I’ve been away on vacation, but I am back and hope to be able to continue my life story soon! The next few months will be very busy because we just found out we are moving continents again. However, I hope to continue with the life story series as well as some other thoughts about story in general. Stay tuned!
I graduated from high school, valedictorian and with a lot of scholarships. I worked my tail off applying for literally every single scholarship I could get my hands on. I didn’t win them all, but some of the ones I did were pretty big. My family had less than no money, so if I was going to go to college, it was going to be on me to figure out how to pay for it. In the end, I received almost exclusively grants and work study along with my scholarships, so I earned my Bachelor of Art degree in Psychology with no debt.
Side note- it never occurred to me to even worry or stress about how to pay for college. I just figured that if I was accepted and went, I would figure out a way to pay for it. That is so opposite of the me now: I dwell on money matters entirely too much.
My freshman year of university I lived in a dormitory. Honestly, I didn’t even know how to go about figuring out any other kind of living arrangement, so that was the default. My mom and boyfriend and maybe my boyfriend’s mom (it is so embarrassing that I don’t even remember for sure!) drove me the five hours to school. I had a suitcase, a few boxes of stuff and a computer. After saying the goodbyes I unpacked and walked straight to the student building to find a job. As I opened the glass door to the building, there was a flyer on the door advertising a job, so I followed the information and got my first job in college. Until this point the only job I had held was for the McDonalds in the town I lived. It was an office job working for the testing department. That was where people had to go to test for math and foreign language placement. I actually ended up taking a test for spanish myself later on. I don’t really remember too much, except my boss’ name was Celia and one time I chugged some grape juice for lunch right before starting work and had to run down the hall to throw up. Yep, no more grape juice for me after that!
Halfway through my freshman year, once I had gotten a little more comfortable with being at school, I got a new job. I was studying to be a physical therapist (or so I thought), so I looked for jobs working for one. A sort of internship of sorts. I found a front office position at a physical therapist in Fremont, about a half hour bus ride away. I had to dress a little nicer than jeans and a t-shirt. I answered the phone, scheduled appointments, ran errands and also helped the two physical therapists clean up the exam rooms and exercise equipment. Sarah McLachlan’s song Angel will always remind me of that job. There was always a soft hits station playing in the background there.
I had an awesome roommate that first year. We came from very different backgrounds but she liked me for me and we made many wonderful memories together. I once stole a serving spoon from a restaurant for her. In our dorm room, it would be mostly U2 playing that year. I am not a big music person, but my roommate was and she loved U2.
The people from our dorm floor, plus a few others, formed a fairly tight-knit group. We would hang out watching TV and movies, putting on karaoke shows, eating, and laughing. The one thing I did not do, though, was go to parties. Alcohol and drugs did not appeal to me. I got enough of that from watching my parents. No matter how much pleading and begging they did, I never went to any parties. Especially not the Halloween costume party- so not for me! I preferred to stay in and do homework. Studying and reading was more of what I enjoyed doing.
Until Frankie moved into the floor. He was the new guy at the winter quarter. “Did you see the new guy? He’s so cute!” someone said to me. “What? There is a new guy?” I asked, incredulous that I could miss such a big piece of news. “Yep, the room right across the hall from us” my roommate said. Very much against my normal nature, I walked right over there and knocked on the door to introduce myself. In many ways I had come a bit more out my shell this year, but being so forward was still not like me.
He was a bit of a partier, not extremely so, but he would use his fake ID to buy alcohol and everyone would congregate in his room to partake. I don’t really remember why, but at one point I had my first drink– in his company.
There were two other kids from my high school graduating class who were also attending UW with me. One had a football scholarship and the other I was distant friends with. We had some classes together and did one activity together, but didn’t really hang out much. But we lived in the same dorm and would run into each other occasionally. One time, I invited him up to our floor and we drank together. He got a big kick out of that because I was always so straight in high school. Freshman year is when everyone goes “wild” right? Well I wasn’t too wild, but I did do some things that I would later regret.
My boyfriend came to visit over Valentines and when he showed up I knew that my feelings for him had shifted a bit. I still loved him, but there was so much new information in my worldview now. Including the cute boy across the hall. By spring break we would be broken up. And of course, I jumped right into the next relationship. Thinking back on this time makes me feel dizzy. Drinking, kissing way too much, sex, failing classes because this boy was all I could think about…. they were definitely my wild days. I still regret how callous I must have seemed to my high school sweetheart. Sometimes I wish I could explain better.
