I'm in a Lean-in circle. We've been asked to consider what we would do if we weren't afraid. My initial self-assessment: I'm pretty good at identifying fears and taking them on. Sure, there's more stuff I'd like to do if I had more time, but I'm intentionally choosing to do other things. It's not about fear. It's about priorities.
For the past month, I've been struggling with this initial assessment. On certain days I'm convinced that 'priority' is just a mask for avoiding one's fears. Most other days are a blur of domestic tasks; the only thing I can manage before bed is the Daily Show with a large glass of wine. There are also days when I feel defeated, seriously frustrated that I can't sit down and finish a simple writing task.
It's been over two weeks since I started this blog post. I'm nursing my son every two hours, and it's hit or miss whether or not he will sleep in the crib during the day. I'd get a great idea on how to rework it, but couldn't get even 20 minutes to sit down and type. I've come close to publishing several times, sleeping on it, and then disliking what I wrote the next day.
But what's been even more confusing is that I haven't been able to decide where to publish the post. There are two sides to my writer-self: the technical and the creative. My ambition to succeed in the craft of technical writer pulls me in one direction, while the desire to finish that first novel, Leaving San Francisco, pulls me in another. This blog is meant to pursue the craft of technical writing; Leaving San Francisco is dedicated to the creative. The only certainty I feel right now is that I can't seem to choose one over the other; they are both a part of me.
Over a cup of tea shortly before my daughter was born, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law warned me that nothing could prepare me for the shifting priorities that all mothers experience after the birth of their first child. After giving birth, motherhood would be such an overwhelming priority, I would struggle to remember what it was about anything else that held weight in my daily routine: that I would put my dissertation on hold, that I wouldn't want to go back to work, that my dreams would become intertwined with the children's.
A few months after the birth of my daughter, I went out on a very slow 30 minute jog. Adrenaline surging through my body, helping my brain to think clearly for the first time in a long time, I remembered that cup of tea and quickly realized that though my daily routine was fully dedicated to my daughter, and I wouldn't trade any minutes of the days spent with her, all that I was before her birth was still there. I felt ambition to succeed in my profession, drive to finish my dissertation, inspiration to write creatively, and instinctual need to care for my child. With the birth of my second child, the need to find self in between the hours of motherhood is even more intense.
This weekend my husband spent 9 hours on Saturday building bunk beds. I took the kids out for the day. At the end of it though we were both exhausted, he felt the overwhelming sense of achievement looking at the thing he built. I just felt wrecked. It took everything I had not to lose my patience while Amelia had a tired meltdown for over an hour, and Patrick wouldn't seem to let me put him down. I managed to stay calm and be a good mom; other times in the same situation, I've lost my cool. For whatever reason, being a good mom day in and day out doesn't feel the same as building a bed... or finishing a blog post.
My greatest fear is the inability to reconcile the many sides of self. Without more hours in the day, it's really tricky to find balance, but there doesn't seem to be any alternative other than to try. Today I am pressing the Publish button. It's not perfect, but I need to start writing again.
