Having It All

A few days ago I had a lovely chat with my dear friend, Alex, from Ransacked Goods. Over the course of an hour, we covered everything from pre-school dilemmas to family challenges to creative fulfillment. And while we actually live somewhat different lives – she’s an amazing mama who works full time and I’m an amazing mama who stays at home – we’re able to come together on so many issues as far as our kids go. And I like to think we help inform one another of the many different ways of navigating this whole motherhood gig. In any case, Alex helps me understand and empathize with the struggles specific to working moms. And putting myself in someone else’s shoes, at least imaginatively, is honestly one of my favorite pastimes.

But I digress. One of our conversation veins got me thinking. As graduates of the same intensely rigorous and prestigious all-girls high school, we were frequently told as bright and bold teenagers that we could achieve anything and everything we pursued. We could cure cancer and promote world peace, all while exuding confidence, poise and intelligence. And I think this message rocks. Actually, I think it rocks most of the time. I think a caveat is in order, one that informs young women – or anyone really – that we can, in fact, achieve anything we pursue as long as we understand the value of patience. I think we can have it all – I really do believe this – but I’m not sure it can happen all at once. Or rather, I’m not sure it can happen all at once for everyone.

I think I find this original message inspiring yet problematic because families were sort of left out of this equation of Having It All. Maybe it was just me, but I didn’t ever really hear “you can raise a conscious and loving family” amidst all the cheering for careers and cultural do-goodery. In fact, the notion of raising a family as a career wasn’t really acknowledged at all. But that’s just the reality of modern day feminism and I get that. Before we can accept all modes of being, we often have to reject the modes of being that previously felt confining or obligatory. Fair enough.

But this conversation, like all my conversations with Alex, helped me hone in on the bigger issue. I actually love my job as a stay-at-home mom. And yes, I very earnestly consider it a job. While helping an almost-two year old figure out how to express her emotions clearly and healthily or basically acting as a house manager for my little family unit may not seem creative or glamorous to others, I find it to be quite fulfilling and inspiring. And I know that there are incredible moms out there, much like Alex, who do this and work outside the home. And my hat will forever and ever and ever be off to them. I admire and celebrate their tenacity amidst the most challenging balancing acts I’ve ever seen. But I think my own little juggling act is impressive too.

I think my core frustration stems from the fact that at least two to three times a week I’m asked when I’m heading back to work. I know people don’t intend to be rude at all, but the underlying implication to this question is quite troublesome to me. Because I actually feel like I am doing good work right now. And just like the wonderful moms I know who choose to work to fulfill their creative needs (or have to work to fulfill their family’s financial needs), I have chosen to stay at home with my peanut because I find this work to be incredibly creative and fulfilling.

I do plan on returning to my work as a teacher. And I look forward to that. But not just yet. And yes, my main gripe here is with myself. I don't want to crumble into a defensive position here. It's not other people's fault that our culture pits women against other women over issues that could actually help unify us if given the chance. So why do I let this kind of thing bother me? Why do I care what other people think? Personally, I don’t really care. I know I’m doing the right thing for me and my family. And I recognize that when people slam or belittle me, it often has more to do with their hang-ups than with me. My discomfort is a more theoretical sense of disappointment with the tension that often occurs between working and stay-at-home moms. Alex told me that she frequently feels judged by stay-at-home moms and I know I’ve felt judged by working moms. And ladies, who wins with that equation? I’m sorry to pull a Pollyanna, but I genuinely have no judgment about what other families choose (or have to choose) as far as work and parenting goes because A) we’re all doing our best, B) I’ve seen plenty of good and bad parenting on both sides of the fence, and C) it’s usually none of my darn business. I suppose it’s part of my job to keep on spreading the good vibes when it comes to all kinds of mamas. I think we all rock. And I think that as long as we’re doing what’s right for us as individuals and as members of our individual families, we’re showing our children what it means to be self-aware and deliberate in our lives. Isn’t that a good thing?

