I haven’t even started working yet … this coming Monday is the big day, and already, the stress is eating me up from the inside… can I do both? Can I do both?

Or actually, can I do all three?

1. Work — and do a good job — be that proper cool capable in-control Patch editor

2. Can I enjoy my kids who are growing up like someone’s fast-forwarding their childhoods or something…

3. Write, keep on writing, revising, learning…

Can I? Can I? Can I? And perhaps a bigger question is… will I?

Sometimes I hear that little voice in my head, already, and it says so nicely, ah, stop fighting a useless battle, girl. Wouldn’t it be nice, says the voice, to just let it go? It’s been ten years, girlie, ten years of writing fiction, and where has that gotten you? And then, I’m like, okay, you know what? How easy, how deliciously easy would it actually be to just quit already. Yeah, so I won’t be that Katia anymore. So who cares? I’ll have a job — a nice career — and a lovely family that I could enjoy — no more silly dream chasing.

And then, the moment I truly consider this, something in the pit of my stomach clams up, and I am feeling nauseous, and I grit my teeth, and I’m like, no. I can’t. I can’t.

I don’t want to be that person who dreamed so passionately and so hard, only to roll over one day and just quit trying.

I think I need to stop worrying so much about this, though. Lately, with this transition, I have been wondering, am I meant to do this, this writing thing? Am I meant to be more than a mother and a journalist?

When I stop panicking and look deep inside for the answer, I am pretty sure the answer is “yes.”

So why am I so worried?

If I am meant to do this, then I will.