I’m going to be really honest. Lately, I’ve been playing a computer game and
I hate myself every time I do it. I blow
time and potential doing it. I find
myself drawn to it when I go down the road I shouldn’t go down. It’s like beta time but I’m not doing
anything creative, so I feel guilty. I
could knit or quilt or sew or anything else but I rebel against production and
waste my brain instead. But that road,
that painful realization that you chose a more challenging adventure, is what I
think about.
I feel like I’m checking out, but it doesn’t feel like I’m
taking a break. Instead, I tend to
consider the what-ifs of my life.
What if I’d said that to this person or done this instead of that? Maybe I wouldn’t be
dealing with the harsh reality of…oh, it’s too much and it’s too personal. If I’d only realized the limitless potential
hidden within when I was a little younger!
Don’t go there. Don’t go there.
Sometimes it’s hard to deal with the minutae of every day
when much larger problems loom. A few
years ago, I remember getting hammered for not writing thank-you notes in the
midst of grieving the loss my job and death a friend. In that life moment, writing thank-you notes
was the last thing on my mind.
Especially, when, at six months pregnant, somebody had to remind me to
eat more than one meal a day. On some
days coping seemed impossible. But I was
chastised for not holding it together.
I’m gonna cuss. Fuck
that.
So that’s where I am right now. I feel pressure for not holding it
together. I feel the need to be
invincible and strong and motherly and wifely and nurturing and completely satisfied. In short, I feel compelled to be everything
to everyone. I drown it all in this
stupid game. Where is it coming
from? I’m not sure. But it comes from somewhere and I’m
irritated.
Those who love me most tell me I hold unreasonable
expectations for myself. My recent
descent into self-loathing stems from not working. For example, I feel guilt when I spend money while
not working. Specifically, when I am not
working, I feel guilt when I spend money on myself. The irrational reasoning is that I attach my
self-worth in my family to the amount of money I make. I feel guilt.
This week’s battle surrounded paying for a class to keep my license to
train.
It’s absurd.
Apparently, I don’t feel worthy of the cost to continue my
education. It’s probably why I sold
things on Craigslist to pay for school.
I didn’t feel like I was worth the time it took to earn the money it
took to pay for school. That’s it.
I sobbed my way through this dilemma yesterday with Dave and
my bestie. Both of them said the exact
same thing.
“You are worth it.
It’s not even a question. You
have an obligation to continue and study and learn and get better at what you
do.”
Sometimes it’s all you need.
But this wasn’t one of those times.
When I really gutted my soul to Dave, he simply said, “I
know what you’re feeling. I feel it
often.”
I also needed that.
In addition to hearing the words, I also needed to hear empathy. I didn’t just need a fix-it. I also needed somebody to tell me I wasn’t
crazy, that my feelings are within the realm of normal but self-defeating and
that I wasn’t alone when I felt them.
Misery loves company?
This time around, being a stay-at-home is terribly humbling.
Going back to not working after I was on
a career path, bushwhacking my way into a secure position as a well-respected
trainer, is more challenging than I thought.
I wasn’t making a ton of money, but my paycheck was steady and I was
fulfilled at work. I was independent. I felt good every day when I went to work,
and I felt better when I came home. I
gave that up (voluntarily!) to stay at home and raise my kids. Now that we are well into the demands of
school-homework-schedule demands, I am less enchanted with my role. It’s demanding and exhausting. It tests my patience and I haven’t fought
hard enough for my own needs. I’ve given
myself no wiggle room for growth (remember when I told you I wasn’t worth the
time?). I’m fighting to retain a bit of
myself while meeting the demands of a changed family dynamic. No longer do I have my own social circle, my
own experiences, my own life. It’s tied
up in everybody elses. I’ve spent time
and energy ensuring everybody else is comfortable, yet I failed to take care of
myself. And, to top it all off, the past
two years have been so crazy and tumultuous that I’ve barely had time to focus
on meeting the demands of retaining my license.
I do not recommend procrastination.
It sucks. Not only do I feel
unworthy of the money and time it takes to keep my license because I am not
making money doing it, I am now about to be unable to do it because my license
will be expired. Yes. It’s where I am. My current job title is to be my kids’ parent
and Dave’s wife. I am the picker-upper
and dropper-offer, fundraiser, get up, get dressed, make breakfast, get your
teeth brushed, we’re late, let’s go harpee.
