Mom is Just a Nickname

There have been a few new posts on my other blog.

Is it Right to Submit to Motherhood?
“Momma, You’re So Funny!”
In Response to “Is it Right to Submit to Motherhood?”

Jump over and join the discussions! I’m curious if any fathers have experienced similar feelings of ‘losing themselves’ to parenthood, especially stay at home dads. I’m also interested in what mothers whose children are already grown have to say about it all.

I know, it’s stretching the ‘X’ thing. Deal with it!

I’m finally making progress with my new site! I’m excited!

So, here’s announcing Mom is Just a Nickname! I only have a couple of things posted so far, and I’m still working on the layout a bit, but it’s started and I’d love to hear from you about it. Here’s what the site is about (from the “About Me” page):

“Mom” is a nickname I acquired almost ten years ago, about the time of the birth of my first child. I actually go by “Beth” normally. My kids are just about the only people in the world who call me “Mom” on a regular basis. Yet somehow, the word “Mom” has shaped the person I am today. It is a nickname, a job title, a term of endearment, and a show of respect. It is a word that has swallowed me whole.

The words “Mom” and “mother” should not define me as a person, though. I am far more than either word can contain. In fact, every day a new word can be added to a long list of words that help define who I am. It’s an ever-changing description since there are always new chances to grow. Most of the time, though, I’m pretty sure there isn’t any ONE word that can describe the person I am.

For about six of the nine years I’ve been a mother I have lost sight of the fact that I am not just “Mom.” Motherhood and being a good wife consumed me. I gladly gave up any and all of my interests in order to give my family what I thought they needed. All of my creativity, previously fed by a multitude of crafts and projects, was funneled directly into my family if it was expressed at all. Soon I realized that I felt like an empty husk. There was no color, no spark, in my world anymore. Not many things could get me excited and not many things would hold my interest for long.

I think the most significant point in realizing my loss of self was when my children were asking me, “What’s your favorite color?” and I had no answer to give them. In fact, I couldn’t tell them my favorite food, my favorite scent, my favorite song, my favorite … anything. I no longer cared enough to have favorites. I could tell you all of my family’s favorite colors: my husband’s is purple, my daughter’s is pink and my son’s varies between green and blue. I’m still not sure what my favorite color is.

Part of my inability to care probably has had something to do with chronic depression. I am slowly learning that whether the issue is losing myself to motherhood or losing myself to depression the cure is to give myself permission to play, to create, to dream and to do. I am learning to give myself permission to paint my world anew in bright, energizing colors.

This blog is about my efforts to learn more about myself as a person, to redefine myself outside of motherhood. I invite you to join me in my journey, to learn with me, to share your experiences and discoveries with me.

Once upon a time, a mom and her son went to an elementary school. The mom’s daughter went to this school and that day was an important day in her Fourth Grade life. The mom and son were going to watch the daughter receive awards she had earned in the previous nine week grading period.

So, the two sat in the audience with the other proud parents. They sat through three classes receiving their awards. Finally, it was time for the daughter’s teacher to stand up and announce the recipients of the prestigious awards.

The first category was Straight A students. The mom already knew her daughter had earned straight A’s and was very proud of her for doing this. When the daughter’s name was read, the entire audience stayed quiet, waiting for another name to be called. No other name was announced. The mother started clapping and that started an avalanche of applause. The daughter grinned toothily and accepted her award demurely. She walked off the stage and sat with her classmates once more. The daughter’s teacher moved on to the A-B Honor Roll awards.

The next category the daughter stood for was Citizenship. It acknowledged good behavior and much of the class had earned that award. Once again, the daughter walked up to the stage and accepted her ribbon and then returned to her seat.

The final chance to earn an award was for Perfect Attendance. Those students who were present and accounted for each day got to stand up and recieve a ribbon for this. The daughter once more strode to the stage and smiled wide as she clutched her three ribbons. She obviously felt very happy.

The mother was also very proud and happy for her daughter. She smiled and clapped. The son smiled and clapped. The assembly was over and the mother gave her daughter a hug. The son gave the daughter a hug; the two siblings loved each other very much.

After leaving the school, and daughter, behind, mother and son went to the library. There was a preschool program that mother thought son might enjoy. There was a catch, though. The program was just for kids, not for parents. Parents were not allowed in. Mother explained this to son and he was looking forward to going. He kept saying that he wanted Mother to go with him, though she explained she would not be able to.

In the library, the son played with other kids while they waited for the librarian to gather them to the special room for their program. Mother and son also peeked into the windows of the room to see what it looked like. They had come before for a story time (where Mother was allowed to join) and then there had been a big dragon decorating the small stage. This time, the dragon was gone. The son soon noticed a paper airplane resting beside the librarian’s chair. He got excited. He had just been playing with a paper airplane the day before!

The airplane theme was enticing, but still the little boy was not keen to go into the room without his Mother. He told her he didn’t want to go in alone. She talked about all of the other children that would be with him. She talked about the librarian who had just introduced herself to him, who would also be with him. He continued to say he wanted to go in, but with the mother not by himself.

Finally it was time to line up. Mother knelt to the side with the son and quietly encouraged the son to get in line. The son burst into tears and sobbed. He clung to his mother and buried his head against her chest as she hugged him. She reminded him of the airplanes, and the friends he had just made who would be there with him. She suggested that she could read a book with him instead of doing the program. He clung to her and watch the children through the window as they shook their wiggles out before starting the story. He sniffed and hiccuped, but he could not take his eyes off of the window.

