It was 6:00 in the morning. I’d woken up early to slip out before the baby woke. The silhouette of pine trees contrasting against the shimmering grey of the lake comforted me, beckoned me. I had dreams of having my morning coffee on the deck and doing some writing.
Alone.
I just wanted to be alone without a tiny human crawling on me.
We’d just gotten through a week of sickness and a weekend of my husband being gone. I was stay at home mom, 24/7 caretaker, jungle gym, poop changer, and most recently the glorious title of snot-sucker.
I was done.
I craved the familiarity of tapping of black keys. I needed it.
Here I was, non-profit director, former missionary, blogger, life coach, having gone through re-entry and now reduced to the messy mundane of attempting to make a healthy toddler lunch (most of which I’ll clean up off the floor.)
Not my greatest life aspirations.
Before we start any mom-shaming, please let me put out the disclaimer:
I know my son is a miracle. I kiss him every day and smell his little neck and breathe him in and know I am so blessed and privileged to be able to stay home with him. I wanted him. I fought for him. He is very loved. He brings me so much joy.
I have with great intentionality chosen to be fully present at home with him in this season while he is little.
I’m not trying to start any Mommy Wars here.
But I know I’m made for more.
I know this will be controversial to some, but I am a mother, and that is not my only purpose.
You might argue with me and say that it can be. It is a great one, for sure. But it is not all of who I am.
Everywhere I see amazing women/mothers dying on the vine because they cannot give their gift to the world. Because they had dreams as young girls that they haven’t gotten to do. Because they want to be part of the Great Commission but they are “stuck” at home with littles.
Or worse, feeling shame or guilt because they long to feel alive and self-confident, excited to create something each day.
Have we been lied to when we’ve been told being a mother should be enough for us?
I believe in seasons. I know there are rhythms to life where we sow and where we rest, where we are home with young children, and where we are offering our work to the world.
But I think sometimes we can use that as excuse to bypass our fears of failure.
We “sacrifice” in the name of love for our children, but meanwhile we avoid the truth in our bones we have dreams we are too terrified to pursue.
Maybe some women only long to be mothers. Maybe that’s their dream. (But I know that’s not me)
Raising children is a high and holy, harrowing mission.
I wonder though: What about the little girl inside you?
The little girl with passion, creativity, interests, and outlets for her dreams?
Your mission can be to raise your children in the love of God, yes.
But I wonder, are you called to more?
I have a calling on my life. A calling to write. A calling to comfort. A calling to heal the brokenhearted and bring peace in places of despair. A calling to transform and empower women to thrive. A calling to release the suffering from shame. A calling to help missionaries live their purpose supported, loved, and equipped for success.
I cannot and will not give up on that.
These things are true as I sit stuck in a pile of laundry, even though the distance between us feels like a dark chasm I will never ascent.
Maybe you’re on the mission field feeling like a trailing spouse. You don’t have to be.
Honestly one of my greatest fears in becoming a mother was that I would somehow lose my purpose.
I have wrestled with these questions.
Can I be a mother and still pursue my dreams, my calling?
Can I be a mother and still change the world?
Mostly I just want to scream:
Do not let that part of you die! You are too valuable for that.
I didn’t get my time alone that morning. The baby woke up. The husband was still asleep. I went through the ritual of making the morning bottle and I was angry. Deflated.
Would I always be this stuck?
But angst can be a great impetus for change.
So I made a plan.
I would hire a babysitter two days a week for a few hours and I would write. I would write in the library. I would write at Starbucks. I would write when he was napping, and in the mornings before my husband left and when he got home from work.
Yes, it is a monetary sacrifice. Yes, it is hard to leave my son. Yes, it is hard for my husband to give me time in the morning.
But it is also a MUST. Because it gives me life and it is part of my gift to the world. And I MUST do it.
I can tell myself how frivolous it is, and why I shouldn’t, I can convince myself I won’t produce anything of value, or anything that brings in income, or actually impacts the world, or I can just do it.
In the few days I have begun, I’m already feeling more energized, less anxiety, less anger. In fact new studies suggest this correlation to be true. Children may also benefit more from mothers working, even part-time.
I know I am writing this from a privileged perspective. I know not everyone can afford childcare.
But there are mom shares and trading with babysitting, there are less expensive nannies in foreign countries, there are gyms that provide childcare, there are early mornings, and there are nap times (sometimes) and there are good friends.
Start small. Begin with what you have. But don’t give up on yourself and your dreams.
Creativity is our engine. It is the hum of our soul that drives us forward. Without it, we are slowly dying.
Maybe for you it’s painting, or cooking, photography, hospitality, counseling, speaking, academia, or social justice. Maybe it’s a dream/talent long left in the shadows.
I started doing research on women who were mothers but also had great achievements in the world. (Not that keeping tiny humans alive isn’t a huge feat in and of itself)
But you know what the sad reality is? They are difficult to find. Few and far between.
Because it’s freaking hard. You have to fight for it.
Being a mother is an all-consuming, miraculous and mind-numbing task.
Still, they exist.
Esther. Rahab. Ruth. Mary. Abigail. Hannah. Sarah. The Proverbs 31 Woman.
Marie Curie. Sojourner Truth. Maya Angelou. Melinda Gates. Lisa Bevere. Christine Caine.
J.K. Rowling who wrote Harry Potter while she was a single mother.
My son needs a mother who is willing to fight for her dreams because I want him to fight for his too.
My son needs a mother who is thriving and happy and fulfilled at the end of the day, full of joy when she sees him.
I am a better mother when I get time to steward my gifts.
My son needs a mother who has an identity outside of him.
You must find your identity too.
It is easier to coast. It is easier to die, to remain stuck, to hide behind the phrase our children are our mission field. Maybe they are, for a time. I remember the early days of breastfeeding and barely surviving. Cherish it. It won’t last. They will grow and one day there will be a breathing space where there wasn’t before.
That is the sacred moment you must ask:
What makes you come alive?
What are just a few steps you can take today to follow that spark?
For more inspiration:
Freefall to Fly– Rebekah Lyons
Lioness Arising– Lisa Bevere
Long Days of Small Things– Catherine McNeil (when your life is littles)
