking myself a simple question.

Motherhood has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.

But two things can be true at once.

I can be deeply grateful...

and still admit that somewhere along the way, I misplaced pieces of myself.

My confidence grew quieter.

My dreams waited patiently.

I kept telling myself,

“One day.”

Well...

This is my one day.

This fall, I’m returning to the classroom as a middle school English Language Arts teacher.

On paper, it looks like a career move.

For me, it’s something much bigger.

It’s a return to purpose.

A return to structure.

A return to believing I still have something meaningful to offer.

Will it be easy?

Probably not.

I’ll be learning a new curriculum.

Adjusting to a different education system.

Trading high school for middle school.

Trying to balance lesson plans with laundry.

Grading papers between grocery runs.

Showing up fully for my students while still showing up for my family.

Some days I’ll feel capable.

Some days I’ll wonder if I still have “it.”

And maybe that’s okay.

Because confidence rarely arrives before the first step.

It grows because of the first step.

Why Phill in the Margins?

If you’ve ever opened a favorite book, you know the story lives in the center of the page.

But the margins tell another story.

They’re where we underline what matters.

Where we ask questions.

Where we connect ideas.

Where we leave little pieces of ourselves behind.

This space is my margin.

Not because I have everything figured out—

but because I don’t.

This is where I’ll write about the messy middle of beginning again.

Sometimes that will look like classroom ideas.

Sometimes it’ll be reflections on motherhood.

Sometimes it’ll be thoughts on identity, purpose, books, or simply whatever refuses to leave my mind.

There isn’t a grand plan.

Just honest writing.

If you've found yourself beginning again...

...after motherhood,

...after loss,

...after burnout,

...or after putting your dreams on hold,

I hope you’ll find something here that reminds you you’re not the only one.

Maybe you’ll nod.

Maybe you’ll disagree.

Maybe you’ll simply think,

“Me too.”

I’m not chasing perfection here.

I’m just learning to fill the margins.

Welcome.

Until next time... keep filling the margins.
— Phill

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