No Man’s Land

Allow your breathing to anchor you ~ Ally Love

My 40’s are whizzing by. My boys are older, spreading their wings, discovering their voice, and requiring less of me. Predictably my hubby shines bright in his profession. It is not faultless; headaches exist. Still, he excels—a success story under any lens. Me, I got stuck, jammed in no man’s land.

I made every attempt to hold on to a career with the belief that I could balance work and motherhood. My master plan failed, the foundation of our family was unstable. Cracks in the structure came to light by the time our second child was a toddler. The Blackberry organized our lives but did not take into consideration my children’s emotional needs. My hubby’s earning potential was evident early on; even though we started in comparable positions, his trajectory was undeniable. It became apparent that I would not be the one to shatter the glass ceiling, so I tapped out. My husband took the driver’s seat, and I settled in the role of supportive wife.

Here is the thing, I am blessed and want for nothing. It is not a life without pain, but generally, it is a life filled with incredible experiences and bliss. My hubby is a keeper. My kiddos are perfectly imperfect. They are fun, clever, and adorable. They can also be selfish, spoiled, and little assholes. I hit a speed bump every so often. The universe is communicating; slow down, take a breath; this bugs me. I like busy. I enjoy crossing my long to-do list with a red marker, item by item. Ahh, so rewarding, look, world, I accomplished all these things. I have had enough therapy to recognize that my to-dos have become my value figuratively. I do not have a career; I am a homemaker, and my lists offer a false sense of worth. See, I am important; I have things to do. I add value.

So, you can fully appreciate why I am always apologizing to my God for not being one hundred percent grateful. For feeling incredibly guilty anytime, I have a slight bit of sadness, emptiness, or resentment. I strive to live a life filled with appreciation, but questions linger; Am I doing enough? Is there more to this? What is my purpose? What is the big plan? Will I always play the supporting role? Will I ever get the leading part? Do I even want it?

Reconcile this…

My internal conflict goes something like this; on the one hand, I am delighted; I am in the car driving home from watching my kids’ basketball game. He decides to ask a question, which turns into a conversation; he is interested in learning about the music I liked growing up. My answers satisfy and confirm what he has always suspected; I have terrible taste in music. The moment abruptly ends. I am no longer in his sphere; his phone lights up with snaps. Pods back in his ears, shoulders swaying to what I am confident are inappropriate lyrics, intermittent half laughs, TikTok entertains him the rest of the ride. I find joy in these moments; how lucky that I get to drive my kid to basketball, that I get to witness his every shot, his every miss, all of it. Life is good; it is better than good; I won the lottery.

And on the other hand, there are moments when I feel trapped. Occasions that I want to quit this job. Why is it so difficult to keep my gratitude meter on high when I have so much to be grateful for? Why do I allow my mind to fuck with me?

The disconnect…

Like most girls, I daydreamed. Some girls fantasize about the Cinderella fairy tale. Some girls dream of having lots of babies and baking cookies. Others not so much. Some want killer careers; others want to be anchored by shiny objects. Some wish to be free, spontaneous. Regardless, we all have childhood dreams.

My dreams were a mixture; I wanted the family and the career. I wanted to wear a power suit and still make it home on time to whip up an organic and healthy dinner. I know many who have handled both lanes beautifully, gracefully dancing their way through board meetings and PTA meetings. Not me, I am jealous, I failed, my career took grip, my kids suffered. My childhood dreams did not match up with my reality. I chose family, the kids triumphed, and yoga pants prevailed. To add insult, I cannot even tell you how many dinners have taken place in route to my kids’ overscheduled lives tossing a drive-thru bag in the back seat, so much for organic.

Cry me a river, Mic! No shit, seriously, I get it. Yes, a blessing, fuck yes, an honor, heck yeah, how lucky for me, for sure. I am pretty aware of the gift the universe handed me; here you go, two healthy boys, be with them, raise them, love them.

