I Could Be Her

A few years ago Greg, Charlie, and I went to a party with Greg's coworkers at his boss's house. It was a nice little shindig, and I don't remember much of the details besides a woman there that I will never forget.

She was the wife of one of Greg's coworkers, and she had that look written all over her face. You know the one I mean; the persona that clearly says, "I've sacrificed everything about myself for my children". She had four young kids that were very energetic and emotionally needy (I know because they were at the party, too), and all had significant health problems. In response to someone's question about her youngest child, I overheard her say, "Taking care of him is a full-time job all on its own!" I saw a woman who might not remember the last time she set aside the time to get a haircut or go on a walk by herself or read a book for fun. She was hyper-exhausted, overused, and haggard.

That encounter at that party scared the crap out of me. I felt like I was seeing what my life could easily become, depending on what choices I made in the next few years. Since that day, I've seen the same persona on countless women, as I'm sure you have.

Like Sister So-and-So from church. She has the same grayish-pale skin from being inside too long, the same worn-out body language and demeanor. She and I were talking at the park one day. I asked her what she liked to do in her free time. With a tired laugh she responded, "Ha! I haven't had free time in so long, I don't even know what I like to do with it any more."

Like my own mother. I don't hero worship my mom the way that many people in our culture seem to. I love her because she's my mother. I respect the sacrifices she made for me. I have a hearty dose of realism in the way I've always seen her, though. This woman that gave me life and raised me and my six siblings seemed to (and maybe still does) constantly struggle with being happy about her choice to stay at home with us and raise us at the expense of her personal goals. From the time I was very young, I would hear her talking about her lifelong dreams of being a nurse. And from the time I was very young I remember feeling like I was a burden to her, another person draining her already-limited resources and getting in the way of what she really wanted to be doing with her time. I felt like she resented me.

I am a highly sensitive person, so it's possible that my childlike mind inferred too much from my day-to-day interactions with my mom. Maybe she didn't resent me. But even now, as an adult, I have a hard time letting go of those feelings from my childhood. When I looked at my mother, I saw a woman who was constantly stretched to her limits physically, emotionally, and financially.

When I think about these women and others like them, I'm haunted by the thought that I could be them someday. I'm scared of waking up in 5, 10, 15 years feeling like an empty tube of toothpaste: having all the good things about me forcibly squeezed out, and discarded when no longer useful.

This is not a an essay about the virtues of motherhood. Make no mistake, I love my Charles. I understand that I am so fortunate that Greg and I are in a financial position so I don't HAVE to work to help keep our family financially afloat. Over time, I'm getting better at finding the beauty and meaning in the work of being a mother to my boy. The endless housework, belly laughs, errands, kid shows, cuddles, trips to the library, sparkly-eyed smiles, energetic playing, wrangling, teaching moments, family prayers, and frustrations are plenty. The all-consuming work of creating a life with him that he will look back on with positive feelings is so important. I understand that too.

BUT (and it's a pretty big but) I believe more and more every day that one of the most important things I can do for him is to be a person. He needs to see that I have diverse and complex needs and interests and he needs to see me taking good care of myself emotionally, physically, and spiritually. He needs to have parents that model good self-care so that he will do the same when he's an adult.

I can truthfully say that I've never wanted to be a focus of Charlie's hero worship. I don't want that from him. I want him to look back on his childhood and remember me being generally happy, fulfilled, and at peace, with a calm and well-organized home life. I want him to remember that I took time to myself, worked to cultivate my own talents, and was proud of my achievements outside of our home. Most of all, I never want him to feel like he was in the way of my dreams. I never want him to feel like I regret the time I spent with him.

Even though I'm giving this parenting gig my best effort, I make parenting mistakes every day. But I will not make the mistake that so many women before me have made of putting themselves last day after day and year after year, rendering themselves completely invisible.

That will not be me.