I've hit the wall. (and Christ, it is brickish). To flagrantly steal from Wally Lamb, she's come undone. And now she's admitting it.
I feel as though someone is holding a pillow over my face and smothering me with it. It hasactually come to that. I can barely say the words, write the words, without choking on them, without tears. It feels so traitorous, and so diametrically opposed to my blogs' opening mama-festo. But there it is. I cannot be a full-time stay-at-home mama anymore. I need something else. For me. Outside the walls of my home. And I need it pretty soon.
I face this upcoming process of change with the terror of a someone who has spent the past four years employing no other skill than her ability to love. And I'm not dissing myself here - you should be so lucky to be loved by me. But in this process - I have forgotten what I love about myself. I have forgotten why it is that L. must love me. Those things that might make me smart, sexy, funny. I have forgotten the bits that make me separate from those little miraculous beings whom I love more fiercly than anything, who both make me and unmake me.
I am all kinds of afraid.
Afraid that I have no marketable skills.
Afraid of not being good enough.
Afraid that this is horribly selfish.
Afraid that I will fail those exquisite babies of mine.
Afraid that I will fail myself.
Afraid that these feelings mean I don't love my kids enough.
Afraid that they aren't ready for these changes, whatever they will be.
But more than that, much much more than all of that, afraid that we will discover in this process that I was not what was best for them.
I don't know what happens next. But I am putting this in writing because something needs to happen. And if I tell all of you, maybe I won't let the fear overrule the action.
A kind of promise from me - to me.