As for having it all, I know I will have it all. I actually sort of feel like I already have it all. I am reminded nearly every hour of every day of how fortunate I am and, more importantly, of what a fabulous life I’ve created for myself with my career, my friends and my little family. I suppose I’ve been able to come to this spot in my life – a spot where I’m not stressed by what comes next or what I should be doing – because I’ve shifted my idea of Having It All into bite size chunks. And while some may peek into my life and think I’m merely nibbling on the big piece of pie that is my life, I know in my heart of hearts that I’m actually gorging myself on the best part – for me – so far.

Life Lines

I’ve never been one for strong female friendships. Since I was a small kid, I always had a lot of friends but really only one or two close girlfriends I could count on. And this tendency has followed me into adulthood. I like spending time with just little ol’ me (and now the wee peanut) and have been burned by gal pals a few too many times to readily dive into female friendships. And at the end of the day, I always prefer to spend time with the Papa over anyone else on this lovely planet. So I’m open but cautious as a friend, patiently taking my time getting to know other women and find a balance between opening and protecting my heart.

But things have shifted a bit now that I’m a mama. While I still only have a small handful of female friends, I find those bonds and connections invaluable now that I’m navigating motherhood and, frankly, just life in general as a thirty-something. This small group of women have become my support system, my sounding board and my reality check. They are, in short, my lifelines. And oh how I am thankful for this new phase of life.

There’s Alex, of course, my dearest and oldest friend. Alex has stood by me through bad bangs and addiction as well as every joyous milestone in my life since seventh grade. And I can’t imagine going through this mama gig without her. There ain’t nothing like the shorthand of emotional reality checks an old friend provides. One word or a subtle reference to the past, and we have each other pegged and realigned. ‘Cause there’s no fooling an old friend. And hallelujah for that.

And then there’s Lena – dear Lena – my daily reminder that I’m not alone in this crazy ride. We keep each other sane when sanity seems beyond distant. She’s the one I call when I need someone to tell me I’m not a bad mom. And she’s the one who reassures me I’m not alone when I have days when I’m shamefully not bewitched by my peanut who I normally find so bewitching. We take turns feeling vulnerable and fried, buoying up the other so that at least one of us is afloat at any given moment and helping one another laugh through the bliss and the crud. And I literally have days when I live for that little dose of laughter.

Oh, and Kami. Kami kills me. She kills me because she’s a lot like me. And sometimes we all need a mirror to see how funny and smart and right-on we really are. Here’s an example: Kami called me frantically at seven months pregnant and hysterically left the following message: “Oh my god, Katherine, I just ate a hot dog. Oh my god. Do you think I’ve hurt the baby? I think I’ve hurt the baby. What do you think? Call me back.” Yup, this is a mama who shares my level of panic about putting sunscreen on Stella or eating a stinkin’ hot dog. She’s honest and genuine and one of the most loyal friends I’ve ever had in my life.

Goodness. I haven’t even touched upon the inspiration and comfort I glean from family members. Of course, if I start writing about my own mom or my sister, I’ll most like degenerate into a teary mess of sappy nostalgia. And I think I’ll save that for later. I also have countless neighbors and friends with older children who serve as beacons for the future, providing glimpses of the fun (and not-so-fun) to come and modeling some pretty spectacular parenting overall. But really, looking at this “list” of dear friends – women who tell me the truth as they see it and do so with a compassionate humor Mother Theresa would whole-heartedly endorse – makes me feel utterly overwhelmed with gratitude.

And what's funny is that we don't all necessarily agree on all things mama. But I sort of like that. The fact that we share the core parenting values of nurturing love but sometimes approach or manifest those values from different angles means we negate the opportunity for competition or judgment. And since I think we all hold ridiculously unattainable standards for ourselves as it is, I'm thankful that my ladies stand by with a healthy dose of judgement-free compassion.