To be honest, I felt branded and betrayed by the many women who had told me I could do it all. I do not know who planted these falsehoods in my young self. But I know this became one of the many roles assigned to me as a woman—wife, mom, and homemaker. Give up your career, your identity. Sacrifice your personal needs to ensure everyone else’s needs are met.

Parenting is not easy; each phase presents a set of challenges. Raising teenagers is like a constant tweet feed. Communication must be 140 characters or less. After this, they stop paying attention. It mainly consists of parents making statements and asking questions. Examples include but not limited to:

“Oh, hell no, can you please enunciate… you are mumbling again, Put the phone down; In what universe do you get to treat me like I am an idiot? Hmmm, $250 for a pair of trainers?? WTF? Stop stealing my alcohol! When did teenage boys start wearing Lululemon? Did you order a triple latte? Stop saying we have money because YOU do not. Dad and I have money, …Damn kid, you are an excellent liar; I don’t think staying up all night gaming is healthy.”

Teenagers are emotional vampires; they take, take, and take. At least when they were younger, there was a good chance for cuddles, sticky kisses, silliness, and lots of I love you. Now, I maneuver a delicate dance of asking questions but not too many. Affording the space for growth, failures, expansion, and yet working diligently to stay on top of it. The music, vaping, drugs, alcohol, sex, social media. Do not get me started on the ridiculousness of sports and academic pressure. Although to be fair, parents get the credit for cultivating this craziness (sports and academics). It is all happening; my husband is a hands-on dad, thank goodness. Still, he has a massive piece of responsibility -the enormity of what he carries, to protect, provide, produce – it is gigantic.

And then it happens…my AHA moment

I wish I could tell you that I had some massive epiphany, but it was not that dramatic. I grew tired of my whiny ass; I got sick of being me. I decided to abandon my bogus beliefs and called a truce with myself. I stopped resisting and came to terms with the process of becoming me. Only then did all the pieces fall into place.

I discovered that my journey is a work in progress. I stopped apologizing for not loving every second of being a mom and wife. And I forgave myself for not fulfilling all my childhood dreams (not yet). I redefined what is meant by having it all. Perhaps having it all and doing it all comes in stages and not in one beautiful package. Maybe, no man’s land is precisely where I am meant to be. It can be tricky, I will need to change my approach and adjust my lens, but it does not have to be a disadvantage.

Here is what I know for sure, I will never regret raising my boys, being a mom, and knowing them better than I know myself. What irritates me is that I wasted so much time being resentful. I wish that I had someone along the way stop me and say, hey, it is not over. Your life is a compilation of different acts, and in some, you play the supporting role, but without you, there is no feature film. So, chill out, enjoy the ride.

To all the younger moms, here is a bit of intel that I wish to share. You will not receive a warning sign; no alarms will go off, no heads up for ‘last times.’ The last time your child gets in bed with you because they have a nightmare. The last time you rock your baby to sleep, or the last time your little one runs to you to kiss a boo-boo. You will not appreciate the last time she holds your hand in public or sits on your lap for storytime. There are no final notices; nope, life does not work that way. I cannot even remember the shift; it just stops. Moments still happen, but they are different. Now I hold my breath until I hear the garage door open; Phew, they are home safe. I say extra prayers when they play sports; the hits are a lot harder. I fight tears as I watch them soar, enjoy life, and relish in moments that have nothing to do with me and everything to do with them discovering who they are. I treasure these moments but oh my goodness, what I would do for a mulligan. To rock my babies to sleep, to feel their little bodies on my chest, to bottle up the deliciousness of their scent.

The process of becoming me required that I stop chasing rainbows. To knock down the hurdles I set forth and get on with the business of appreciating this moment. I am no longer swimming upstream. It took me a long time to get here, but I made it. I still daydream, but today, this moment, well, I am genuinely grateful to play the supporting role. My mamma’s words anchor me, ‘enjoy them, they are on borrowed time, soon they will use their wings and fly.’

XXOO,