We’ve been
on a self-imposed hiatus at 4Gaby. The need to write gets overwhelmed by life
itself, and the daily grindings of the daily grind. In short, when you have
children and are the numero uno in care taking, plus all the other
responsibilities that come along with the parenting game, the part of you that
makes you, you, tends to hit the back-burner. Often, it’s a self-inflicted
wound. Putting others before us is what we, as women, mostly tend to do. The
realization is that we don’t make the time necessary when we say, for this
moment, for this hour, this is my time.
I can tell
you that we’ve been asked why we write if it gains us no money, and no
attention. I can’t speak for my wonderful co-authors, but I can tell you, you
might as well ask me to stop breathing. This hiatus of sorts has me short of
breath. I have done what so many of us women do, I have put myself last, and it
serves no purpose but to make me less of myself. Work, which brings a paycheck,
has no comparison to writing. My children’s hugs and their achievements fill my
heart, but do not fulfill my soul. Some would call this admission selfish, and I
admit, it is, and I counter with “What’s wrong with that?”
As a “Mom”
and a wife, we give, short and simple. I have no problem with that, I signed up
for it willingly and happily. My life is a blessed one, and I am grateful. I
just have to learn to set aside the proverbial “me time.” Not the time spent
with the girls, not the hours spent cleaning, taxiing, and adhering to everyone’s
schedule but mine. I’ve sat in this saddle before where I’ve pondered how the
heck to do it all. I guess I just have to try and follow the Nike slogan and “just
do it.” On the other hand, guilt follows
when I say “I need.” What the heck is
wrong with me?
My
girlfriends will tell you, oh yeah they will, that it’s a delicate balance and
it’s so easy to teeter on the high wire, holding fast to maintain equilibrium. How
can I be the best me to my family and friends if I don’t feed what is at the
core of me? I don’t delude myself that I am the next Nora Ephron or any well
paid, well known writer. I just KNOW that to create is as important to me as
breathing, and without it, I am less than. Capisce?
I’m better
at story-telling than expressing my opinions. I don’t mean to sound preachy or
contrived, but it bothers me that I often set the pattern in motion of making
time, only to have that time dropped off the list when others need. What do
you do? Seriously. What’s your thing? Is it writing, singing, exercising,
running, biking? Do you make time for it and stick to it, or do you acquiesce,
and let “other” things prevail?
Just
wondering.
Signed,
Trying to
make the time.
