I’m keeping it all inside these days.
According to who I knew myself to be for the first 32 years of my life, this is a strange phenomenon. Not anymore, though.
So much is different about me now and I’m not sure how to feel other than…too tired to care most of the time. I see myself changing, not necessarily for the worse, and I can’t seem to find the sustained motivation to return to my former self.
Before Olivia peeked her big, sweet head into this world, I was adamant about staying true to myself despite my new title. I knew myself very, very well and believe me, that self-knowledge was hard won. No one was going to make me change!
What I didn’t anticipate were the natural changes that could occur without my explicit resistance- the shifts in my focus, my interests- even my values.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I up and became a gun-toting, stay-at-home, republican, home-schooling, evangelical Christian-ist mommy blogger. These shifts were much, much more subtle. They took me by surprise at a time when I had very little fight left. And you know what? Maybe some of these changes aren’t necessarily working for me anymore. I get it. The adaptive nature of survival. What was once a useful tool can become irrelevant once we are past the really hard part. Also, maybe, the realization that this tool is no longer useful is actually the first glimmer of emergence into a better space.
I want to write again, y’all. I want to care. I want to set up a schedule, wake up early with the birds, make coffee, take time to myself, get it all down and out.
Also, I don’t.
What I am sure of is this: This pulling inward, zipping my lips, pushing, pushing, pushing through, worked for 19 months. I guess I needed it. I still do. My dearest wife does not, however, and its begun to get in our way.
When I was 20, my boyfriend at the time (who was 27), told me that I was going to change drastically between 20 and 25 and then again between 25 and 30. Indeed, looking back, I’m virtually unrecognizable to myself. Implicit in this developmental view, though, was the assertion that upon reaching 30 I’d never again be so changed that I would find myself a mere shell after the transition.
Motherhood did that to me. And again this time it was all for the better.