It’s February, you guys. And I am in a serious funk.
Last weekend, I was having those horrible insecure thoughts that some of the moms I’ve become friends with really don’t like me that much. I mean, literally, I was feeling very alone. And that is a strange feeling when I’m amongst so many people and chaos on a daily basis.
This happens at times. And truth be told, I am alone in a lot of what I do. I work outside the home — full time!!! — and I’m a Catholic mom to six at a parish where most moms with more than four kids are SAHMs and don’t have their babies in daycare and don’t miss the field trips and the class parties and all that stuff. Every day, I work among many women who simply think I’m crazy (or maybe they think that I really don’t know any better) for welcoming children into my already full marriage and household. One woman I work with openly discusses taking her daughter in for her “depo shot” and I cringe a little inside, but maintain an understanding facade to the outside. Another woman continues to tell me all about her friends who have 13 children, “and they all turned out great, went to college and everything!” as though it was a particular triumph not normally afforded to a large family. Sometimes I wonder if I am the current freak show that everyone kind of discusses as it passes through town and points and giggles as I leave.
Lots of interaction — yet lots of loneliness. I live among this great expanse of secular culture living my life in a very non-secular way. People are confused by me. I am confused by people.
I worry that my funk rubs off on my kids in their interactions. Sarah’s getting to this age of lots of social opportunities and she has a mom who is wary of allowing some of that. Dani wants to go and do things with her friends, too, but is often stuck because we have commitments for other kids. Then when my kids don’t get to attend fun activities, I blame myself for helping to create this environment where they have to sacrifice. While I know it’s good for them to experience sacrifice once in awhile, it is hard to know they have to do so. Much is made in our culture of having our children NOT have to suffer and sacrifice while children. “They should be kids!” the conventional wisdom goes.
And then, I look at my growing belly understanding that I’m tacking on many more years of sacrifice to my own life. And I feel tired. I feel worn down at times. There is a part of me that wants to run, screaming “for the hills” and do what I want to do when I want to do it. I love my family, I do! I’m blessed and I’m grateful. But, I am not as holy as I ought to be and I wish far too often that the “cup be taken from me” and I don’t follow it up with, “but Thy will be done, not mine.” Because, you know…life would be so much easier….
So, I’m completely rambling and have probably lost track of what I am trying to say at this point. I’m feeling “done” being pregnant and it’s really just starting. I’m feeling “done” with my job and pining for something mundane, something with no major responsibility, but I know I need the paycheck that comes with the job I have now. And who am I kidding? I do really like my job, it’s just this funk I’m in right now.
Hopefully I snap out of it soon and start to see the things I do in a joyful light.