On Mothering and Decision-Making and Feeling Inside-Out

Yesterday was supposed to be a day of rest but my fretful mind would not have it. I think that if scientists could determine a way to harness the wheel-spinning ferocity of every mother's over-thinking mind and turn it into an alternative fuel source, we could stop drilling for oil tomorrow. 

Sometimes being a mother feels like walking around inside-out. I try to stuff my wildly-feeling heart and messy insides safely and politely back where they belong but instead I'm like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, anxious and undone, stuffing spilling out at the seams. 

This season of rest and simplicity, this season that I named "The Year of Being Knit" has in many ways felt like the exact opposite. I'm wondering if I should rename it "The Year of Being Undone." Sometimes we have to become completely unraveled before we can properly be reassembled. 

Sending my kids to school has been the best thing for them and a much-needed sabbatical for me. But that's not to say it's been easy. While totally unrelated situations may have been the catalyst to send them to school, now I can't help but wonder if these very unrelated things forced a decision that I wouldn't have submitted to otherwise: school. 

Though this school-year has yet to finish and the next one looms far off on the other side of summer, you know how these things go. It's only spring but we have to make decisions and commitments for next fall. Technically we don't have to decide until the day before school starts but a summer of limbo isn't fair to my kids. 

I'm simply not ready to commit. My dreamy ideals of living and learning at home, of classical education and a slower-paced life, of keeping them just a bit protected for just a bit longer from the harsh realities of this world...these ideals beat mightily inside this unraveling mama's heart.

But then there is the real. And when I'm not knee-deep in it, I quickly forget the importance of knowing thyself. I am not laid back. I'm wired to need time alone or I fall to pieces. The day-in and day-out of my real looked nothing like my ideal. I get that it will never be perfect, that it's okay to have messy days where every single one of us has cried for one reason or another. But I will be perfectly honest with you: the unhappy, let's-just-survive days were far outnumbering the this-isn't-so-bad days. 

None of us were thriving at home. Especially me. And whether you're southern or not, you've heard the old adage: If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. 

We're four months in and I am still tired but less weary. I cry a lot but it feels good and necessary. I haven't figured out how to manage my days well but through trial and error, I'm learning. I haven't fully come to terms with anything but I'm progressing toward acceptance and that's better than standing still.

As for the kids, they're just fine. I'd venture to say they're actually great. Sometimes my daughter has more homework than I deem necessary. She's had stressful, unhappy moments...but fewer than she did at home. I've learned that my kids are more responsible, more independent, and far more adaptable and resilient than I gave them credit for. And I wouldn't have known any of this had I not sent them to school. They love their friends and their teachers. They love daily learning in community and from instructors who are passionate about their subjects. I was completely unprepared for the ways in which they would embrace the culture of school.

And all of their "success" has made our decisions for next year so much more difficult. Well, it's made my decision more difficult. That probably sounds crazy. Why fix what's not broken? 

Because all of this is not what I'd planned. It's not what I'd envisioned for any of us. Truly, it feels like the death of a dream {dramatic though that may sound.} The final decisions haven't been made and the pendulum may yet swing back the other direction. That's one of the pitfalls of blogging. You sometimes have to eat your words. But I'd rather be authentic and honest in my wrestling and indecision. I'm not the first mama to be in this place and I certainly won't be the last.

We all want what's best for these little and not-so-little ones that look to us every single day for love and sustenance. Our children are living and breathing pieces of us who walk around in a world that will hurt them and disappoint them. And when that happens? We hurt so badly we feel we might break in two. We want them to be prepared and protected and it's an overwhelming responsibility. For so many reasons, the ways and the places in which we educate them can determine the trajectory of their lives. This is what brings me to my knees. And to the box of Kleenex. 

A week ago I was in a particularly weepy place over my daughter and what to do about next year. She'll be in middle school and I'm simply not ready for any of this. I told my husband that he just needed to listen, that my heart was heavy and that I didn't feel I could bear my own emotional state alone. He waited quietly as I poured out my fears and failure. And then I said, Now it's your turn. I desperately need to know your thoughts and I need you to lead me through all of this. 

He is a man that measures his words carefully and for this I am grateful. 

She needs you to be her mother. For the rest of your life, that's what she'll need from you. Other people can teach her, but only you can be her mother. When you were her teacher, it was getting in the way of you being her mother. It just wasn't working. She's doing great in school. There are no red flags. This is the direction I'm leaning. 

I wept with both relief and grief. Relief because I need to know that it really is this simple. She needs me to be her mother. That's it. Grief because I wish I was cut out to be both. And maybe in time I will be...but not now. Accepting who I am versus who I want to be is one of the greatest battles I fight. It's so easy to be persuaded by others who are doing their thing {that you wish was your thing} and doing it well. I'm fooled into thinking that if I can just muster up enough patience and discipline and know-how, I can do the "thing" too.

Accepting that we are all created and called differently sounds good and easy. But it doesn't feel good or easy at the moment. Reckoning the real with the ideal is a slow, soulful, solitary surrender. 

If it was up to my daughter, she would boldly begin middle school tomorrow, skipping excitedly down the hallway with her new, monogrammed, aqua-colored L.L. Bean backpack {not that she's already picked it out or anything.} As for me, I wish I could turn back the clock and skip the other direction toward the simpler {though sleepless} days of diapers and breastfeeding. 

Maybe that's the bittersweet irony of motherhood. Our kids want to speed up the clock and we want to make it stand still. Right now it feels like the kids are winning. 

I find myself leaning hard into my husband's counsel. Sometimes it's the simplest of truths that sustain us during seasons of surrender: Only you can be their mother. 

And for now, this is enough.