But I was intoxicated with a type of love I had never experienced– and I had had two long term relationships! A month after officially starting to date I would fly with Frankie to Georgia to attend the graduation of many of his friends. I think in a way he wanted to show me off to his friends. When we boarded that plane I got the worst feeling in my gut. I was a bit embarrassed, but I turned to Frankie and said, “I don’t know why, but I feel like something bad is going to happen this weekend.” He just looked at me and said, “Okay, why?” “Just a feeling I have.” I am so sad that feeling was right. Graduation weekend and too much drinking going on. Two of Frankie’s friends were together in a car when the driver started racing (mixed with intoxication) and they got into an accident. One of them died at the accident and the other had a broken leg. There was a girl in the car too, and she was pretty beat up. One of the saddest things is to be in a hospital waiting room with a bunch of 18-19 year old boys who were all crying.
After school was done in June, Frankie and I moved into an apartment with two of my friends from high school (one of which was the guy with the football scholarship). Two couples in a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. It was a decent arrangement, but it only lasted a year. We had our first official Thanksgiving dinner in that apartment though. We invited everyone from the dorms to come to our apartment and eat dinner together. Everyone brought something. It was sort of an orphan Thanksgiving but a fun memory.
Frankie and I would end up getting married and we are still together with a beautiful family today. I can’t say that I really regret anything because it all led me here, but perhaps I could have lived a slightly better version of that story. Live and learn.
I’ve been talking a lot about home life, to the expense of school life. Home was often a stressor for me, but school was where I thrived. Although I was a quiet and shy girl, I was also very perfectionistic and a good student. Getting good grades and gold stars was where my self-esteem came from, so I did whatever I could to get that external validation.
I mentioned before how I switched classes halfway through first grade. That ended up being very good for me, because I met a friend who became my best friend until she moved away in 4th grade. Then a new girl moved into our school and we became friends in fourth and fifth grades.
Fifth grade was hard. I was in a 5th-6th split class and my teacher was awful. She may have been a decent teacher, but she made it very clear that she did not like the 5th graders and that emotional leverage took a toll on a student like myself. Up until this point I loved every moment of school but this year almost made me dread school. There was one very defining time for me: at one point in the year I got really sick and missed a whole week of school. I had gotten some assignments to work on at home and turned them in when I got back to school. About a week later, my teacher informed me that I never turned in a book report. I told her that she didn’t tell me about the book report. I don’t remember if she just didn’t like me refuting what she said (probably), but she just said “You have one day to turn it in and if you don’t I will give you detention.” I simply could not do the assignment in that amount of time so I got the detention. Remember, I lived outside of town, riding the bus every day. My parents couldn’t easily pick me up from an after school detention. They told me that I could not serve the detention. This stressed me out like no other! I had never gotten detention before, and now I was going to be in even more trouble because I couldn’t serve the detention! The “even more trouble” was in-house detention. This was all day detention and you had to go over to the high school BY YOURSELF to serve it. I was so scared. I wonder what everyone thought about this shy little fifth grade girl showing up to in-house? Anyway, I made it. I settled into my desk for the day (no recess, no lunch period even) and began working on my assignments my teacher had given. And you know what? I LOVED IT. I thought that was way better than enduring my mean teacher every day! Ha, some punishment! I think it was a bit of a turning point, because something I had been so afraid of turned out to be a lovely thing.
In sixth grade I LOVED my teacher. I still think about her often. I gained a new best friend and my confidence soared. My second little sister was born at the end of this year. I can remember bringing her into the class to show her off to all my friends when my dad came in to explain how solar panels work.
Seventh and eighth grades were awkward years for me, but I continued to learn and grow, although physically, I was one of the very last girls to bloom. As my adult teeth grew into my mouth, it was clear I would need braces. My buck teeth were an embarrassment and shame generator. I was made fun of relentlessly. Starting in fourth grade I started asking my parents for braces every birthday and Christmas. Finally in December of eighth grade, I got braces. And even though they were sometimes painful, it never matched the pain of bullying and harassment that kids can inflict. My mom also made me continue to attend Girl Scouts, which I didn’t like but my sister did.
