How is it that somewhere in midst of achieving all of my dreams I lost myself? Or rather lost what I wanted for myself? I’m not sure which question is more accurate. For as long as I can remember, all I ever wanted for my life was to teach children with special needs (which I do), have a husband (which I do), and have children (which I do). Part of me wants to blame my parents for not expecting more of me. But what more could they expect? I don’t conciously remember my parents ingraining these goals in my head. They always told me that I could do and be whatever I wanted. I thought this was what I wanted.
There’s this part of my brain that keeps throwing thoughts into my conciousness. Is this it? Will the next 50 years be spent tending to my children’s needs, my husband’s needs, my student’s needs? I want more. But more of what? When I try to pin down something that could fulfill this want, I can’t come up with anything.
I take time for myself and do things I enjoy, but it’s not good enough anymore.
Here comes the guilt. Shouldn’t having a good marriage and the love of my children be enough? I think of the women I know that are in miserable marriages or going through a divorce and think how lucky I am. I see couples struggle to have children and I see parents struggle to have a relationship with their children and think how much I love my own children. I don’t regret getting married and I don’t regret having my children.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs that there is more to me than being his wife and their mother and the special ed teacher. But if someone asked me what else is there, I can honestly say I don’t know. And I feel guilty that being his wife, their mother, and the special ed teacher isn’t enough for me.