Elusive Balance

This morning, I had a rare bit of time in which no one else was home.  The oldest was at skiing, the middle was at swimming, and the youngest was at tennis.  I had been mulling thoughts over and over and in my mind for days and was longing to get them into words and this seemed to provide the right time in which to do that.  I skipped the shower, poured another cup of coffee, and began the write.  Sunlight filtered in through the window on my left and the only sounds were the occasional car driving by and my basset hound snoring.

My friend, who is a runner, talks about something called a "runner's high."  She swears that when she runs she gets into this place where she feels amazing and like her best self.  She was telling me about this to encourage me to keep running even though all I ever felt was tired and bored when I "ran."  I never did experience a "runner's high" but it does help me explain how it feels when I write.  After the first few sentences, the words just seem to fly from my fingertips.  I get into a "zone" and nothing else matters.  You need lunch? Get it yourself.  You drew a picture?  Great. Show me later.  Phone calls are ignored and time flies by.  Before I even realize it, I've spent an hour or more at the computer and all that I've noticed or considered was transferring the thoughts rumbling in my brain onto my computer screen.  When I'm done, I feel good.  I feel accomplished. I feel like my best self.  I may not really know what the Runner's High feels like, but I can imagine it feels just like I feel after I've written something that feels halfway decent.

This morning, I wrote.  I wrestled with words.  I considered and reconsidered syntax.  I played with adjectives and tried my best to put my soul into a paragraph.  Just after I made my final edit, pressed publish, and basked in the glow of having created something however imperfect it may be, my phone rang.  It was an unknown number.  I don't answer those kinds of calls, so I continued to just sit.  Then the unknown number left a voicemail.  Huh. Weird.  Who leaves voicemails anymore?  So, I listened.

That is when the you know what hit the proverbial fan.

It was my oldest.  She was wondering where I was since I was supposed to pick her up from skiing 15 minutes ago to get to her job...her actual employment...that began 5 minutes ago.  And just like that, the zen-like atmosphere I'd created was slashed to bits.  I grabbed my keys and flew out to my car and called the number.  Someone answered, I have no idea who.  She found my daughter and passed her the phone.  She was angry.  Super angry.  I can't blame her.

I found her and she climbed into the car and the tirade began.  I tried so hard to remain calm.  It was my fault.  I should have been on time. I messed up. It was an awful situation that was completely preventable.  If only I had maintained my allegiance to mom-dom for a little bit longer and postponed my lapse into the world of creativity.  I was racked with guilt and the words she hurled at me in anger and hurt made me feel worse.  After a couple low blows, I lost it.  I'm not proud to admit it, but I got angry back.  Not angry, really.  I was frustrated and felt misunderstood.  I knew that I should have been responsible and been on time, but I didn't know how to make her understand how important it is for me to have these moments.  When she asked me what I was doing, I didn't even know how to respond.  How could I say, "I was writing?" It was an inadequate explanation even to me.

The car ride to her work was fast; I sped as fast as I could without being a total danger to society.  However, it felt like it was a million years long.  She cried and raged and I cried and raged back.  I pointed out that I was late to work multiple times this year because she overslept.  She was not impressed by this revelation, nor should she have been.  I apologized a million times.  I called her place of employment and told them it was my fault.  I berated myself out loud and in my head.  I had failed.  Yet again, I had failed.

And here I am.  At home.  She's at work.  Her boss will be forgiving, I hope.  I'm feeling regret and guilt and shame and embarrassment.  I'm also feeling frustrated.

Being a mom is really all about balance.  That's what the Facebook articles and magazine blurbs all say.  To be a good mom, you *have* to take care of yourself.  You have to do what you love and nurture your body and soul.  But, you have to do those things while still making the cookies, cooking the healthy dinner, paying the bills, chauffering to the activities, keeping an immaculate house, and never, ever losing your temper.  When I began writing this moment, it felt like the right thing to do. It felt like the thing I needed to do.  But, there wasn't really time.  There isn't ever *really* time.

And that is the problem.  In order to be my best self, I need to have the time to do things for myself. With only 24 hours each day, the time for that is minimal if it even exists at all.  When I don't take the time to do what I need to do, I feel like I'm failing myself.  When I do take the time to do the things I need to do for myself, I feel like I'm failing others.

Of course, there are probably solutions. I could set a timer. I could make other arrangements.  Today is my fault and I'm not a victim.  Still, I can't help but feel like the decks are stacked against parents. It seems that simultaneous "success" as a parent and as a person is not possible.

And yet, I'll keep trying.  I will apologize to my daughter (again).  I will do all of the things that need to be done.  I will continue to make mistakes.  And...I will continue to fight for myself.  Maybe someday, somehow I will find balance.  Gotta keep hoping....

Addendum:  I wrote this yesterday right after dropping the oldest off for work.  Immediately after I finished writing, I found this post from my personal hero Glennon Doyle on her Facebook page which can be found here.

You know that voice in your head that’s always telling you that you’re not a good enough woman, man, wife, husband, mother, father, friend, artist, worker, giver, human? Let’s retrain that voice today. Let’s practice speaking to our self kindly and with respect - like we would speak to a good friend. We need to make friends with ourselves. We are stuck with our self ALL DAY, so let’s be kinder, gentler, more amusing company. Let’s take our own hand and say, “There, there, sister. You’re doing a good job. I’m proud of how you’re handling all this craziness down here. Don’t give up. Carry on, warrior.” Life is a long journey. Let’s become better traveling companions to our self. 

HERE’S THE PLAN: TODAY – when we lose our temper with the kids, when we accidentally eat that third brownie, when we don’t send that thank you card for the fortieth day in a row, when we forget to stop at the gym, when we’re late for that meeting – anytime and every time we fall short of the ridiculous expectations we put on ourselves – we are going to offer ourselves GRACE and see how THAT goes. Let’s make friends with our selves. We deserve to have a good, kind, gracey friend. We can BE that friend to ourselves.

Don't even tell me there isn't *something* out there connecting us all.  Here's to being our own best friends!