As I stand, sorting through laundry, making beds, tiding the messes that follow me around, like a constant annoying companion, it struck me, that I don't really, honestly like doing these things. They just are, for the most part, the day to day grind. If I don't do it they won't get done, and then where would we be?
Well, I guess I wouldn't be swallowed up by this unyielding expectation, I've somehow gotten sucked into. The expectation that I cook, clean, make beds, play with children, and above all do it happily. There are days when I just want to lock myself in a room, selfishly sit and sip coffee, not read another preschool book, watch another moment of Treehouse or play on the floor, eyes glazed over hoping the moments pass more quickly. Why? Because I want to cram everything into this tiny bit of time. I want things for me, for my children, and can't find, or accept that sometimes something has to give. The beds might have to go unmade, the dishes might have to pile up, the house might have to become a cesspool for a while, in order for me to feel like I can do what I want and need.
I hate the smothering feeling I've allowed myself to exist in, because this is what one is supposed to be doing when they stay at home with and for their children, right? Sometimes I just seriously don't know who I am or what I want. Then, there are those very rare moments, when it creeps in, you know, that you could easily and very peacefully exist in a life that might seem, on surface anyway, chaotic, yet underneath, it's precious, creative and full.
It's like I hold back from this other desired life. One where I make a pot of coffee, let my preschooler paint, play with play doh and make messes to her hearts content while I draw, enjoy a day or life time of free living, of embracing who I am , or who I want to be, without the guilt of looking at the mess around me, us.
I sat with a good friend a little while back and she said something to me that I have thought about often everyday since. She said her mother once told her, find out who you are, not what you are, find it, know it and accept it. I've run this through my mind over and over again, trying to find who it is I am, through the layers of what I have built in order to make myself who and what a mother, a wife is supposed to be. In whose eyes? Well mine, or maybe society's, I'm not completely sure I know.
What I do know is that I have this small warm feeling in the core of myself that is growing, and it really feels good to suspect, that somewhere I am going to finally find out who I really am.
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