Also in eighth grade, I started dating my first real boyfriend. This guy was super-nice, kinda geeky, and three years older than me. As my home life got worse and worse, he provided a safe place for me. I could tell him anything and he never judged or got angry. He understood me in a way that no best friend had before. And he could drive. So he could come pick me up and take me to the movies or to his house and we would have tons of fun away from the stress of home. I would never in a million years allow my almost-eighth-grader to date a junior in high school now, but I feel like he was sent from God himself to rescue me from a very dark time in my life. At one point at the beginning of my freshman year of high school, I remember being a little embarrassed being seen with him. But in that moment I chose not to care. Another turning point for me. I ended up dating him for a year and a half, after he graduated from high school and moved away to Seattle for college. I did a lot of growing up in that amount of time. We ended up going our separate ways, but he will always hold a special place in my heart.
I went from that relationship to another one right away. This second guy was a year younger than me and we dated for three years until halfway through my freshman year of college. We had a lot of fun together. We had quite a few classes together and we were both on the Knowledge Bowl and tennis teams. We were together for so many defining moments in my life. He was there when I sprained my elbow on my 16th birthday. I went with his family on a road trip one summer. He was there when I got my first computer in 1998. His family was a “real” family. He had four siblings and I just loved being around them.
High school continued to be a refuge for me; a place where I could excel and forget about problems at home. I was almost a straight-A student, except for one semester of Biology and one semester of Accounting. (Marked that career right off my list!) I had a reputation of being a bit of a nerd, but really I just wanted to do well so that I could go to college and get out of that town and the only life it would offer. I played the clarinet in band from 4th grade until 10th grade when our long-time band instructor moved away. Tennis was the only sport I participated in until my senior year when I was a football cheerleader. I had always wanted to be a cheerleader, but also always too scared to “try out.” When I was entering my senior year I realized I was almost assured a spot since it was mostly a popularity contest. It was one of the most fun things I did in all of high school.
There were always things I was applying for and trying out. My sophomore year of school I won a scholarship for a week-long program to go to Washington D.C. and get to know the political system. It was my first time flying and I went all by myself. Again, another fearful experience that I conquered and used to bolster my weak confidence. My freshman year of band we went on an extended field trip to Canada where we put on a concert at this fancy-schmany hotel. There was a science trip where we learned about DNA and making string cheese. I also participated in the club Future Homemakers of America or FHA. It was sorta for the dorks, but I was really good friends with the teacher who led the club. We did do some cooking- it was a tradition that FHA would bake cookies for Valentines day that people could buy and have sent to their sweethearts. We also ran the concessions stands at football and basketball games. We practiced oral presentations in certain areas and completed projects, which we competed at a state level for medals. We actually went to Nationals one year in New Orleans. In short, I stayed pretty busy, not even to mention the school work and eventually SATs and college applications. Would it surprise you to find out that I graduated Valedictorian of my class?
Sometimes when I look back on these years, it seems like it was a different person. I did what I had to do to survive, but many of these experiences don’t translate at all to the path I have chosen and live every day. I never play tennis. I haven’t played clarinet since high school. I am so not interested in politics. And there are no good grades or gold stars to get as a full-time mother. But my subconscious plan worked! I graduated, I went to school at the University of Washington and I never lived in that town again. I am glad I grew up in a small town and went to university in a big city. By then, I needed to be anonymous and to be able to do what I wanted and not worry about what everyone else would think or say, because that is just part of life in a small town. Everyone knows your business.
But you know? Hardly anyone knows your story.
When I tell people that I lived four years of my life without running water or electricity, people think I am joking. But it’s the truth. After living on my grandparents’ property for a few years, my parents bought 20 acres of land outside of the microscopic town just south of the Canadian border. The land was completely raw, no electricity lines, no well, and no house. So my parents bought a new and improved trailer and drug it up the washboarded dirt roads. I remember that day; it was quite a job to haul a 60′ x 12′ trailer up a 6′ wide road with a hairpin turn in it. Man, I feel bad for that truck driver!
At the time, I hated living there. It was my pre- and early teen years and I felt isolated from friends. We had to use an outhouse. We had to haul our water, which made everything more difficult. We didn’t have a refrigerator, instead using camping coolers constantly. But it wasn’t all bad. My cousins lived on our property for a while too, and we roamed all over that property pretending to be explorers, and “building” clubhouses. There were rattlesnakes, but all the kids were aware, and nobody ever got hurt. I remember many beautiful sunsets and that is where I took my first pictures with a real camera. My dad taught me about the stars there. And bikes– oh the times I had on my bikes. To this day, one of the best feelings is the freeing feeling of riding a bike.
