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A new friend of mine shared an essay with me recently, an excerpt from a book by Walter Wangerin, Jr. She said she thought of me when she read it, because I am a writer, and a mother. And she added that she thought this essay was true for many mothers, not just writers. Having not yet read the article, I just nodded and thanked her and smiled. I picked up my child and waved good-bye.
A day or two passed before I found the time to sit down and read the few pages she had taken the time to photocopy for me. I was busy with PTO and blogging and soccer and life. But the papers on the counter kept calling and eventually, finally, I found time to sit down and read them.
In The Altar of Motherhood, Walter Wangerin, Jr. writes about a time in 1985 when he became the work-at-home parent while his wife went off to the office full-time. During the school year, he managed nicely, thank you very much. And then came summer, when he thought he’d complete his book manuscript. (All work-at-home mothers may pause here, for a good, hearty laugh.) As the days stretched on, he finally concluded, “these children of mine must take precedence—because they are children and they are mine and they come first…”
And all of us who have made that decision understand. We understand that it is right for us. We understand that even though it is right, it is hard. It is exceedingly hard. We understand that he speaks of a sacrifice of the highest order.
Walter Wangerin, Jr. went on to put it this way:
“Ah, Mother, every summer since then I have thought of you and of all your sisters through the ages…I see deep, and I see this: that once there lay in the precinct of many mothers’ souls some private dream. The characteristic by which they defined their selves and their purpose for being. To write? Maybe. To run a marathon? Or to run a company? Yes. Yes.
But then the baby came home, and then you and others like you made a terrible, terribly lovely choice. You reached into your soul and withdrew that precious thing and lifted it up before your breast and began to walk. Deliberate and utterly beautiful, you strode to an altar of love for this child and placed there the talent, the dream, some core part of your particular self—and in order to mother another, you released it.”
And though I write these words 23 years later, his words still ring true. That first year after I brought my first baby home was one of the hardest times of my life. When I decided, towards the end of that year, to place my career on that very altar, to sacrifice, for some undetermined time, the plan I had laid out, it was heartbreaking. But it was the right choice for me. I wasn’t coerced, for goodness-sakes. I chose it. And despite how hard it's been sometimes, I would choose it again. Sitting in my home office, type, type, typing away and listening to my college-aged sitter play with my baby down the hall just wasn’t for me. It wasn’t worth the trade. Also, I knew that my break would be temporary, I just wasn't sure how long 'temporary' would be. In fact, I continued consulting for quite a while, and that was a great compromise. But still. It was a compromise. And you know, I guess that’s the thing. We bring these tiny little people into the world, and they need us. And so we make adjustments, changes, compromises to do what works best for us. And what works best for them. And somewhere along the way, we come to need them, too.
I felt vindicated, a bit, I suppose, when I read Walter Wangerin, Jr.'s essay, because sometimes I feel alone in this conflict. I have many friends who didn’t share the same agony when they left a job or career to stay home. They delighted in the infant days; they appreciated playgroups and enjoyed shopping at Gymboree. I love these women; they are some of my dearest friends. But it took awhile for me to join their circle, and still there are times, when I stand just outside, on the periphery, peering in, alone with my angst.
But I'm not alone. Sacrifice, in whatever shape it takes, is hard, and lots of parents are making lots of sacrifices. Earlier this week I read Mrs. Chicken’s eloquent narrative of the difficult time in which she and her husband currently find themselves. And then I read Julie Pippert’s post about how hard it is to be true to yourself and to mother your children. Oh, I know this pain. It is hard. It is. I agree with Julie when she says, “The funny thing, the odd thing, is that I think, in a way, the kids would…just as soon be home, running in the yard, largely ignoring us until they happened to need us in some way, while knowing we were there at their disposal.”
Right on the money, Julie. Right on the money. They just want us there. In case.
In the meantime, we go on. We adjust and change and compromise and try our best to show them that it’s important to love yourself and it’s important to love others. Sometimes we just don’t do both well at the same time.
* Brio or Thomas trains
