Leaving the Map Behind

In 2014, my world as I knew it ended – gradually at first, and then with abruptness. Some of it happened over the years prior in such a slow, stagnant way that I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. Other parts happened so quickly that it was as though I was left behind and have only caught up years later. I lost a baby, left my job, birthed a baby, left a nearly decade-long marriage, fell into true and deep love with another person – and with myself, moved across the state, fell apart, truly became a mother, left disordered eating and gained a much-needed 50 pounds, started a business, found meditation, bought land, finally started antidepressants, became a family, was shunned by much of my old life and loved ones, and survived all of it with such humbled strength that I barely recognize my new self — in the best ways. These past years have been the most messy, terrifying, and beautiful years of my life thus far, and it’s only been during this mess that I’ve been freed.

I remember in my old life being asked if I was happy and if my life was good, and obviously, it was…because all the boxes were checked what else are you supposed to say when that’s the case? It’s also important that I acknowledge the upside to having a proverbial list on which to check off boxes. There was such comfort in the tidy formula of how things were supposed to be and I gained a cozy acceptance from those around me when following the formula. I didn’t have to think about how I actually felt, rather, I thought about how I was supposed to feel and would attempt to insert that into my mind and way of being. Once I got rid of that formula, I didn’t have a map, which scared other people as much as – if not more than – myself. I didn’t realize how much people were invested in my story until I began to allow that story to change. Many around me thought I had lost my mind, but I knew deep down that I had been lost the whole time and I was finally allowing myself to be seen. Even when I wrangled the courage to start making changes, it took years for my mind to catch up with the compassion that I – and all of us – deserve. The guilt I felt when I saw those around me experience discomfort with my evolution is still palpable. It’s a sticky heaviness that has lightened immensely with time and effort, but it’s not gone. I started accepting the perplexing complexity of how challenging it was to go against the norm, of not knowing what was going to happen, and the loneliness of not following a clearly-defined roadmap; and I began asking myself questions like, where did I learn that it wasn’t okay to evolve? And why is self-betrayal so acceptable in our society?

Especially in my daily work with parents and families, I see how horrifically critical we are of ourselves. We look around and somehow think that everyone else has it together. Not only do we deal with struggling to adjust as parents, we additionally feel a repulsive sense of shame for struggling at all. The other day I had a new mom share vulnerably and longingly with me that she wished her life was as flawless as mine, and could I please, please share my secrets with her? I was finally able to share honestly from a place without shame. My path to this rich, full life was – and is – scary, messy, and painful. That happy, perfect, nuclear family of mine to which she was referring? Happy, yes, but neither perfect nor traditionally nuclear — and until a few years ago, I didn’t think those qualities could co-exist. The joy in being a mother that I presumably always experienced? There was joy, yes, but always? No way. I spent the first two years after my daughter was born making sure everyone thought I was enjoying motherhood the way I was supposed to, even amidst a severe, extended bout of Postpartum Depression & Anxiety. I couldn’t figure out how I was doing all the right things, yet still felt intensely inadequate, lonely, and perpetually confused and defeated. In many ways, I don’t even feel like I truly became a mother until after I crumbled and fell apart years after she was born. And here was this new mom feeling horrible about herself because she was comparing her new, raw journey into motherhood with how she perceived my motherhood to be now, almost nine years in. I shared that one of the reasons I think I’m now able to experience joy is because I finally learned to acknowledge how awful things can be. Admitting to the dark does not invalidate the light; if anything, it allows it.

I used to be deeply ashamed and afraid of the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing, and I tried to hide that with such ferocity that I was left depleted and lost myself in the process. I now know that nobody knows what they’re doing, and seeing and acknowledging that is a gift. By accepting and exposing our messiness, we are free.