I learned so much living this way. I have a huge appreciation for the outdoors. I learned how to build a fire at a very young age. I know how to light a kerosene lamp. I could cook on a propane stove, and then do the dishes afterwards without a functioning sink. I appreciate solar and wind energy.
This more interesting phase of my life seems to define me more than any other. I guess because I was so “different” during this time, it formed my personality. It was a sort of refiner’s fire for me. When I look back and realize that it was only 4 years of my life, I am the one surprised. It felt like to much longer.
This was a time filled with difficult emotions for my family. My parents fought all the time throughout all my childhood, but this period of time was the worst, by far. And when we moved from The Hill, it was because my parents finally split up and my mom moved us to town. My dad quickly followed us, so that separation didn’t last long. Boy howdy, looking back, do I wish it had lasted longer! I am sure this emotional time made it feel like it was longer than it really was, and also I am sure it was another reason why I feel like my life was so shaped by this time in my life.
I could really look back on this time and tell a negative story. Or I could play it up and make it sound heavenly. I am hoping that I have stuck close to a middle line. I haven’t worked through it enough for myself to decide whether I think it was positive or negative. And really, it just was. I learned a lot. I suffered a lot. It contributed to the person I am today. Simple as that.
After kindergarten, our little unemployed family moved to Washington state, way near the Canadian border. My grandparents had retired there and were in the process of building a house. My parents were hoping it would be easier for my dad to find a job there, as my grandparents had informed him. (Actually, I think my dad just couldn’t bear being far away from his parents since he is the baby of the family.)
We loaded up our little 10′ trailer and a 1960s banana yellow Dodge van and drove there. I remember this trip well. I remember seeing billboards of Smoky Bear warning of forest fires. I remember sleeping in the back of the van among some cardboard boxes as the van rumbled down the road. I remember both my sister and I being strapped to one seat, no booster seats back then! But most of all, I remember that it was July 4th, 1986 when we finally pulled into my grandparents’ driveway. It was not quite dark yet and my cousins who were living there for the summer, were already starting to play with sparklers.
My grandparents’ house was still very new. It had a roof, windows, doors and a fireplace, but there was no sheetrock on the walls and the floors were plywood. I remember there was still a large hole in the middle of the main floor where we could look down into the basement; us grandkids were warned to stay far away from it. It was there in that very unfinished living room that I lost my second tooth while watching a movie on an itty-bitty 8 inch TV screen. As I watched my grandparents finish building, decorating and furnishing that house, I grew to really love it. I grew up in or near that house; it will always be a little part of me.
We lived in our little trailer until the weather got too cold and we moved into the unfinished basement in the house. I can’t believe it, but we just slept straight on the cement floor. It felt like a castle though, because it was so spacious compared to the trailer. Plus a wood burning stove and electricity! Later there would be a full kitchen, bathroom and laundry area. I remember my sister was playing with my dad, jumping over him, when she fell and chipped a front tooth on the cement floor.
These living arrangements were temporary though. When spring came, my parents bought a larger trailer, about 45 feet long. Basically the kind you would find in a trailer park. They parked it behind my grandparents’ house on part of their 20 acres. We had electricity and running water there (I’m not sure how that worked, but it did.) My father had found a job at a lumber mill. I think this was also a temporary living situation, but we ended up living there for a few years.
I have many memories attached to these years. We had a pet cat who lost a leg to a slamming door, and a turtle who got eaten by the cat. I remember a skunk one time climbed under our trailer and then died. Ew. After a shift at the lumber mill, my dad would take his rough winter rubber boots off and his feet would literally steam. I can vividly recall hundreds of grasshoppers on the side of the trailer where the summer sun provided a hot surface for them to lounge on. It was in this home that I found out the secret of Santa when I literally woke up Christmas morning and heard my mother arranging gifts under the tree on the other end of the “house.” My grandfather helped the stream running through his property create a little island and installed a sandbox and swings for the grandkids. It was here that, at the age of seven, I finally finished hand washing a large load of dishes, only to walk away and hear the dishes come crashing to the floor. Broken glass everywhere. It was also in this home that I was sick once and when my mom told me I needed to finish my soup I replied, “If I eat that, I am going to throw up.” She still made me eat it. And a few minutes later, those still-intact ramen noodles were all over her living room carpet. I told her so.
