It has officially been four months since I graduated with my Master’s, popped out a baby, and basically resigned myself to SAHM status. It’s taken these four months for me to get over my shell shock of how last year turned out–and to begin a long road of acceptance that life plans, well, are just that. Although I think it might be nice to kind of know what you want in life, I’m not sure if things ever really work out the way we planned. Or is it just me?
Last Fall was one for the books. It was a struggle. I’m not sure if there was ever a day where I didn’t cry in my car at least once–Have you ever tried that? Car therapy? I totally recommend it–I felt so stretched thin. I wasn’t able to give 100% in any aspect of my life. From juggling my last semester of graduate school (and with comprehensive exams, it was terrifying), a part-time assistantship, being super pregnant, and trying to be a decent mom and wife–I seriously felt like I wasn’t measuring up. I wasn’t a good enough student, employee, mom, or wife. And feeling like that much of a failure was rough.
But then, within a week, it was over. Well, sort of. I no longer had to show up on Campus because I. Was. Done. I had my degree. I also had a teeny tiny newborn baby in my arms and a toddler glued to my leg.
So here I am, four months later, trying to figure out what’s next. I’m not sure if I actually want to return to work (for now anyways). I did actually make the mistake of showing up for a job interview three days after having a baby. With a killer combination of lack of sleep, major pain pills, and leaky boobs, I seriously have zero recollection of that job interview and was not surprised in the least when two months later I got an email explaining that I “just wasn’t a right fit for the company.” I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to work with a zombie either.
And yes, the fact that I kind of want to stay home for the foreseeable future totally shocks me. Didn’t I just spend the last two years busting my ass to get a higher degree and repeating the mantra, “This will be worth it. I will be someone someday.”? Staying at home with two tiny children is lonely and tedious, but for some reason it just feels right. Some weird, messed up part of me does miss deadlines and reading assignments. But most of all, I miss writing. So here’s to hoping that my personal blog, a little piece of the web that has been shown so little love since its inception, can help remedy my need to type words to screen and find a voice that I’ve felt was lost these past few months.
I’m also trying this new thing where I read books that I actually want to read, but I’ve discovered that picking out my next read is some stress-inducing act that it’s never been before. What is wrong with me? Does anyone have remedies for this? Or book suggestions?