Running Away

Posted on | July 31, 2019 | 1 Comment

Perhaps it makes me a bad parent but there is a quiet, hidden part of me that spins and twirls and pulls at the thought of running away from my life until the idea unravels into unexplainable tears. It’s a silent pulse in my soul that rolls in unexpectedly and nearly takes my breath away with how hard I choke down the thought. After all, how do you say “I want to run away” without it sounding like you’re giving up on your life as a working mother?

I don’t want to give up. I just want to run away.

Temporarily.

Those of us in it know that Motherhood is a lot. Those of us knee deep in “9-5” (or 7:30-6) jobs know all too well that working motherhood can be entirely too much. Because at the end of the day, there are still dishes to wash and mouths to feed and messes to clean, just as there would be if you were home all day. Sure you get the break from your children, but you don’t get the break from your house. Or laundry. Or packing lunches. There are certainly days when I think it would be easier to just disappear for a while. To wake up in stillness. To drink coffee without answering dozens of questions or wrestling on baby clothes. To stretch languidly on a porch overlooking water so blue it hurts my eyes.

I let myself imagine the looks on faces when they realize I’m gone, realization dawning on them that now they will have to do and clean and care for themselves. The realization that clothes needing to be washed will not just magically clean, dinners won’t just magically cook. The calendar keeper has gone and no one knows where to be or when to be there.

Clients would call and call and never get a response… suddenly understanding how it feels to beg and plead for an answer from a stone wall.

Everything would come to a sudden and uncomfortable halt, my cell phone ringing on a forgotten table as I clicked nails against a keyboard, writing the stories that spin in my mind.

I want time to remember what it feels like to just be me… just a woman. Just a writer. Just a person. Not someone’s mother, not someone’s food source, not someone else’s anything. I suppose that happens in 18-22 years? When I’m too old to remember my face without lines, my voice without the halting lilt of age. I don’t want to turn old and realize I forgot to be young because I was so busy being busy with soccer practices and daycare drop offs and worrying about the last time I dusted the back of the television.

Oh but I couldn’t leave. And even if I could, I wouldn’t stay gone. There is too much love to keep me tethered here, wiping the runny noses, sweeping the dirty floors, and answering the client calls. I am fortunate to have a family that needs me, a job that needs me, a world that needs me.

But every so often… I just need me, too.

Comments

One Response to “Running Away”

  1. Sharon
    August 1st, 2019 @ 5:41 pm

    I had these thoughts frequently when my sons were toddlers. Now that they are 7.5, I still have them, but less often.

    You’re right: motherhood is hard, and working motherhood is even harder. Solidarity.

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