I have long been frustrated with my fearful self. I’m so smart and so talented so need to make an impact on the world. Let everyone know who I am and what I know. And if I don’t, I’m a loser. It’s the smart girl’s sabotage. It’s the knife I perpetually hold to my throat.
And then the other day, Fiona and I were returning from the library, she ahead of me climbing the hill beside the steps, and I realized she was so deserving of the purpose she is for me. I devote and leave so much of my life open to her. I do not need the recognition. I just need her to take her fierce self out in the world and be happy.
I believe that I am addicted to being unhappy with myself. I think many women are. But there isn’t one thing wrong with not wanting to overextend yourself. Wanting to be available for the people you love knowing that that availability is the implicit understanding of motherhood.
But I also know that we so often, so easily could use our motherly duties to abandon ourselves. Not pursue our creativity because they are so much more important. I will not condone modeling martyrdom for our children. I can say that I have battled and won a creativity entitlement and practice battle with myself in the years that I’ve had and been raising Fiona. She sees me indulging that constantly and she does too. But I also don’t have to capture the moon to know that my life is worthwhile.
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