Same Book, New Chapter

I'm in the midst of a cliche. Which drives me nuts. I've always hated cliches.

Dave is retired. The kids have gone off to college. Everyone is happy. All good.

Which leaves me with... what feels like no identity and a chasm of time to fill. 

For twenty-four years I've been Dave's wife. For twenty-one years I've been Steven and Olivia's mom. And I've enjoyed every single minute of those identities. I wouldn't change a thing (well, okay, maybe a few things, but you know what I mean). 

When I woke up in the morning, I used to have a plan, or at least what could pass as a plan. Dave would kiss me good-bye as he left in the dark of the early morning. A bit later I would get up and get going on breakfast and lunches for the kids. Eventually they would appear downstairs, eat, and head off to school. 

The day would then be mine, but it wasn't, really. It was filled with all of the activities of a stay-at-home mom and a housewife. Maybe a run in the morning and grocery shopping. Cleaning up the kitchen. A load of laundry. Volunteering at the kids' school. Paying bills and taking care of household stuff. 

Nothing fancy. Nothing that would necessarily sound exciting. But I looked forward to every day. Every day had a direction and a purpose, and every day was full of the parts of life that made me feel like I was in my element--I felt very accomplished being a wife and mom. I was good at it and I genuinely enjoyed trying to juggle all the moving parts.

And then BOOM! Steven graduated and moved away to college. 

It was an adjustment, but there was still so much to do for Olivia and Dave that even though having Steven leave home felt like I got body-slammed, I was keenly aware that there was still stuff that needed to get done, and I was the one that was going to get it done. Each day still had specific purpose. Goals could be set and worked toward and met. I still had a job I loved and looked forward to every single day.

And then what felt like a nanosecond later BOOM! Dave retired and Olivia graduated and moved away to college. It felt like a gut punch. It was like having the wind knocked out of me.

In the big picture, all good things. We all worked very hard toward all of these events. They were a long time in the making and highly anticipated, eagerly awaited. None of this should have, or quite frankly, did, surprise me. 

But it did feel like having the wind knocked out of me.

It just hit me so suddenly, the reality that everything I ever have been was tied to what I did as a wife and a mom; my entire sense of self didn’t actually have much to do with me at all.  

I am not complaining about that. This was all of my own making. I would not do it differently. I loved it. It was absolutely who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do. And I did it well.

I know I'm still a wife and a mom. But those two roles are hugely supportive in nature. And when the support is no longer needed in the same daily capacity then yes, I'm still a wife and mom but the time and energy needed to fulfill those roles lessens considerably. Some days it feels like it's completely disappeared.

The sense of loss is palpable. 

It leaves me wandering the house, trying to figure out what to do.

When there was a full household to run, there was a sense of urgency to the daily activities. Shit needed to happen! Dinner needed to get cooked. Clothes needed to get put away. College applications needed to be reviewed. Activities needed to be put on the calendar. Deadlines had to be met. 

The urgency is gone, I guess. What's my job at this point? Am I supposed to replace the constant mothering that went on for two decades with something else? Is there anything to substitute in for the supportive wife role once the husband no longer comes home from a job with concerns, worries, and stories of interesting students and long days?

It seems like this would be a revelation. I want it to be one. I want to be that woman who looks at all of this as the long-awaited opportunity to run headfirst into becoming whoever she wants. I want to be the person who embraces the chance to begin a new chapter, who optimistically begins rewriting her character based solely on the person she wants to become instead of on who she has been. 

I have not figured out how to be that woman, that person. That's my stumbling block. I feel so bound to who I have been that I'm not even sure where to begin with the idea that I could become someone else. 

And there's a certain sense of guilt in the idea of becoming someone else, of redirecting my priorities, my emotions, my purpose. I loved having my husband and my kids as the center of my life. I never felt an ounce of guilt or regret about that. Ever. 

I was at my best as a stay-at-home wife and mom. I loved it. I excelled at it. 

I'm not sure I'm ever going to be as good at anything else. It’s a little daunting.

But that’s okay. I think I’m an optimist at heart, and out there, somewhere, is something (or things) that will catch my interest (some compelling shit that needs to happen!). Maybe I’ll learn Italian and go to Italy to speak with Italian people. Or maybe I’ll volunteer for a political campaign. Or be a docent at a museum. 

A new chapter is beginning. Unknown adventure awaits the main character...