I’m not a trainer, so why try?
It’s possible that I’m not cut out for stay at home mom-ing. I admire women who find satisfaction in
staying home and devoting their entire lives to their children. I don’t think I’m one of them. Much of the time, it makes me crazy. I don’t hate it, but I’m not necessarily
thrilled with the person I’m becoming. Some
days, I am bitter and resentful and unfulfilled. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my
dimensions.
I come back to the words of my husband and closest
friends. Clearly, I have to get past my
self-worth issues. Hallelujah! I am worth every penny it takes to keep my
brain and soul intact! I am worth the
effort others need to exert to ensure my happiness. I spend countless hours giving to others to
fill their souls, and I deserve the same.
I must get past the guilt. It’s
not fear. It’s re-evaluating my worth.
What I find crazy is that I don’t hold ANYONE else to this
standard. To my friends who stay at
home, home school, go to school, and volunteer, I think, “Man, she is really
doing it. She is really contributing to
the wholeness of the world.” Yet, I am
unable to grant that grace to myself.
Why?
Actually, I don’t care why.
I’m not particularly interested in sifting through my great childhood to
figure out who went wrong where.
Identifying the culprit in my over-emphasis on money accomplishes
nothing. I just have to get rid of
it. Emphasizing money over love is
stupid and self-defeating. I am a
supportive wife and mother. Oh, I’ve
also neglected to mention that I’m a great friend, too. Although not as much as I’d like, I engage in
active learning. I enrich myself through
avid reading and engagement in creative pursuits. I am a writer. Yet I am not satisfied because I am not
making money? I am a basket case! I’m crazy!
As I play this stupid online game, I literally run through all of the
people who are doing more than me and are contributing more than me. It’s the worst thing ever for my mental
health! Yet I resist it about as well as
a moth can resist a bright light.
Through this continuing season of self-examination, I come
back to the words of pastor Bob. “Press
in” he likes to say. If you’re struggling,
lean in to the challenge. Engage it. It’s God challenging you to trust Him more. I envision a football player pushing though a
wall of linemen. Put your head down,
crouch, and press your shoulder in.
Press in and push through.
Despair is a false blanket covering real blessings. I am supremely blessed, yet I choose to see
things I don’t have instead of all that surrounds me. Each night this week, my boy has asked me to
cuddle with him while he falls asleep. I
want that time so badly to just check out of life. I want to be quiet and alone so badly and I
want to just think uninterrupted so badly, but he needs me so badly too. I refuse to raise a tough boy. I refuse to raise a boy who wants to be held
yet is afraid to ask. So, I run a quick
calculus of the value of his needs versus the value of my desire to check
out. How satisfied am I going to be if I
know he’s in there, wanting to connect with me, and I’m out here doing some
mindless activity in an effort to suppress the frustration of my own false take
on reality? I hear Bob. “Press in” he says. I press in.
I meet my struggle and walk in to my boy’s room. I lay down with him. I sing him a song. Then another.
And another. He gently pulls my
hand over his body so that I am holding him very close to me, and he says, “I
love cuddling with you, mommy.”
I don’t want to fight anymore because I’m the one creating
the struggle. I must be what my family
needs me to be, but I also need to be what I want to be! Carving out space for me in the midst of the
Most Demanding Job on Earth proves a Herculean effort. I fail often, but a good friend tells me he
just tries to “fail better.” I’m going
to fail better and guiltlessly. Playing
an absurd game is a fail. I’d like to
fail better. Admitting weakness is the
first step to building strength. I’m not
sure where I’m going. I feel a little
lost, frankly. But I’m loved and worth
it and the people who love me most unconditionally want my heart and mind and
soul to succeed. And they don’t believe
that success is attached to a paycheck.
My kids love me for me. They
don’t have any idea what money means, except that when I don’t have any in my
wallet we’re not getting any frozen yogurt.
I am not associated with a dollar sign.
To these people, I am associated with unconditional love. I give it, and whether I feel I’m worthy of
it or not, I get it. I ask again and
again, “Why are we so blessed?”
But I don’t need to ask why
we are blessed. I need to lean into
reality and let my heart be still. I
realize that I don’t need to check out.
I need to log off.
