AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is one of those posts that starts out all redundant and whiny but it has a totally reflective, positive ending. Promise. I’m still riding this whole revelations thing, apparently.

The daily frustrations and insecurities have been slinking back into my daily life. There are so many things I really want to do right now and the constant understimulation of observing of a small child all day have been starting to take a toll on me, my self-esteem, my sense of self-worth again. I start becoming convinced that I’m wasting my 20’s being counterproductive to society and not accomplishing any of the things I genuinely want to do, to start in my life right now. Additionally, all that momentum I was feeling a few weeks ago regarding my handful of major new projects has started dissipating as I’ve found myself unable to get anything completed with the lifestyle I have right now and I’m starting to feel confined and trapped within the restrictions of caring for an active toddler. This is something I’ve been told many mothers experience but that knowledge rarely makes me feel any better when I get these spells of self-pity. And nothing seems to quell the repeated frustration of having the wind taken out of my sails yet again.

Now, look, I’ve been through enough therapy and recovery to know what to do with myself during little typical-human rifts like this. Divert my attention to the things I’m grateful for. Make a game plan that accommodates my needs and still allows me to make progress on my goals. Don’t focus on the negative. Accept that this is normal new-mother behavior and ride the waves of life until this works itself out. Be patient as this, too, will pass and as the Bear grows older, she will become more independent and I will have the time to finish the projects I have planned for myself.
I got it.
I know.

But still, sitting in my therapist’s office, I felt like such a whiny fool for having this same problem that was affecting my mood and powerless as it’s something I have to just accept and live with at the moment. I feel powerless that I can’t provide for my family better, that outside forces have held us back from advancing in our careers and physical location, that even though I start every day with a handful of intentions, rarely are they all completed by the time I go to bed.

Then my therapist asked me something that caused me to immediately burst into tears:
“Is this the life you would have chosen for yourself?”

Obviously, this is a life I did choose for myself. I did have the option to not keep my child, I did have the option to not marry my husband, I did have the option to choose a path much much different than the one I’m on now. But I knew then and know now that these things really weren’t an option for me; my heart wanted to keep my child, my heart wanted to commit myself to my husband. These are choices that I’ve always been proud of and always been happy with. Even now when I’m struggling to find a sense of competence within them.

But when I found out I was pregnant, I was in a really transformative stage. After years of being crippled by depression, addiction, shitty self-esteem and the ensuing lifestyle choices that inevitably follow these sort of criteria, I was finally emerging on my own. I was finally happy being romantically single, I was finally getting out and getting involved within my community, exploring new facets of myself and enjoying things that I really loved doing. I had this great momentum I wanted to ride into my postgraduate years, taking the inner independence I was uncovering and seeing the world, attending graduate school, finally getting out from under my parents’ watchful eye and trying this whole adult lifestyle thing again. These were things I was actively working toward around April 2007 and things I was finding more excitement for than anything else I’d been a part of in many many years. I was high on the relief and joy of finally stepping into my own.

I love my life now. I love my husband and my home and my daughter and I honestly would not give them up for anything in this world. I wouldn’t even take a time machine and delay their arrival if I had the choice. I mean that. I’ve not spent a moment in the last two years resenting or regretting anything about my choices and there’s liberation in that. True, I’m not living where I want to and I’m not able to make the forward movement in my career and education that I want to, but aside from that, I live in a tiny paradise. And I’m thankful that I get to look forward to the rest of my life with these two in tow.

However, my therapist brought to attention that maybe I hadn’t taken the time to think about the loss of hope and optimism I had just before everything changed. I had been banking on a new change, a new start and, while I certainly got one, it might not have been the one I would’ve chosen for myself at the time if given the choice. In fact, if I’m going to be completely honest, it definitely isn’t what I would’ve chosen at the time.

Shit, that’s hard to say out loud. Especially to someone else. (Not that I talk to myself… or… or anything ::sheepish laugh:: I mean, I’m not crazy… heh.. anyway.) Even though I’m delighted with how everything in my immediate life has turned out and who I am as a result of choosing it all, I hate that apparent admission that it wasn’t my first choice when it all started. At the time I didn’t hesitate to fling myself into the joy associated with bringing a new life into the world and starting on a whole new journey. I really didn’t take the time for reconsideration or even questioning this new lifestyle; I was scared and uncertain, sure, but I think I was so excited about having found love and the unexpected surprise of a daughter and so eager to hurl myself into change and forward-motion that I didn’t pause to reflect on the diversion my life was taking. Maybe I was so desperate for change that I rode the high of having it handed to me a little blindly. Not that I regret that when I think about it; wasting time questioning myself would’ve only added to my stress during all of the moving-in-together, and preparing-for-baby and all that. Maybe it was a mental defense mechanism…

But when my doctor asked me that one question, I found myself in tears I absolutely wasn’t anticipating and didn’t even know were part of the equation. Admittedly, it was a bit of a luxury to cry over the loss of a self-indulgent, egocentric lifestyle I’d planned for myself (a sad stereotype of being an early-millenium twenty-something it seems.) and I’m trying not to waste time on guilt with that, but apparently it was something that needed to come out, this whole act of taking a little bit of time to recognize and mourn the loss of a projected path, an ideal lifestyle I’d crafted for myself.

Naturally, this doesn’t mean that all hope is lost for my life’s potential or anything ridiculous. I’ll continue to have the same ultimate goals for my life that I’ve always had and I’ll continue to plug away and try to make those a reality, although they may take more time to accomplish than I’d like. (Damn you, Universe, for your tireless lessons on patience!! ::shakes fist::) Inevitably, on any path I would’ve encountered obstacles that would’ve hindered my enthusiasm and progress, so it’s not like this one is any worse or outstanding than the others.

But it kind of felt good to recognize that, while they were totally selfish and self-serving, I did lose something I badly desired for myself and I am allowed to feel pain for the sacrifices I made to have the life I do now. I don’t know why feeling these things required permission from an outside observer; maybe the guilt of seeming ungrateful or hurting someone’s feelings was too much for me to admit this revelation to myself no matter how bad it was eating away at my subconscious. Whatever the case, it was freeing in a way and really started putting my doubt and frustrations in a perspective based on my personal circumstances, even if that’s more than a bit of an indulgence. If nothing else, this whole realization and chance to grieve has served as a sufficient pressing of the “Reset” button on my mentality as to how I’m living right now and the pressure I put on myself to adhere to the same rules and regulations I had before being a parent was my defining job title. It shifts the whole frame of reference to something completely different and there’s a good deal of liberation in that.

And maybe I’m finally starting to emerge from criticizing myself so oppressively based on the standards I assume must apply to everyone and maybe even starting to accept that everyone has their own set of actions that define their “personal best.” Maybe there’s something to that 4th Agreement that I’ve been raving about for a couple years now…

Christ, it takes me a long-ass time to “get” things. My therapist must really be enjoying my [literally] retarded breakthrough process, if only financially.