One thing I learned about during these years was prejudice. My grandparents were from Detroit and had strong racist feelings toward black people. I remember watching TV with my Grandma once, when a commercial with black actors came on. This disgusted my grandmother, but I remember thinking that her attitude was wrong.
I started first grade in this new little town. Two of my cousins continued to live with my grandparents even when school started in the fall. We would all three stand at the end of the driveway waiting for the bus in the morning. One morning the bus driver not only didn’t stop for us, but he waved at us as he went by. My grandma was furious when we came in telling her what had happened. Halfway through first grade, my parents were asked to come into the school for a conference with the teacher. After this meeting, my parents told me that they wanted to switch me to a new class. I really didn’t much like my teacher, but I was scared of the new situation. I asked why I had to move classes. My dad told me that because of my hispanic last name (my mother’s Dad was Mexican) the school had assigned me to my current teacher, but they realized that I was “too smart” for this class. I spoke english (I didn’t even know spanish!) and was a bright student more appropriate for a different class. Again, I remember thinking how wrong it was that they had put me in the wrong class to begin with.
This time in my life was the beginning of feeling a sense of home and belonging. My love of the outdoors budded. And I learned that sometimes people that you love, or those who should be making good decisions for you, are flawed.
*Giving the story of my life is much more difficult that I realized it would be, and I am just beginning! After I give the big picture story, I plan to go back and write about specific memories. Plus, this has been more difficult for me to face than I thought it would be. Apologies for the delay.
I didn’t want to write my life story chronologically, but I keep feeling this spiritual pull to do that, so here goes. There is no easy way to tell almost 37 years of human experience concisely, so I will just do what I can. I think it’s an interesting story in many ways, but I am still trying to figure out what to learn from it all.
I was born near San Diego, California in the summer of 1980. My mother had turned 17 years old one month before. My father turned 20 a couple months beforehand. I don’t really know the story of my birth and now there is no one left that can or will tell it. I don’t know how labor started, or if it was difficult. I do know that my mother had a local anesthetic, but no epidural. My mother’s mother was there and fainted when she saw the large needle. My father wore his hair halfway down his back as evidenced by the pictures at the time. I wish I had those pictures, but sadly they are all gone, never to be recovered.
While I love my mother dearly, it was obvious that she did not make great choices for herself. I know from overhearing a conversation as a kid (maybe 10 or 11 years old) that my mom had at least one abortion before I was born. They did have birth control in the late 70’s, right? Anyway, my mother always told me that my birth was a miracle. I think I somehow filled a void within her, of loving her unconditionally the way that nobody else could. Although my parents were too young and often floundered in the parenting department, they were great parents. I’ve always known that my mom loved me so deeply. And my father too. My mom did not work outside the home until I was older, maybe in middle school. She was always there for me. She read to me constantly. She was my refuge in the storm of life.
I remember being scared of my own Dad and hiding behind my mother’s legs. I was an extremely shy girl who sucked her thumb until age 7 or 8. I slept with my parents until I was in kindergarten at least, and then after that, I remember climbing into bed with them in the mornings.
I remember Kraft mac and cheese and Nestle chocolate milk in a loopy straw. My dad worked really hard to provide for the family, and I’m pretty sure a good chunk of that money went toward eating out. My mom was not that great of a cook until I was much older. My dad always said she could burn water. I think I have inherited some of her cooking skills.
From my perspective as a scared child, life was unpredictable. My dad had many jobs, and although they tried to hide it, I was always aware of the drugs in the house. Pot, cocaine, speed along with the ever present alcohol and… I don’t even know what else. But I always knew to stay away from all the paraphernalia. One time my sister who was two years younger than me, dropped a bag of pot into a hole that had been punched or kicked in a wall. My parents were so mad! I do have a memory of my mom letting me take a drag off a joint. Coughing ensued on my part and laughing on hers. I think she was trying to distract me from a fight my dad and uncle were having.
