No, I'm not pregnant. You can all take a deep breath.
However, last Friday, when I ran home for a very late lunch break, and scrubbed dishes in-between organizing my mail and gulping lukewarm soup from the only clean bowl left in my possession, I thought of all of the moms I know, and wondered how often they hear the negative whispers that I heard that day. That nagging, buzzing refrain of, "Your apartment is a wreck! Your cat is being ignored! Bills need to be paid, and WHEN was the last time you vacuumed?!" screamed in my brain. I thought, "Huh. This must be what that whole 'Mom Guilt' thing is all about." I realized that this is something I could be very prone to experiencing if, Lord willing, I have a family of my own, someday.
Never doing enough. Never being enough. Never completing all of the things on that never-ending to-do list. Never feeling like I'm properly managing that whole "work-life-balance" thing. Sound familiar?
Now, of course, I know that “Mom Guilt” isn’t a real diagnostic term. It’s just a clever, gendered title for something that has ailed all of humanity since the beginning of creation. Those co-occurring lies of Worthlessness and Required Perfection. We cannot listen or live up to either parts of that lie. But, oh! How tempting and trapping those thoughts become to me.
I’ve learned a lot about this during the last year, and I have my disability to thank for providing the lessons. Spastic Cerebral Palsy, though technically not degenerative or life-threatening, is a chronic disability, and its effects in my day-to-day have been much more disruptive and apparent in my young adult life than I could have ever imagined. Immobilizing pain and dangerous falls. Every muscle within me will spasm, and burn and throb, and jolt, as though electricity is coursing through every vein. And sometimes, I listen to my body, and I use a support cane to navigate. I take a few hours or a day off from work. I rest and stretch and soak in boiling bubble baths.
These days of pain, though, have become more frequent, and so my willingness to “take a day” for myself has been dwindling. I have to work, because, bills! And professional development! And, I-Worked-Hard-For-This-Masters-Degree-So-I-Had-Better-Work! You know, that whole Required Perfection lie. That whole Worthlessness thing.
I have to choose where my energy goes, because if there’s one thing I have learned, it’s that physical pain is absolutely exhausting. This week is a prime example of that choice. I am proud about the ways in which my professional life is flourishing. I successfully closed one of my most difficult client cases, I began writing a blog for our organization (which means that I’m a paid writer, now!), and I began teaching a 10-week Employment Readiness class. However, these professional successes have come at a personal cost. My dishes are half-done, clean clothes are strewn all over the bedroom floor, and I can’t seem to stand for more than five minutes when I get home at the end of the day.
And that’s when the Premature Mom Guilt settles in. I keep thinking, “I’m not doing enough in my personal life.” Currently, I am in bed, with three pillows and a heating pad supporting me, and all I want is a neck massage, a glass of wine, and Barry Manilow’s Christmas album playing all night long. I am frustrated and thankful all at the same time. Frustrated that I can’t do these things for myself as well as I would like. Thankful that no one else is depending on me to accomplish them. Thankful that it’s just me and my cat, living in this apartment. Frustrated that it’s just the two of us.
I hope that in ten years, if I’m fortunate enough to be someone’s Mom, I’ll remember this blog post. I’ll remember my tendency to believe the lies of Worthlessness and Required Perfection, and I’ll be a little more gracious with myself and all that I am trying to accomplish in this beautiful life that God has given me. I’ll remember, amidst the homework, and parent--teacher conferences, and his-and-hers-work obligations, and physical exhaustion, that I am doing the best that I can. After all, that’s all that any of us can ask of ourselves. And in ten years, there will be wine, and neck massages, and Barry Manilow’s Christmas album – all these, reminders of contentment and rest, rejuvenation and joy.
Be kind to yourself -- tonight, tomorrow, ten years from now.
