Reluctant Motherhood: My Dirty Little Secret

It seems to be a week of confessions for me. I’m bearing my soul on my direct sales blog as well as my blog over at Working Mother, so I figure it’s only fair I reveal a couple here:

I wanted to love my work and my kids. Is that so wrong?

I credit the origins of my independent nature to scenarios like that. And I’m NOT saying I wasn’t held enough as a child, or in any other way discounting the hard work my folks put into caring for us kids. I just realize that those elements of my past shaped my outlook when I was a brand new parent.

I didn’t have tolerance for clinginess – even with my husband. It’s something I learned to tolerate after we were first married. He’s a ‘touchy feely’ kinisthetic type. I’m a verbal, acts of service type. You know, don’t hold my hand to tell me you love me, wash some dishes or something productive.

But I digress. Long before I married, I was a single mom. And not a very good one, IMHO.

I didn’t chain the kid up in the basement or anythng like that, but I just couldn’t get that ‘mothering thing’ down. Too many contradicting voices from well-meaning family and friends left me paralyzed by fear that anything I did or said was going to traumatize my son for life.

But it didn’t start that way. My independent spirit led me far away from my family – to Utah of all places. I found myself ‘in love’ with a guy that wasn’t completely forthright about the whole “death do us part” thing. So in my mind, I was left ‘holding the bag’ playing the single mom role in a gig I never signed up for.

OoooooOOOOohh there was all KINDS of resentment going on there. “How could he?” “What about my career?” and a host of other stupid questions that didn’t help the situation one iota.

And lest you think I’m feeing the least bit sorry for myself, if I were talking to me then, I’d be telling myself how all that crap wasn’t gonna get me anywhere, and it was my fault for uncrossing my ankles in the first place.

There’s a reason I call it my ‘young and stupid days’.

Ultimately, though, I found myself trying to work a full time job and keep a kid in daycare. I liked work a lot more than being a mom. I was good at my job, but this mom thing wasn’t coming naturally to me.

Why was it that I could whip out a page layout for a client, but couldn’t get my kid to eat his cereal? Mom said I was potty trained at age one. Why wasn’t my kid potty trained yet? What was wrong with me? Why didn’t kids come with instruction manuals?

I remember the day I dropped him off at day care and he called his teacher “mommy”.

I obviously wasn’t getting it. And through much insistence, and a lack of local support, my family cajoled me into returning to Michigan to ‘get help with the baby’ – whatever that meant.

Apparently, my definition didn’t match theirs. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I envisioned something out of a Hillary Clinton book. You know, my entire extended family rallying around me to help me raise the perfect kid – with perfect manners and clean hands, and a sparkling demeanor.

Yeah. That didn’t happen.

I remember trying to take him to church – and spending most of the service chasing him up and down aisles because he simply wouldn’t sit still.

I also remember the disapproving looks I got – not from the other church members, but from my own family.

I remember working full time and going to college full time to try to finish my degree. I remember the night I came in to pick my son up from my Mom and found him in the middle of the floor, flailing, bound hands and feet with duct tape, SCREAMING “I HATE YOU!” at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t hurt, but I didn’t know how long he’d been laying there like that. All my mom would say is “I can’t deal with him. He’s too much. You need to do something about him.”

He was 3. The same age that my baby is now.

I was in a pickle. See, I needed to work, refused to be a welfare case, and needed to take care of my kid, too. I graduated early from college so that I could get to work before he started Kindergarten. I really felt that getting my bills paid and getting “on my feet” was the best thing I could do for my son. But the emotional outbursts and negtive attention getting behavior continued. He even set a pot holder on fire in my mom’s kitchen, which opened a whole new can of worms in my family.

It wasn’t long after that day that one of my aunts met me at my office to voice her concerns that Forest was going to end up in jail or something when he got older. I just needed to straighten him out and give him some discipline and structure.

Okay, that’s all great, but I didn’t know what that meant or how to make it happen. And it wasn’t like I was refusing help. There just didn’t sem to be any for someone in my situation. Clearly, I still didn’t have this “mom thing” down.

Maybe school would “fix him”?

Um. no.

