That made no sense. My life was great. I had an incredible amount of love in my life. Two beautiful children. A supportive husband who worked so that I could stay home. But if anyone asked me what I did, I got the deer-in-headlights look on my face, and quickly changed the subject, feeling miserable.
Over the last few years, I had become increasingly aware of a dissatisfaction with my role as a stay-at-home mom.
And as I faced an uncertain future, the possibility of cancer terrified me, not just at the thought that my life might be over, but more at the possibility of dying with unachieved greatness, and unstrived-for dreams.
Before I continue, let me be clear: I love being able to stay home with my children.
My mom stayed home with me for most of my childhood, and I still smile fondly over memories of kissed booboos and home-cooked meals. Staying home is a beautiful gift that I am grateful to be able to give my babies. But that doesn't mean that when I was in school I dreamt of changing diapers and watching Dora on loop all day long.
When I was younger, I dreamt of Broadway. I wanted to sing, travel, and make my mark on the world. I wanted to write, share a piece of my soul with the public, and know that after I was gone, that part of my soul would live on.
But when I got married, children became my priority. And once I had a baby, along with that precious six pounds of pure joy came the heavy burden of responsibilities, both financial and emotional, that being "mommy" brings. Through sleepless nights, days of teething, well-care visits, and the woes of breastfeeding, I almost instantly lost sight of my identity outside of "mommy."
I told myself it was only normal to be completely focused on my baby. I was a new mother. Once she got older, I would focus on myself a little more.
Yet almost three years and another child later I had, if anything, gotten worse. When people asked me what I "did" for a living, my answer was - "Oh, I stay home with my children." Nobody knew about the words bouncing around in my brain, begging to be put to paper. I stopped telling people about how much I loved to sing, and moreover, how good I was at it. I constantly told myself that I would write that book, record that album, pursue those dreams when the kids were a little older.
I had limited my friendships, either getting together with other moms and their kids, or getting out on my own and then talking exclusively about my darling children. Where was the sixteen year old dreamer that wanted to wow the world with her potential? Where were the conversations about her interests?
She had fallen into the mommy trap.
And it was only as I sat there, facing my mortality in the form of a small, painful lump near my chin that turned out to be a tumor that my mistake hit me full-force. There was more to me than "mommy." But I'd folded that part of me up, shoved it in a box, and tucked it away in a dark corner, because I had convinced myself that it competed with my duties as a mom. Singing on stage, or holing myself away for four hours while I wrote my next masterpiece didn't really gel with my idea of being a supermom.
But life is short. And my "when the kids are older" attitude didn't take that into consideration.
What if I had cancer? What if twenty-four years were all I got out of life, and I had wasted my chance at making the most of my talents because I had limited myself to only being mommy?
Something had to change. And it did. I began to fight for me. It started with fighting for the best medical care, in the form of an ENT out-of-state who was experienced in surgeries like the one I was facing. During surgery it was confirmed that I did not have cancer, and when I got home (tumor-free,) I started writing while I recovered. I fought for more me time, reaching for my dreams, putting myself out there and facing the potential for failure.
Three years later, I sing professionally with multiple choruses in my area. I'm the Director of Music for my local parish. I'm writing a book, and there's already been interest in the concept from a few editors/agents. I'm recording a non-profit CD.
I've climbed out of the mommy trap. But that doesn't mean that I'm not a great mom. I stay home with my girls while my husband goes to work. I homeschool my oldest daughter part-time, only sending her to private school two days a week. I'm present for the important moments, to watch my daughters as they grow, to comfort them when they hurt. My greatest fear, that having my own identity outside of mommy would lessen my ability to be a good mom was unfounded.
It turns out I had been selling myself short.
I was capable of so much more than I'd given myself credit for. And I'm proud to tell people when they ask about my singing, writing, and other creative outlets. Because at the end of the day, while being a mom is a huge part of who I am, there is still so much more to me than that. And I truly believe that allowing that part of me that isn't just a mom back out made me a much better parent, because I'm able to share this part of me with my daughters, encouraging them with my actions to strive for their dreams, no matter where they are in life.
If I could tell new moms one thing, it would absolutely be to steer clear of the mommy trap. Society convinces us we can't have it all, and they're wrong. You can. Moderation is the key.
I'm happy to tell you that all post-checkups on my jaw have been positive. My jawbone has regrown, the indent where the tumor had dissolved the bone filling in. And I've found my happiness. In short, the mommy life has never been so good.
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