I may seem to jest, but there is a level of urgency in my quest to figure out this whole balance thing.
Let me elaborate a bit.
As it does every year, the school year closed out last week with a bit of a bang. And then a whimper. I hit a maximum peak (on a relative scale of the entire Rocky Mountain range) of stress (per the metaphor, this happens regularly, not just at this time of year), with AP testing, finishing grades, chasing down student work that has been missing since January, and planning for next year simultaneously. It can be compared to any major push in any field, whether a new marketing campaign, or a product going live, or a system overhaul of protocol. We all feel stress at some points in our careers, and some of us just worry more about doing a good job and being at the top of our fields despite the level of intensity it may require. Anyway, in teaching, it is nearly impossible for me to do just the minimum and I push myself consistently. It is no wonder that given the newest stage of our lives-parenthood- that I wanted to quit more regularly than ever.
Quit being a mother that is.
I know that this statement may be opening myself up to loads of criticism, but as I mentioned in the past, there is a level of truth that I believe needs to be shared and discussed, and without this conversation happening, women everywhere are going to continue to think that they are alone, and that they are weird.
So yes, it is not my job that I contemplated eliminating from my daily grind. I'd take all that stress, that elevated level of responsibility coupled with cuts in pay, that thankless crowd that walks in and out of the doors daily, that group of misinformed parents or politicians or other coworkers who don't see the full picture, over the trials of figuring out how to parent ANY day.
This is the first time in my life when I have failed. How did I exactly fail, you ask? Well, I was DEAD WRONG about how well I was mentally and physically prepared, for one. Let me illustrate: I knew when I was 12 that I wanted to be a teacher. I wrote an essay about it in a book of essays I published in English that year. I wrote about changing lives through literature and that I wanted to help support students who were struggling or who just needed motivation. I never really strayed from that goal, and I spent the next decade of my life following the steps to get to that goal. I have a Master's in Education, a Bachelor's in English, and 10 years of experience in the classroom, and I can honestly say that there was never a time when I felt like "Gee, I was way off on this plan, this isn't right for me".
I thought that I had done the same in preparation for becoming a mother. Watching my mom "be a mother" my entire life, I felt like there was nothing more that I was meant for in this world than to be a mother myself. I played with dolls, Barbies, my own siblings, and was a babysitter, nanny, and day care employee for at least the same length of time that I was preparing to become a teacher, if not longer. I mean, I chose a career that allowed me to be on the same schedule as my kids so that I could be a mother AND a teacher. I dreamed of the day when I'd actually see all my years of practice become a reality. Through my whole pregnancy, I felt excited, relaxed, and totally open to whatever was about to happen.
And then we were blessed with this incredible son. He is just perfect. He slept through the night early on (albeit not anymore), he smiles ALL THE TIME, he likes everyone, he sleeps in crowded restaurants and concerts or in the quiet of home, he never turns down a bottle or anything you feed him for that matter, and he is rarely sick. I mean, the ideal situation. And my husband just falls right into fatherhood, like I always knew he would, playing fun games, getting Emerson to smile on camera, volunteering to wake up in the wee hours to dress him and washing breast pump parts at night. He is amazing.
SO WHAT THE HELL?! Why do I feel like I am drowning and that I will never be the mother that I always thought I'd be? Why can't I just enjoy this perfect, wonderful little man and my outstanding family and the outstanding life we created? Like a parasite eating away at me, I only feel worse and worse. I know that I am falling behind on work. I know that my house is a toxic mental environment filled with too much clutter to focus on any given task. I know that I am letting Emerson down. I have let myself down. I have failed.
Imagine that the one thing that you waited for 30 years for was all an illusion. Reality has caused me many tears, many sleepless nights, and many panic attacks full of anxiety. Not only am I struggling daily with keeping Emerson happy, I am also struggling to balance work, which I still have a passion for and love, with my home life, which I'd rather avoid than face some days.
And that is why I need mom rehab.
Not to mention that I am completely surrounded by women that make it look so easy! Confident, capable, balanced women. Women who are creative. Women who have sacrificed time, energy, talent, and sometimes careers because they knew that being a mother was their priority. I have friends who didn't just use Pinterest, but CREATED Pinterest pins. Seriously, I have friends whose party ideas or room designs are now the subject of complete strangers' "vision boards". I have friends with not just 1 kid, but 2, 3, or 4! I know women who can spend 8-10 hours a day with just their children and not feel like a lunatic at the end of it. I know women who volunteer for charitable organizations that support moms like me who need rehab.
So maybe that is just my perception, but it is one that is creating an obsession with figuring out a solution before poor Emerson becomes a statistic. "Boys whose mothers never enrolled them in sports." "Boys whose mothers neglected to throw them a theme party for their first birthday". "Boys living with their single dads."
As Hamlet contemplated in one of the most famous scenes of Shakespeare, I, too, have wondered whether "tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" or "by opposing, end them." It would be downright selfish of me to quit being a mother, so I know I never will. But that doesn't mean that I haven't wanted to. That doesn't mean that on my worst days I didn't wish that I could just go to work, rock it in the classroom, and come home to a good martini and a husband whose time was not shared with a 3rd human. The darkest moment was when I thought about granting him full custody and moving to another state to start over. Again, I sadly, but fortunately, knew that the social repercussions of doing such an action would have caused such emotional distress that there was no way I'd actually do that. But again, feeling inadequate as a mom and not feeling like I had the power or skills to keep Emerson happy (apart from keeping him fed) isn't something I've been immune to. It is the dark side of motherhood and I am not going to sit here and deny it.
On the positive side, I know that there is a solution. Many, many people, who I have started to reach out to and share this story with, have told me that a mother's first job is to take care of herself so that she CAN take care of her children and husband. So there, the first step of mom rehab is admitting you have a problem. My problem is that I can count on 1 hand how many things I have done for myself in the past 7.5 months. Not for the advancement of my career. Not for the well-being of my husband. Not for the social gratification. FOR ME ALONE. So, I guess I'll start accepting ideas. Step 2 of mom rehab- having faith that this small start will eventually lead to me finding complete happiness again. And to stop feeling like a horrible mom.
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| Emerson playing at daycare on dressy day! |
