A lot of times, I want to punch them in the face

*disclaimer* This is a little whiney.  Sorry.  But I am venting. And sometimes vents involve whining.  Or whining with wine.  And if wine is involved, I'll take the pinot.  A little ice would be good.

Something that I am kind of sensitive about is the fact that I don't work.

I always feel like I have to justify it.  Like, "We felt it was best for our family," or,  "We didn't want anyone else to raise our kids," or  "We are fortunate enough to be able to manage with one income," and then the old faithful, "Alex has such a crazy unusual schedule, there's no way we could make it work if both of us had jobs." Blahblahblah. 

We, of course, because if I said I, then it makes me sound like I don't want to work.  That it was all my decision.  And I get the feeling that some people in my life think that because I don't actually go to work (at a real job), I am lazy.

But the thing is, those are the facts.  And I totally resent it when people insinuate that I don't want to work.  Like I have no ambition, no drive, no need to do anything other than drop my kids off at school and sweep my fucking house all day.  Those are the people that I want to punch in the face.  But I don't.  Because I'm nice.  And controlled.  And I'm just a little bit scared that it would hurt my fist.

I wrestle with the desire to have a "real job" vs. the desire to be here to take care of my family all of the time.

The thing is, we made the conscious decision to let Alex's work be a priority. And in all honesty, sometimes I wonder if that was the best decision.  If it was fair, to me.  When Alex went to Law School, I still worked.  So did he.  He worked all day, then went to class at night.  It was a pretty brutal four years.  But me furthering my education definitely took a back seat.

And then more kids came and Alex's career became more demanding and we just fell into this pattern.  This pattern of me always being here, dealing with things because that was what was easiest.  And the sucky thing is, now I feel like it's too late for me.  I've been out of the work field for like 6 years now.  Who would want to hire me?

It's too late for me.

Partly because I have waffled for so long on what I really want to be when I grow up, but also because now I feel like I'm too old.  I know, I know.  Old people go back to college.  But I just feel like if I did, I'd be 45 (!!) when I finished.  Then what?  Get a "real job" when half the people out there are thinking retirement?  What if I couldn't hack college?  I've been out of school for so long, what if it was too hard?  What if I failed?

I have a ridiculous fear of failure.  So my usual M.O. is to just quit before I fail.  Which in actuality, is failure in itself.

And what do I want to be anyway?

Then the guilt comes.  The guilt of why isn't this enough.  Like really.  Why isn't this enough?

I just feel like something isn't right.  The balance is messed up and my side of the scale is empty.

I'm not jealous, or resentful.  Or maybe I am a little.  I certainly don't blame anyone.  I mean, I realize that it could be worse.  I realize that this is a stupid thing to complain about.  I realize how lucky I am. 

But I feel like life is too short.  I'm seeing that now.  My foot is one step closer to the grave every single day, and the reality is: I'm not 100% content.

I need to figure out what makes me happy.  Where my place is.  And what is missing.  As much as I love being a mother and a wife, I think I need something else too, for just me.  And I shouldn't feel bad for wanting/needing that, to make me complete.

So why is it that I feel like I sound like a selfish, whiney jerk?

This is my VENTING post, because we are on V at Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-thursday.

shadows.bleh.

I had a lot of strong ideas about what it meant to be a mother, and how I was going to raise my daughter when I had her. I had all of the control because I was single and didn’t have to share her with anyone. Nobody else’s ideas had to be compromised with, nobody else’s traditions had to be accounted for, it was just me and her. And my life and her life were mixed up together and it became our life.

Things weren't easy. It was really hard sometimes. But being her mother was everything that I expected. The hard parts often times had to do with being lonely or being scared. Even though I liked that I didn’t have to share the parenting with anyone, I longed for someone, sometimes. Sometimes when it was dark and Kara was sleeping and I was by myself, the house quiet and peaceful around me, I would look outside into the deep darkness, and I would just cry lonely tears. It was worse if it was a clear night and the moon was bright enough to see the shadows on it. I would imagine that maybe the person that was supposed to be for me was looking at the same shadows on the moon, somewhere. Sometimes I went to bed when Kara did because it was easier to just sleep the hours away than to face the hours alone.


A lot of times I thought that I would never be able to give Kara a “real family,” and it made me feel sad and scared, and selfish for choosing to do things the way that I had. I would look at my sister and her husband, and I would be envious that I couldn’t give that to my child. I know Kara was envious of that too. My sister’s husband used to just automatically include Kara in a lot of things he did with his daughter – like he was her surrogate dad. But she always knew that he wasn’t hers. That hurt me, for her. And I knew it was my fault.


Kara was never at a loss for people who loved her though, and that was good. I have always felt lucky and grateful to have a family that was in my corner, who loved and accepted Kara, who accepted our situation. We got by. We did good. We made it.


I wonder sometimes what it would have been like, if I hadn’t been alone all of those years when I was so young myself. I wonder where I would be right now and how it would have made Kara a different person, if she had a "real family" when she was younger. 


I wonder who I would have grown up to be.