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.
