The other day as I was researching mother’s day out options in Nashville, I had a moment of panic as I realized that the earliest age any of the programs I found accepted children was six months. Most of them started at the age of two.
I’m not sure why this surprised me, but suddenly it felt as if my options were rapidly closing in on me. Since finishing my degree, I’ve been passionately pursuing jobs with companies that I would be proud to work for, jobs that seemed otherwise impossible until we moved to Nashville. This new realization that those aspirations would need to wait until Mackenzie is at least six months old hit me like a ton of bricks.
As these thoughts flooded my mind, I panicked. Completely. Just me and Mackenzie, all day, every day, along with the incessant laundry and dishes and sweeping and mopping. In that moment, it was hard to remember how much we have wanted her, how much we [attempted to plan] for this. And the fact that I am not alone, that Chris will be by my side.
I closed my laptop and walked out to the laundry room to pull out yet another load of laundry — the third that day, I think. As I folded, I thought about the years and late nights and time away from friends and family and sacrifice that finishing my degree required. I wanted to cry at the thought of waiting even longer to finally begin — to finally start living the life I had planned for myself.
But then I remembered the night in the car with Chris when we decided that it was time to start a family, and my tear-filled confession that I wanted to do it right, when we confessed our fears, recognized that control is an illusion, and decided to forge ahead anyway. I remembered how hard it was for us to get pregnant. And I remembered the moment we found out and those tender first eight weeks, doing our best to make sure Mackenzie was healthy and safe.
I think these moments are what it is to become a mother. After I re-settled in my heart how much we love Mackenzie already, and how much we really do want this, I started to pray.
I’ve been smack-ow-ing against what I perceived to be an arrogant, frustrating, despicable wall. I have been totally stuck in a rut with my job hunt. On the flip side, I’ve been blessed with some great freelance referrals. But rather than seeing these referrals as the direction I should be going, I’ve said over and over again to God, “This is not what I wanted. This is not the direction I want to go,” and then run directly into the wall again.
I can’t even tell you how many times I have said that in the last six months.
But suddenly, standing there in the laundry room, I realized that the wall I have been running up against isn’t a wall I should have been trying to overcome in the first place. If life is a video game, then I’m running into this wall because I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I missed a step somewhere, a ladder, or a door, and I need to go back and figure out where that is.
And then I thought about Creative Perch. And how I was so exhausted by our circumstances and morning sickness last April that I decided to give it a break. I was uninspired and could see so many other wonderful writers sharing about creativity that my own thoughts seemed an unnecessary contribution to the conversation.
I’m still working this through, but I know in my heart it is time to bring Creative Perch back. To do what I am supposed to do, what I should have been doing all along. To get back to the things that sustain my heart and bring me joy. I have a goal to “unveil” the new site on September 1, so please check back here often for updates on progress over there.
I know today’s post is a long one. Thanks so much for hanging in there with me, for sharing the journey, and for walking with me through these last several months. Much love to you always.