Wanting to write and not being able to keep up with it consistently is agonizing. Working out is also inconsistent (or nonexistent), but I'm less plagued by it. I know my body will show no mercy the more I neglect it. However, I am more concerned that I will regret not documenting my thoughts on my life as I live it.
It has always felt like a desperate need to capture a moment. Perhaps it's somewhat similar to people who feel the need to photograph every moment, and maybe even post it on some form of social media. If I don't document this feeling, this experience, what if I forget it? What if it means it never happened?
I will be honest. I have never really understood what loneliness meant, and could never confidently say that I ever felt it. Not because I'm prideful, but because I just don't know what it feels like. But I think, as I get deeper into the trenches of motherhood, I'm understanding. I feel alone. I feel alone to be a mother of young children in New York City. And I am losing myself.
I will wake up in the middle of the night and fall half asleep, half crying, suddenly and sleepily sinking into the reality of my emotions. Oh, that's right- I feel alone. And then I get up in the morning to immediately jump into my motherly responsibilities. I lose myself again until 10pm, when I'm too tired to do anything for myself except sleep. Then repeat.
I remind myself that this is temporary. I look out the window and see the Williamsburg Bridge at night. All the little cars and the M. I love this city, but I don't feel like a part of it right now.
Parenting is hard. We all know that, but part of what makes it hard is that it's so, utterly vulnerable. You are incessantly confronted with your shortcomings and mistakes. The fulfilling part of parenting is that it makes me want to be a better version of myself. Still, it will never be perfect. I will make mistakes. Nora and Ezra will probably talk about how I messed them up in some way when they're in therapy one day. This level of vulnerability for at least the next 18 years is daunting. Which, by the way, we also all know that we plague our parents long after the years we are supposedly independent.
In the most precious of moments, I recognize these kids just want to be loved. It's truly all they want, and the simplicity of their needs helps me to give it more freely and unconditionally.
