I am a good mom and things have been going along fine. I spend every possible minute I can with my daughter and I spare very little time for myself. This I consider a worthwhile sacrifice. I have spent many years being selfish and enjoying “my” time. Now it’s her turn and then Susan’s and then my dog’s and my work and my pet project The Next Family and lately my suffering memoir. My life is in a delicate balance- one that dare not hit a speed bump- for fear that my perfectly stacked family would fall to pieces. I sustain and maintain.
My best friend came to town- my reality check. She has known me since college and has coined me the “girl that can have fun in a box”. We were always finding ways to adore life. I was fly-by-night and incredibly social with the ones I love.
She observed me in my natural LA mom habitat and deemed me broken. She was right. I have set myself up with such high expectations I have nowhere to go from here. I have inadvertently become a martyr to my own self. I have decided that I am not worthy of me time because I should be the “perfect” mom, the “perfect employee” and the “perfect wife”- of which I fail the most. I rush through life at such a rapid pace with my checklist in hand that a 4-hour dinner is an indulgence.
My methodical verve came to a screeching halt this weekend. Caren, my guest- took me by the hand and led me to the promise land of wine, long dinners, cocktails and facials. She had me “step away from the child” and learn about me again. My amazing wife let us go out every night and play while she was “babysitter”.
Now my BFF is gone and today I went for a run outside, not a planned workout, just a run around the neighborhood. My life isn’t any less busy and I haven’t taken anything off my plate but I have hit reset. I have now become the girl who deserves to have some joy of her own- the girl who can have fun in a box.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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