I cried and cried and cried myself to sleep the other night. I usually save my sobbing for the shower where I am surrounded by millions of drops of water so that my tears do not feel quite so out of place – in some strange way it is like the shower cries with me – or as many, or as overwhelming. Sobbing in the shower is better than sobbing in bed because it doesn’t matter if your cheeks and hair get soppy and wet in the shower whereas a soggy pillow is not much fun. The pummeling water, as well as being therapeutic, also drowns out any desperate gasps or sighs and thus shelters other house dwellers from the discomfort of being confronted with unrestrained emotion. Sobbing in bed is reserved for moments of desperation, exhaustion or times in which you are simply overwhelmed.
I am not sure which of these situations it was that brought me to be sobbing in my bed instead of the shower, probably exhaustion or maybe a mixture of all three, but there I was, sobbing against my better judgement when I should have been sleeping blissfully.
Lately I feel like all my hard work at uni, getting trained to teach so I could be a good mum to my children and be available to look after them and earn money to support them on my own while doing something that I love to do, has been a stupid waste of time. I don’t have any more time for my children now than when I was at uni. In fact I have less. I do have more money which allows me to send my boys to a private school where the teachers have the same vision for education and life that I have and want to pass onto my children, but I don’t think I care about the money right now. It is important to send my children to a good christian school but I miss them when I am working all the time to do it. I miss them. I don’t know if teaching is actually what I like to do either. It’s a lot of hard work, hours and hours of preparation, marking – especially in English – and coaching that just takes me away from my little ones.
I miss being at home with my boys.
When I married all I wanted to do was be a wife who served her husband through doing all those mundane things women are expected to do but are meant to hate. I didn’t hate it. I loved it. I was married to a violent barstool and still loved it. I loved the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, the shopping – well not so much the shopping- the mothering. I loved it. I loved my family.
I am angry at my ex. I’m angry because he stupidly wasted what was meant to be good. I am angry because now I feel like I have to be a mother I never wanted to be: a working mum who spends more time away from her children than with them. A mum who is busy working even when she’s at home. A mum who feels guilty skipping on class prep to play with a Thomas the Tank Engine train set, or watch a dinosaur movie, or look at a cool butterfly emerging from a cocoon. How did I become this mother I never wanted to be?
I was feeling all sullen and woeful on Sunday when I stumbled across CoffeeSwirls, a brilliant-every-word-is-gold kinda blog that I hadn’t read for some time. And this is some of what Doug had to say there:
“Have you ever felt that your life was getting out of control?…How you you view the trials of life? Do you gnash your teeth at them and strive even harder to overcome them [I was gnashing and striving!] or do you thank God for His work in your life, bending your stubborn will to Him? When you pray do you ask God to lift these trials or do you ask for the grace to look beyond this vapor that we call life and look to the joy that God has set before you? God is our reward.”
and I was reminded that what I really have to do is enjoy what I do have. Re-prioritise. Give God and my boys more time and keep on because, for whatever reason, this is God’s plan for me. Sigh.