I'm restless lately. Itchy. Unfulfilled. Ready for something new. How is it that I have all that I have, that my days are so filled, and I still have this piece of me that yearns. There is this voice that clamors to be heard, that screams sometimes, What about me?! Under all of these layers of wife, mother, sister, lover, daughter, friend, etcetera, is someone who is straining to be. I've locked her away, perhaps out of fear, and now that I would like to let her out, I find I've lost the key...
I used to write poetry. Probably not good poetry, but mine all the same. I must have hundreds of poems stashed away. The words used to flow, almost effortlessly. I haven't written a poem in years. I used to dream that I would write a novel. Not something great, just something entertaining. Now I don't even try, telling myself I wouldn't know where to begin. Besides, if I did write something, how would I ever go about getting it published? These are the ways I hold myself back before I even have a chance to start. I am hesitant to even post this because I am ashamed of this piece of myself. I talk such a good talk, encourage others to follow their dreams, then hide behind dirty diapers and loads of laundry instead of working towards what I claim to desire.
I have lost the blind faith of youth, that belief that anything and everything is possible. And perhaps I've lost that belief in myself, transferring it instead to my children, whispering to them while I rock them that they can move mountains if they so choose. I see so clearly how one can slip into each next day, losing that inner vitality, until one is merely the ghost of their former self. Well, damn it all, I can't be that, can I? I'm not sure what avoiding that will entail, but I'd best get started figuring it out, hmm? I think for so long I've avoided risk, avoided vulnerability, because it's scary and often painful. Obviously avoidance can be equally painful.
Here's hoping.
5 comments:
This lament is coming from someone who is juggling all those disparate roles and now you wonder why you can't add self expression into the mix? That itchy yearning is a good sign, in my mind, that you are allowing your creative self back in, after having had to necessarily sublimate that self.
Just today I read a story about a woman who imagined herself winning the lottery, what she would be wearing, the amount, everything. Read about it here. She is an inspiration to me, and well, so are YOU! :-)
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
Anais Nin
Keep your dreams Whitney. Work on them and try to spend just a little time each day making them into reality -:)
No wonder you enjoyed my post on optimism and courage.
OK, a couple of suggestions. Writer's Digest, literary magazines and competitions and a book called Writing Down the Bones, that will challenge you with tasks. And then time, plan the 'me' time. You are not just a slave to the needs of others, you have to let your creative self go hog wild every now and then. Think of it this way, the kids learn to imagine their future by watching you. Show them the mountains you can move so they can see it in their own futures.
Peace.
This was beautifully written. The writer is in there underneath all of those diapers and meals and everything else people need of you.
Hint: It doesn't last forever - even if it feels like it. The writer will reemerge someday full of all the lessons life offered up while you gave the biggest part of yourself to your family.
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