Mostly, I’m simply grateful for the opportunity to finally reach the stage in my life where I feel comfortable and safe enough to share my strengths and weaknesses with these fabulous mamas and to know that I, in turn, also offer them comfort and solace as well. I revel in how strong and capable we all are, even in our most broken-down mama moments, and this brings me immense relief. For in the reflection these friendships provide, I see that I will, in fact, be able to show Stella the powerful connection between women in this life. And that means so much to my previously burned heart. So thank you, friends, for being sound and hilarious women who help me let go of the shrew cattiness and immobilizing insecurity of the past and gently and lovingly nudge me toward my better self as a friend, as a mama, as a wife and as a woman.

Watching Fear

I love this photo. It could be a throwaway from a long weekend getaway, but it means something to me. Seeing Stella compare her bear paw stamp with Mama and Papa, checking carefully to see that we are, in fact, a family of strong and powerful bears, demonstrates that while Stella is an intensely bright, verbal and sassy little sprite, she is still a tiny little peanut who is just starting to process what it means to live in this crazy big world.

And the world is bigger now that Stella is approaching two. People are bigger. Experiences feel bigger. And emotions are most definitely bigger.

And my goodness, it’s so devastatingly heartbreaking to watch Stella experience fear. Actually, I should be more explicit. It’s tough to watch her feel fear about things like strangers or new environments or the dark. But I sort of get all that intuitively. In fact, I expect those fears to some degree. She’s a tiny peanut, and strangers and new places can feel overwhelming. I get it. But watching her experience fear about things that are not classically scary – namely her own body – is excruciating. Out of respect for Stella and her future self, I’ll remain vague. But I will share – because I frankly need to as Stella’s mama in the now – that Stella is going through a pretty normal stage where her own strong and beautiful body doesn’t feel super safe. Yeah, it’s all normal and developmentally acceptable, but it’s unsettling nonetheless.

I don’t know. Perhaps we’re starting to hone in on a potty training window (or whatever newfangled name they have for it now) or maybe this wee one just has a really modest sense of self. Whatever the reason, she’s struggling and her struggles have taken the form of fear.

And it’s breaking my heart.

The good thing is that I now know enough as a parent that this phase will pass. When I step back a bit, I see that Stella is a confident and courageous kid who readily dives into a world she already recognizes as beautiful and fascinating. I suppose that’s partly why this has been so tough for me and the Papa; it’s tough to watch someone with such natural bravado crumble with anxiety. It’s not like we expect her to rationally tackle fear before she’s even two. I guess… well, I guess it just sucks to watch as the bad of the world's good-and-bad slips into her consciousness.

Lately, I’ve been reading and talking about toddlers and fear. And I have to admit that it’s been totally frustrating. While everyone has been perfectly lovely and genuine with their suggestions and support, nothing seems to be helping much. Of course, that’s when I realize that my sole job right now is to love Stella fiercely and obviously so that she sees, hears, feels and just simply knows my presence as her guardian is unwaveringly constant, even when – or especially when – she feels unlovable or scary herself. From petulant tantrums to sweet cuddles, my role is to love her passionately and show her how capable and strong she truly is amidst the stable and uncertain.

I’m gathering that fear is a natural and innate part of parenting. I’m happy to say that I’m not often gripped by fear myself. Sure, I have moments like any other parent when I find myself imagining the unimaginable. But I always force my way out of those, because what purpose do they serve? But I honestly think I’d rather be riddled with fear myself than watch Stella run her tiny self through the gauntlet. Mamas love their kids endlessly. And even in our most fatigued and weary meltdown moments, we want them to be safe, and we want them to feel safe. It’s really quite simple.

And if stamping our hands with a bear paw print for the next six hundred and fifty three days means Stella will feel strong and capable, then this mama is buying a barrel of ink pads.

I still have no real answers other than these: breathing deeply really does help diffuse my tension in those cruddy, crappy moments, our fabulous moments far outweigh the crummy moments, this tough phase will pass like all other tough phases, countless other hurdles stand before us as parents and, yet again, all I can do is love my daughter with unabashed and gentle openness. And while these answers don’t really do much for “solving” the tedious details of our little but significant-to-us problems, they do nudge me back from the eye of the storm and remind me of the grander schemes of love and patience that serve as guiding beacons on this ridiculously intense ride as a parent. And that, in and of itself, genuinely helps.