Me, (mostly) unedited

I’m sitting at La Boulange in the heart of San Francisco sipping a latte out of this vessel that looks more bowl than cup. Graham is at a GI oncology conference, mixing with the big-wigs and I’m tagging along for some personal time to write. It’s a rough life, that’s for sure.

Over lunch yesterday, Graham called me out on the fact that I regret not going to medical school. I’m a little scared to say that out loud as putting it in ink makes it so out there, real and permanent. It’s hard to put words to. I’m not sure I really regret not going to medical school per se but I often regret the idea of it.  I’m slowly piecing together why being a doctor sounds so appealing. I love being needed, having a sense of purpose in helping people and if I’m going to be totally truthful, public affirmation is a big motivator for me too. I long to be on the “front lines,” a first responder, a critical and key component in emergent situations.

When I was younger, my dad told me he was confident I could do anything I set my mind to. (Of course, I think he made a silent exception for dancing as I’m a firm believer that you can’t teach a rhythm-less girl new tricks but other than that, all was fair game…) These were big words and have proven incredibly powerful in inspiring me and pushing me to do greater. In my heart of hearts, I know I could do it. Go to medical school, I mean. Graham and I both do (though he admits it would be weird if I were a doctor and he were a nurse practitioner). The jury is out on how healthy or happy I would be, but we know I could do it. When the codes are called at work, I fight the urge to run to the scene. I struggle in my supportive, advisory professional role.

Some might argue, heck even I sometimes argue (my dad thought I’d make a good lawyer…) that motherhood presents similar opportunities to medicine. A mother is needed and has a purpose, certainly, and oh yes are there ever emergent situations. Like when you find your three year old standing in the middle of her bedroom yelling and battling the immense weight of her stuffed-to-the-gills dresser drawer that she accidently pulled out all the way and is desperately trying not to drop. Or when you turn around to find your 15 month old toddling around the corner with a plastic bag over his head, lovingly placed there by an older sibling. Or when you discover your ring-leading five year old has rallied a plethora of children to join her in walking down the hardwood stairs all the while situated inside of her kids play tent.  Emergencies, People. They abound.

Yet somehow, though motherhood meets many of the criterion that I’ve identified make me tick, I still come away on most days feeling unfulfilled. Friends, let me assure you, this is not a good feeling. In fact, it is rather guilt-inducing. Please, please, please don’t mishear me though. I absolutely adore my kids and love them to pieces! And I do really love being a mom. What I don't always love is all the ways it has changed my life and I spend a lot of my days feeling lost, wondering who I am now, or who or what I should be becoming.

Sometimes I wonder if I might be going through my mid-life crisis, though arguably it is early. It feels as though I’ve spent many of the last 5, nearly 6 years spinning in circles, trying to find my footing and figure out what I want to be “when I grow up.” Thankfully, I am surrounded by some cherished friends who, like myself, have been and continue to be just as rocked by motherhood as I am. Though I’m sure what we will end up being “when we are grown up” will vary significantly, there is incredible comradery in knowing that we are not alone. That this motherhood curve ball, that most of us planned for, longed for, desired with all of our might could end up being so baffling.

My husband and I were discussing this topic over lunch and I was in the middle of spewing an oversized load of thoughts, what I like to refer to as “verbal vomit.” Graham cut me off and said “You need to write about this.”

This? I thought. But it’s ugly and unedited. There is no frosting for the cake, to cover up it’s screwed up and crumbling insides. I don’t even know if there is a message here! But still he urged me to make this jumble public, to confess that I’m still figuring this out, still processing. So here I am. I am fighting the desire with every ounce of my being to type out these honest words and then frost them with some sort of sugary message that basically says “But it’s no biggie. We’re all good here.” 

But instead, I’m going to let it all out and be REAL, in continued pursuit of creating a space where truth can be spoken when there is wrestling to be done. Our culture is one that makes mommyhood so hard. Much is expected of us and the weight of it sometimes feels unbearable. The messages, intentional or not, from the generations that have gone before tell us “I did it. So can you.” They communicate there is something wrong with us for thinking this is hard. And so we struggle in silence, afraid to say aloud that this job isn't always what we imagined. How is it that one job, one very important role can be so joy-filled and discouraging and rewarding and excruciatingly painful and wonderful all in the very same span of five minutes?

I don’t think anyone will argue with me when I say motherhood is virtually a thank-less job. At least in the critical phases when it takes everything in you just to keep the children breathing and alive, not to mention yourself. And your marriage. And your other relationships. That little piece I mentioned earlier about the importance of public affirmation? I’m not going to lie, it’s a bit lacking for us down here in the trenches. Though I would love to dig down deep and say something really saintly like “I don’t need affirmation. It’s just so fulfilling to be a mom and know I’m investing in my kids’ futures,” that sort of fluff just doesn’t cut it for me.

And yet. AND YET, the older I get (and maybe, possibly, hopefully the wiser?), the more I am realizing that we all have this void. It feels like a hole, this longing for more. And rather than fight it, I’m slowly learning to embrace it. To lean into it, even, sometimes to lean so far that I lose my balance and fall. I believe this hole originated because of disobedience and sin and now it’s purpose is to remind us daily of our humanness and our need for God. I’m beginning to recognize that it is in these moments when I allow myself to sit in this uncomfortable space of the unknown, the baffling and the confusing, that God speaks to me. He reminds me of my purpose. He reminds me that it is actually a healthy thing for me to be longing for more, to be on the pursuit. What is dangerous is when I make the call and decide what is worth pursuing. But if I will slow down and wrestle and then listen, eventually He nudges.

I wish I had a pretty bow to wrap this in and present to summarize exactly how I am being nudged right now. Truth be told, I really have no idea. I'm pretty positive I won't be going to med school. Honestly, I would love to invest more intentional time into this newfound love of writing (and force all of you to pilfer through more spews of verbal vomit). Or maybe these nudgings will eventually conclude with my diving all-in-no-more-buts-about-it into motherhood as my full-time job. I really don't know. But what I do know is that these nudgings are good and healthy and ok. And so until there is more clarity, I will sit right here and wrestle.