It Takes A Village

I have just been in a mood lately. I don't even know what kind.

I've been feeling the pull of wanting to be too many different people. Wife, mom, friend, teacher. I've been having big, hurt feelings from people I used to work with, as if choosing the life of a stay at home mom has cost me their friendship.
Right now I'm finding motherhood to be lonely. I am Ben's playmate. It's just me and him. He's awesome and hilarious, but it can also be terribly boring and isolating on days when the clock ticks slowly.



We just moved into a new area, and I'm having a tough time adjusting to the change. (Change, ahhh scary and uncomfortable!).  The thought of putting away our things is overwhelming, and maybe I'm subconsciously not doing it because then it won't be real. I miss our old neighbors, our view, my comfort zone. The library play date we had, the parks I liked, our grocery shopping routine.

I need to find our groove here but I'm grasping for it and keep missing.

This leads me back around to this idea that it really does 'take a village' to raise children. Traditionally, the community takes an active role in contributing to bringing a child up in the world. One person cannot do it alone. It's no wonder women are lonely. We are programmed to be doing this job with other people. Maybe that's grandmothers, mothers, aunts, friends, cousins. Humans might still live in 'communities' but emotionally we've moved farther and farther away from one another where it really counts.

And maybe I'm more fortunate than most. My mom lives close by and is always willing to take our son for a night, or a day, or whenever we need a break or have an appointment. It's a huge blessing we never take for granted. The smallest of tasks become infinetly more difficult when a toddler needs to be cared for, and while the parents ARE solely responsible for this small person, it takes a village for none of us to lose our minds. We all need a person to help us, to care for us. Our husbands can help, but chances are good they fight a similar struggle as us.

My Dad told me a story a while back about women during the Great Depression who lived in farm houses far apart from one another in the middle of nowhere. They would light candles in their windows so that other mothers might see the glow from far away and know they aren't alone.

I like to think that's kind of what blogging is for me. I'm lighting my candle. I want you to know you aren't alone, and I need to know I'm not either.