In less than 3 months after starting Kindergarten, I had been called to the school at least every other day to pick up my child for his behavioral issues. Threatening to ‘kill’ his teacher (which I would hardly call a credible threat, but hey, they gotta follow the rules), spraying cleaner at the children (why was it in his reach anyway?), there was always a reason to come pick him up. Needless to say this made holding a job a challenge.

So I quit the 9 to 5 and started working from home. I even got to the point where I homeschooled my oldest for a year.

That’s when the tide turned. Not for him, but for me.

See, having him at home EVERY DAY at first was one of the greatest struggles in my life. I had a new baby, new business, and a ton of other demands.

Fortunately for me, Forest is incredibly persistent. He simply would not let me ‘ignore’ him in favor of the other demands in my life. It created even more stress. Incredible, incalculable anxiety, frustration and structural damage to our home ensued. For two years we’ve dealt with a young boy, growing into his adolescence, his hormones and the realization that he never got whatever attention and development of self-worth that he thought he deserved.

And I STILL didn’t feel like I was doing ‘this mom thing’ right.

This wasn’t what I signed up for. My husband came into the marriage with an understanding of Forest’s behavioral issues. He knew what he was up against – at least to some degree. But for 10 years, I fought it tooth and nail. I didn’t want to believe that this was my “lot in life” – that I was going to be ‘strapped to a kid’ and not have the ability to have a successful career or grow a successful business.

So on the verge of giving up, I gave in. I practiced being a mom. Listening to needs instead of telling him to “buck up” letting him be clingy. Being physically and emotionally present at every appointment. Holding a teleclass from his hospital room because he told me he wanted me to be there and that it was okay for me to do the call.

The last two years have been transformational for all of us. Not only have I recognized that we truly have done everything we know how to do as parents, I’ve learned that sometimes you need support, help, or an organization to step in and course correct (or even land the dang plane for you). I’ve stopped pulling against “the mom thang” and embraced it – maybe even charged at it headlong a couple of times – and experienced a better understanding of the JOYS of being a mom during some of our most trying situations.  It is truly a re-birthing process that has given me a new outlook, a new vision, and hope for my family and – most importantly – my son.

It’s a dirty little secret that so many Renaissance Moms share: that feeling of imperfection, that we’re not quite measuring up, or that we have to feel guilty about being successful in business when our family’s in turmoil. Or vice versa. That we feel like we’re neglecting our business because we need to tend to our families.

Here’s the truth (and I learned it the VERY hard way): You can love what you do, love your family, and not make apologies or excuses for either. As much as I love my kids, I fully acknowledge there are some parenting things I just don’t handle well. Instead of sticking my head in the sand and hoping it will go away, I seek help. Books, doctors, specialists, counselors – they are all there, ready to advise. I also consult my gut and say a prayer. When you’re ‘in charge’ of another person’s life, you have to have their ultimate care and concern at the forefront of your mind in all that you do.

Does that mean you’ll always make the right decision? nope. Does it mean you’ll always be happy with the outcome? Nope. In fact, sometimes it doesn’t matter what you choose, you won’t feel like you won.

So why bother trying at all?

Because you are an important part of your family. And if Momma ain’t happy, nobody’s happy! You need something to fulfil your personal passion. Self care? For me, for a long time, it was building my business. That brought me joy, and while I didn’t have much in the way of personal quiet time, it filled a void in my heart that my family simply could not fill. It was the piece of ME that was missing.

Your dirty secret may not wear the same as mine. Yours may take a different guise (fear is funny like that). The ultimate reality is that we are all perfect right now in this very moment. It’s up to us to acknowledge and recognize that perfection. We may not feel very perfect. That doesn’t negate or minimize or perfection.

So pull out the skeleton key, dust off the locks, and air out those closets full of old bones.  If you were a reluctant mom, make a choice to be refreshed, renewed. Create your own Renaissance in every moment. Sometimes it’s a process, and that’s okay. Stop hiding, feeling like you’re the only one that feels like this. You’re not. i’ve talked with too many other women going through the same struggle.

Reluctance doesn’t serve you. It certainly doesn’t serve your family or your business.

In this moment, we are a perfect embodiment of every choice that has come before us. What do we want tomorrow’s perfection to look like? What are we going to choose for ourselves to attain that vision of perfection?

It’s our choice that determines the outcome.

Choose Renaissance, not reluctance.

It changed my life.