Mother told him the door was closing, and it was his last chance to go in. He balked again and she began to move away from the story time room. Suddenly, the little boy released her and began moving to the door. To mother’s amazement, he walked timidly in, still with tears on his face. Through the window, mother watched as the librarian gave him a gentle hug around his shoulders and then directed him to a seat. He willingly went to sit, although he found a new seat before too long, beside one of his new friends.

He happily listened to the story, did the motions to the songs and pretended to be an airplane. He trooped with the other children to make his very own paper airplane in the craft room. Before too long the half hour program was done and mother was very proud and happy to see her son had enjoyed his storytime. She could see that he was very proud that he had dried his tears and joined his new friends. He even told his mother he’d like to do it again.

And so son moved one step closer to being ready to go to school in the fall, and mother moved one step further away from being his main source of comfort. Just like his sister before, he will learn to step out alone, as mother stands to the side and watches with pride. Two children, both with bravery and intelligence. And a mother remembers each step of the way.

As is my habit, I followed links to new blogs today. I found one, my semblance of Sanity, that held a story of a little boy who recently died of brain cancer. The mom of the little boy was a friend of the blogger (through the blogosphere? I assumed). I read his story, the mom’s words, the poetry…I had to stop. I had to physically get up from the computer and walk away.

The stories of these tiny children and their families fighting such impossible odds break my heart. Or a better way to say it may be that they take what’s left of my already broken heart and crush it into tinier pieces. Let’s face it, my heart was broken many moons ago when Sullivan died…the breaking started two years before that when he stopped breathing that cold December day and was resuscitated a different child.

I can’t help but read these stories. I can’t help but drop a note or a comment to the parents of these children. Nothing usually comes of it, but maybe they can see that they aren’t alone. Maybe they can see that their world will eventually mend itself around the hole left by their children’s absence. Maybe they just think I’m a nutcase stranger writing them out of the blue.

Maybe I do it just so I can pick at my own wounds and let them bleed awhile. The grief that other parents express is something I can relate to. I don’t display it every day, but I too have that deep well of sorrow that nothing ever heals. I try to live well because I feel that was what Sullivan tried to teach me throughout his time with us. To live well, to show our love, to share our experience. Still, too many days I exist, rather than live.

I feel even more deeply for the families that have lost a child after fighting a long illness. Coping with such a situation is the hardest thing I have ever done. We had months of living hour by hour, day by day, just surviving. We didn’t think too far ahead because the future was so uncertain. And day to day living was more about making sure our children’s needs were met than about being sure our own needs were met. We were exhausted, sick from not taking care of ourselves.

So, when we were saying our goodbyes to Sullivan, there was grief but also a sense of relief. A release, if you will, from the heavy toil and responsibility. And at the time, it seemed horribly selfish to admit to that. It felt like some sort of terrible betrayal to admit that I was glad that now that my son was dead, I could leave the “Waiting Place” and move on with life. I was thankful that I could again sleep all night long in my own bed, with my husband beside me.

It was release from a burden that I willingly carried, but release it was. I can hardly describe Sullivan as a burden either, for the joy he gave even on the last of his days was far greater than any difficulties he caused. To feel his tiny hands tangle in my hair to squeeze me back in a hug; oh to feel that again.

Xavier likes to play with my hair now. It reminds me of Sullivan. So many things remind me of him, but the stories that are told in memory or tribute to a child who has died, they bring so many of these feelings so close to the surface. So many days I end up lost in a funk because of reading these things….but I just can’t help but read them, time and again.

In sugar, anyhow. Having been diagnosed with prediabetes several years ago you’d think I’d know better, but I don’t. I give in to the cravings. *sigh*

Why do some people find it so easy to eat well and exercise often and others, like me, don’t even think about it? Or we think about it and put it off, save it for another day, or we’ll be good for awhile and then go back to all the bad habits…

I need a personal trainer, a personal chef and a personal lifestyle coach or something. ugh. People to keep me out of the kitchen, in the gym and off my butt. Surely I can write while striding on a treadmill!

I could swim. It’s even free, if you don’t count the gas money to drive there. Every time I go I’m the only adult with my two kids, so I end up having to hover around X. And lately he hasn’t been wanting to move from the shallow end. It’s very frustrating.

I could walk. It’s free too, and my neighborhood has sidewalks. The weather’s pretty nice. I have to take X. He walks slowly. So I walk slowly. And feel like falling asleep as I walk. It’s frustrating too.

How do any moms get in shape while having kids? If you have any suggestions I’d love to hear them. I’ve tried pilates videos at home, and invariably throw my back out when I do them. I’ve tired bellydancing videos at home, but after one of my daughter’s friends laughed at me while I was doing one, I feel awkward doing it. Kids can be so cruel.

This is a pity party. It’s following my sugar-binge day yesterday. Tomorrow will probably be yet another day of self destructive behavior and then I’ll get over it. Or not. Who knows? The winter doldrums are here?

Today’s the shortest day of the year. Winter Solstice. I’m stuck in a halfway place where I want to celebrate Solstice with rituals and festivities but I also treasure my Christian based Christmas celebrations. What to do? I can’t reject all of my families’ traditions. They mean something to me beyond any religious holiday. Then again, I’m not sure the Solstice can qualify as a religious holiday for me.

I’m not atheist, I don’t think I’m agnostic….pretty sure I’m not Christian. But I’m not sure what I am. Another source of frustration for me.