The above illustration is a good example of why a excellent illustrator is imperative. Add two more heads to the bubble-- hubby's and another babe's--and the ugly drawing is me.
Writing is a tough gig. It stretches my brain outside the bounds of child-rearing, out into the twinkly, evanescent space of thought and self and time alone. Don't get me wrong, throughout the last ten years of birthing and raising children I have maintained thinking time, but it's usually been through reading, not pulling self-formed sentences out of my own brain. And I have tried to ensure so-called me time, but let's be honest here, it was usually spent at Target or the gym. If I needed to get out, I ran to the red bull's eye as fast as my mini-van tires could carry me.
This past year I've had a, shall we say holier?, reason to have time to myself: to write and create. My husband's praising the credit card bills, as I no longer feel a pull to shop or browse. The clincher is I don't get paid, and so in turn feel guilt about the time away from my family. It's not too much-- only a few hours per week--but I still feel the guilt and the strain when I'm gone. I've always been available to my family at any given moment, and now I am requiring something for myself. It's a shock to everyone, myself included. Before, Target sucked money out of my wallet faster than a Dyson sucks dirt, and the gym is still there...I'll go again tomorrow. Using my brain, on the other hand, has been satisfying for me, even if I require multiple editing sessions to make my writing readable.
And so once again I long for balance. I have let some things slide over the past year--certain rooms in my house are in complete disarray, my cooking as been less involved, my sleep has been interrupted by scenes and dialogue and children's books ideas. But in spite of the chaos, I'm happier, more satisfied. I can't say the same for everyone in the family, so adjusting, tweaking, and meeting needs differently are all in order. Limits need to be placed on myself--my time on the laptop, keeping myself in the current conversation instead of out in la-la land, composing a string of dialogue in my head. I also need to get the entire family on a real, bona fide schedule.
It comes down to this: as many times as I've considered quitting, when thoughts creep in like, "Maybe this isn't the time and season to write," or "I should give more to my family," I realize I'd be doing myself AND my family a disservice if I quit. My kids will be empowered knowing I have the gumption to finish something, that writing and creating is important to their mom and that I am not a diaper-changing, dish-doing permanent fixture in the house. I have a brain and I like to use it, and that's a good thing, especially if I can balance it out. A very good thing, indeed.
