When should one wise up and realize that some things just aren’t meant to be? What’s the clue that gives you this “moment of illumination?” What are the signs, the signals, blah, blah, and blah.
When does the moment come when I give up on children, get on with my life, and never feel depressed again? And, what has to happen before I get to that point?
No, I’m not sitting at home wallowing in self-pity. These are thoughts and questions I have had for a while. I really have been contemplating this notion that my “desire” to be a mom is nothing but a figment of my imagination. Maybe I really don’t have a desire or calling to be a mom — maybe it’s just a social role I’ve just assumed (my entire life) that I would play. Maybe all of this for the past several years could have been avoided had I just realized that motherhood was not for me.
Hundreds of thousands of women are completely satisfied with being a wife, lover, partner, scholar, volunteer, etc. They don’t need the title of “Mommie” to reach a state of self-fulfillment. So, why have I fought so hard for this? Why can’t I be “ok” with not being a mom? How do I get to the point where I just don’t care?
I think I’m ready for it — I know I’m so tired of constantly being upset that I’m not pregnant, that we can’t adopt, etc. How can I let everything just roll off my back? How can I say, “Fine, God . . I get it. Let’s move on?”
Maybe I should take up a hobby — one that doesn’t afford one much time for thinking. I could always get back into writing; there are those short stories I’ve yet to finish, the play I wanted to redo, and bad poetry to put in the trash can. Maybe that’s what I’ll work on; it would be nice to let my thoughts hover around creative, cerebral “work” than just constantly dwell on emotion.
Ok, done. . . I’ve worked all this out now. Woo hoo for blogging your thoughts.