But also, life was happy and my dad, especially, tried to make it fun. Whenever there was extra money, we would go to the San Diego Zoo or SeaWorld or even Disneyland. I have many memories of beaches and parks, birthday parties and cousins. My dad really wanted to provide a life that was full of fun. I think to him that meant he was succeeding because his life growing up was full of work. But my mother also provided a quiet backdrop. Walks to the library and laundromat, cartoons on TV, books, books, and more books. I guess it was a typical loving mom- fun dad kind of house.
I attended kindergarten in California. It was a half day afternoon class. (Neither my mother or me could have hacked a morning class with the way she allowed me to stay up until 2 and 3 am!) Halfway through the year, my dad lost his job as a trash man (that’s a story for it’s own post) and we moved into a 10 foot long travel trailer. We parked it at a friend’s house and stayed there until the end of the school year. I remember I sprained my ankle really badly in kindergarten and I have distinct memories of crawling around in their house on my hands and knees because I couldn’t walk. I remember Christmas that year. Our tree was a 12 inch tall potted plant with a few miniature ornaments on it. I got one set of Legos and fiercely loved that gift for a long time, keeping the legos in their separate spaces of the molded plastic the way it came.
I can remember that we would walk to the local school where I would get on a bus that took me to my school further away. I don’t really know the story behind that, but I think the local neighborhood school was full. My parents would always be there to pick me up after I got off the bus to walk a few blocks to where we were staying. One day they weren’t there. I thought I knew the way, so I started walking. As I passed by a larger vehicle parked in someone’s driveway, my dad jumped out and scared the daylights out of me. He said he had been watching me for a while. It was cruel but now it sounds like something I would do to my own kids!
I was a bright student probably because I started reading when I was 4 years old. I remember my parents being very proud of the fact that I was in the highest reading group, “the Bears.” I also remember art in kindergarten and singing 10 Little Indians as we sat in a circle on a carpet in front of my teacher. And I remember the dittos! Plus there were always boys who liked me. This never really stopped until 7th grade when I entered my awkward phase.
Just after kindergarten ended, our family moved to eastern Washington State. My grandparents had retired there, and would help my dad find work. We arrived on the 4th of July, 1986. We left behind my mother’s parents, brother, sister and the cousins that were really more like siblings to me.
I have so many more memories of these California years, but that is the gist of the first few yeas of my life. Perhaps the thing for me to realize is that love conquers all. I may not have had the best parents or the most solid upbringing, but I knew I was loved. Thanks for that Mom and Dad.
I thought I would be morose today. It’s my mom’s birthday. She would have been 54 years old. And she has been gone for almost seventeen years.
My mother-in-law is also gone as of nine years ago. And her birthday was three days ago. And yesterday was Mother’s Day.
Yeah, mid-May has been a tough time time of year for me.
But today I woke up and felt… good. For the first time in a long time. I am considering it a birthday gift from my Mama. Even though it’s her birthday, she is sending me a gift.
I am watching This is Us. We are on the episode when the Pittsburg Steelers win the Super Bowl. The conversation about their Dads watching football reminds me of my own Dad. He was a die-hard San Diego Chargers fan.
Professional football provided the background sound of my childhood. Sometimes it got annoying, having to make sure we weren’t blocking my Dad’s line of sight to the TV or being too loud. Actually, I don’t think he ever minded our noise. I don’t know that he even paid attention to the commentators, because he sure was in his own world when watching football.
I remember one time he told us kids that his parents didn’t let him play sports when he was in school. He really wanted to, but they couldn’t afford it and didn’t think it was an appropriate use of time when there were chores to be done. My dad was the youngest of seven children.
When I was fifteen years old, I had had enough with football. This thing that dominated every weekend between August and February every year, I was done with it. So I asked my dad to explain the game. Naturally. Even though I had fifteen years of football watching experience behind me, I did not get it. (My conservative estimates put that at roughly 500 hours of football!) He explained the basics of the game, and it made my TV viewing experiences much more enjoyable. And then my senior year of high school I was a football cheerleader (don’t read into that too much). For a while there I really loved football.
These days I am the wife of a former player and mom of a future football player, and I completely understand why parents would not allow their son to play football. The fear of motherhood is not to be messed with.
I am at a point in my story that I am not sure how to explain football and my love-hate relationship with the sport. Do I embrace its influence in my life, or do I delve into creating some sort of symbolism with it? When we tell the stories of our lives, how much do we emphasize the positive and minimize the negative? Isn’t it funny that in the current moment, the opposite is true? We tend to emphasize the negative and ignore the positive. So I guess I will just leave it at that. Football: a neutral force in my life, both positive and negative, a balancing and evocative trigger of memories.
