Where Do We Go From Here?

Recently realizing that my children are both attending in-person school this fall, leaving me alone to roam freely around my house for the first time in a decade plunges me into a whirlwind of feelings. First, excitement washes over me at one thought: freedom. Any mother knows that a sense of one’s own freedom feels somewhat tread upon when a baby is born. The ability to make careless decisions disappears. The ability to pick up and go at a moments notice evaporates. Even the right to pee by yourself fades away with the realization that you, new momma extraordinaire, are the sole individual responsible for making sure this new life remains preserved, remains alive and breathing, and doesn’t choke to death on the number of non-baby safe items scattered about the house. Desires go by the wayside as the needs of the baby come first. Eventually, mothers are left in a milk-saturated haze, wandering the rooms of the home pondering softly, “What is that smell? Did the baby poop again? No, wait, the baby isn’t in here. Is it spit-up in the laundry hamper? Oh, no...when was the last time I had a shower? Surely that smell isn’t me.” All mothers go through this phase and when this phase ends, another takes its place. The only thing the phases have in common is the persistent expectation on the mother to keep the babies happy and healthy.

Many people envision themselves walking naked around their homes once they’re finally out here on their own again, caution to the wind, but I find that thought most unappealing. For me, that experience would be more like naked and afraid instead of naked and free. No thank you.

So what do I imagine myself doing? Each time I envision the future, I realize that I don’t immediately know what I’ll be doing. The enamoring feelings disentigrate completely as I wonder, “Why has the excitement completely drained from me? I’ve been looking forward to this moment for ages.” After ruminating a while it comes to me, “Am I concerned with how I actually want to spend this free time, or am I concerned with what I think I should be doing during this window of free time?” 

At thirty-three, with no constant interruptions from two chatty, needly little adorable-faced cherubs, I feel like I’m starting all over again. Only this time, it’s not just myself that I must worry about. No, there are two little living, breathing boys depending on what I decide to do with my time. As the ever-wise Pooh Bear would say, ‘Oh, bother.’ 

Not to mention, the other issue being the real elephant in the room is that it’s going to be quiet, so that means I will be left with only myself. Sometimes I can be a real annoyance, I’ve learned. The emotional bandwidth I have after spending a decade at home with two small children has worn thin, exhausted by the high-paced, short-fused home environment. Emotional regulation is an art form my children and I are learning together. Now that they’ll be gone I’ll be forced to rely utterly on myself. No distractions to keep me oblivious, no chit-chat to derail the soul’s urge to self-reflect, no excuses to eat multiple snacks a day to squelch the inner voids and repressed feelings that have been neglected for too long. Oh, what a cruel world!

Not that I have a flare for the dramatic, but see what I mean about being alone with myself? Just the mere thought of being alone with her sends me into theatrics! 

Joking aside, I enjoy the life journey and deep soul dives quite a lot, but it does become tedious and exhausting. No matter how much internal or external work is done it seems that more is waiting on the never-ending horizon. In these moments, I remind myself that though the work seems to go on forever, that’s because it does, indeed, go on forever. One might wonder how that is helpful or comforting. Well, if the work goes on forever, I take that as a sign that it is a part of our everlasting purpose. The work is the journey and the journey is the work. No other being that we know of has the capability to self-reflect on their own existence and then makes changes to their lives that reflect their observations. No other species achieves this level of awareness and consciousness. How lucky are we when we consider this prospect, that each of us has been gifted the opportunity of a lifetime in doing the work on the life journey necessary to evolve in any way we desire? How fortunate are we to experience the world in all our awareness and affect changes to our own paths that ultimately intertwine with the paths of thousands of others, culminating in the oneness of universal consciousness? When I put it that way to myself, how could I say no to spending a little time alone facing the music? 

Each moment spent awake and alive in awareness is not always comfortable. On the contrary, many moments are brutal. Living authentically requires us to be honest with others, but mostly honest with ourselves. It requires dedication to showing up consistently, even when we don’t feel like coming to the party, and I’ve never been much on parties. 

Regardless of knowing what is required, I recognized what was on the line when I made the commitment to start showing up about four years ago. Although, I’ve never had eight hours a day to allocate to showing up before until now, and that’s the terrifying part. One minute, ten minutes, even sixty minutes a day seems manageable. Eight hours does not. The idea of spending eight hours a day exclusively with myself is daunting. The missing piece of the puzzle is that I don’t have to allocate all eight hours to doing this work, or to even being alone with myself. For so long I’ve been busy, conveniently allowing me to flee suppressed scary feelings, and the idea of all this sudden available time seems terrifying. I have a tendency to think in very black and white terms at times, and the overwhelm of subconsciously believing I must dedicate this newfound time to any ONE thing, whether it be healing, overall well-being, or a full-time job, completely short-circuits my brain. Fortunately, the realization that I can and should diversify my time opens the door to excitement once again.

The funniest thing about the ongoing conversation I find myself having in my mind is that I never actually answer the important question, “What do you want to do?” It’s like that famous scene in the Notebook where Ryan Gossling asks Rachel McAdams ‘What do you want?’ and she can’t answer. Having been a stay-at-home mom for so long I forget that having what I want is alright. For years my desires, ambitions, and even my own needs took a backseat to the needs of the family. Wanting for myself seemed at first out of reach, and as the years progressed even selfish. Now I recognize that being an individual, fulfilling some of my greatest hopes and dreams is one of the greatest gifts I could give not only myself, but also my children. Gifting them the experience of watching their mother raise them while maintaining her autonomy, her personhood, never having expectations that anyone should do otherwise is monumental. Never would they associate martyrdom and self-betrayal with being a good parent. Not only is it okay to ask yourself what you want, it’s necessary. After many weeks of grappling with the ideas of what society would wish upon me, what my programmed conditioning urges me to do, and what I truly want, I’ve decided to embark on a journey of exploration, dipping my toes into all of the mind’s interesting, fathomable activities, ultimately choosing to ignore outside expectations and my own faulty programming.

To be honest, I still remain cloudy on what I want to do and how I’m going to spend my eight hours of newfound exploration. The truth of the matter is, I’ll miss my kids. As much as I’ve been waiting for this moment, ecstatic for it to arrive, I truly don’t know what I’ll do without my babies at home. The whirlwind of my life kept me exhausted, every moment occupied. Now, the breeze is calming and my body doesn’t know what to do with itself without the chaos. Re-assuring myself that these feelings are common, I’ve decided to use my strength of inquisitive curiosity to explore an abundance of potential paths toward purposeful fulfillment. Though I may not know where I’m going, or how I’m going to get there, I know it starts like every other adventure – with one foot in front of the other.