My husband says I am never happy. Of course that’s not entirely true, but what he really means is that I am never content. I am always looking to the next thing. After we were married and still newlyweds, I really wanted a baby. Even though we were young and both finishing college, it seemed like the thing that would make my life perfect. Later, when our beautiful little girl came along, the transition to full-time motherhood was really hard. I had spent my entire life getting good grades and proving myself to others through academic performance and all of a sudden there was no one giving me that A+. That combined with my ingrained desire to be The Best was the perfect storm for a huge hit to my self-esteem. Looking back, I think that was the beginning of me feeling really lost in my life.
Of course raising a baby keeps you pretty busy, so I didn’t really think about it all that much. It’s only now in retrospect that I can see what was happening. And I do think I was a pretty good mom, but one with really low self-esteem. The things of life took over: we bought and sold a house, we moved states, bought another house, had another baby, and then a third right on the heels of the second. Those years are still a blur in my mind. My second and third children are only 21 months apart and there are days (or weeks?) that I just don’t remember at all. The status of BUSY kept me from figuring out why I didn’t ever feel content.
When that third baby came along, my oldest was starting kindergarten and there is a huge learning curve in that whole rigamarole. When she went to first grade, it all just felt wrong. I loved the preschool years, but sending my kid off to school for 7 hours a day only for her to return home hungry, tired and grumpy left a bad taste in my mouth. So, for that reason and many others, I started down the path of homeschooling my kids.
This seemed to be an almost-thriving part of my life. I had always pretended to be a teacher as a kid, and it just came naturally to me. It was still really difficult, especially with a preschooler and a baby underfoot as well as a second grader. But I liked it! It gave me a sense of doing good and spending my time well the way nothing else since becoming a mom had.
Five years of that went by and suddenly our family was faced with an opportunity to move to Germany temporarily. What homeschooling family doesn’t take advantage of that? “It’ll be a grand adventure! We can learn another language! What a great bonding time!” we said. The pickle was that homeschooling is illegal in Germany. We are not a military family so if we took that plunge, it would shift our lifestyle tremendously. “But it is only temporary, two years max.”
And here we are, seven months into our stint in Germany. The kids, especially the oldest who was more than ready to dive back into public school already, are doing well and love their school. It keeps them busy.
But me? Well, not so much. I get up with the kids and get them off to school, making them breakfast and lunches before they stampede out the door at 7:15 am. While my husband goes off to work all day supporting teams both here in Germany and in the U.S. eight time zones away, I am home.
Because I am not accountable to anyone for how I spend my time, I have gotten really lazy. This makes me feel very guilty. I have a hard time not being productive with every minute of my time. And since the dust has settled on our international move, the silence of my days has been very loud. I am not busy. I don’t have friends or extended family vying for my time. We rent a house so we are not responsible for home improvement projects. I am involved in some church responsibilities, but it doesn’t take much of my time. I don’t work because I don’t speak the language. I actually thought I would spend this time getting some years-in-the-making projects done, but I don’t work on them.
Why not? I am living someone else’s dream life– seems like I should be able to write a novel or something. But instead I sleep a lot and pretty much just figure out what is for dinner and make sure all the dishes and laundry are getting done. I don’t even watch TV or movies; they make me feel like I am wasting my time- oh the irony! And I just feel…. lost. It’s like all the silence has made me realize that my soul hungers for something more. I am missing the passion and purpose in my life.
I have wondered if I am suffering from depression. It is a thought that has come up in my mind regularly over the years. I have lost my ability to feel happy for more than a fleeting moment. I am often angry. I remind myself of my mother and in many ways that scares me. I have no doubt that she was depressed.
I don’t want mental health issues to be a part of my story, but sometimes we don’t get a say in how the story of our lives unfold. And sometimes the protagonist in the story only has their own demons to overcome. I am certain there will be a time when this chapter is behind me. Today I am trying to make it so.
You will never make everyone happy.
There are just too many people in the world with so many differing views. It is literally impossible to please everyone!
The sooner you realize that the only ones you should try to please are yourself and the Lord, the sooner you will find your path to happiness.