I’ve been trying to figure out how to write about this. It’s a recurring theme within my female relationships. The women in my life are, for the most part, not happy. They are not content. They are stagnate. Bored. Wandering. Even lost.
They aren’t mad. They are just sorta coasting.
And it’s not just mamas of one kid. Or mamas who work. Or mamas who are done having kiddos. Or mamas who are living in their second home. The mamas who are feeling stuck are really nothing alike, for all intents and purposes, outside of the fact that they are, indeed, mamas. And they are in their 30s.
The lost decade. One of my friends called it that the other day. 30s. The lost decade. It’s just on autopilot. You’re cruising through the muck of Littles. Of deciding, perhaps, that your husband is not as involved as you’d thought he was. Or that your job that you’ve been doing since you graduated college is… well.. not what you want to do with the rest of your life and oh… the rest of your life… how long is that? It’s the time where we’ve gotten past so much of the hollabaloo of the dating and the weddings and the playing house. The point where we are the house. The point where we are adulting.
And the mamas I know, they feel bad. First, they feel bad because of the actual sadness, incompleteness, boringness that they feel. And then, they feel bad for feeling ungrateful or bad about a life that is, from the outside, seamless. Perfect. Ideal. Shiny.
But the shine, for them, has dulled. And they feel as if they are the collateral damage. They have it “all.” But they really don’t. I don’t know if it’s a real 3rd decade slump… like a real phenomena that women have experienced for ages but no one has talked about. I don’t know if it’s social media making us compare our lives to everyone else’s. I don’t know if it’s the monotony that can sometimes come with raising other humans day in and day out. But it’s something. And it’s really happening. It’s really prevalent.
I get it.
I actually get it. Because before my diagnosis, I think I was wandering a little. I was searching. I even said, “I don’t know why I deserve what I have but I am sure the other shoe will drop.” but yet, I felt, unfull. And it sounds so selfish, right? I mean, perhaps it even is selfish. To have “it all” and yet feel so empty. But I’ve heard it enough, lately, to know, that you mama, you need to know you are NOT alone. I sound ridiculous, right? I had a home, three children, a husband who I love and loves me, and yet… I felt like I was missing something {Then Jesus smacked me upside the head… okay. Just kidding. But sorta}. Then my perspective changed. I was given a different purpose. To share goodness. To see goodness. To spread happiness. To litter joy. AND, I believe, to write about the things that make us uncomfortable. Like this. Like wanting more, longing for more, feeling complacent, and feeling stuck in suburbia. Feeling the, is this what it’s all about or is it the hokey pokey feeling.
We all want it. Okay, maybe not all. I know that I most definitely was NOT getting married OR having kids… and then… We were in college and we fell in love and we were romanced off of our feet {or woo’d at a frat party while Slim Shady thumped in the background}. But we all want that thing that feels like real. That feels full. And happening. And so, for many of us, that meant a love story. We were young and in love and we were all wanting the dream. The ring. The party. The wedding day. Playing house. The career. It’s what the Midwest life would be. Post college.
And then, before we knew it. The excitement of a job. And then, maybe a few years later, a baby. Yes. It would be time for that. A baby. So. More parties. More things to buy. More playing house. And then we cut our teeth. Attempting parenthood together. Attempting the façade of grownupedness. And we looked at all those around us trying to figure out if they, indeed, had it figured out or if they were just attempting it, too.
And then. There we were. Adulthood. Parenting. Co-owners of people and pets and property. Co-doers of a life together.
And suddenly. We’ve arrived.
But have we? This is what we were working towards? Towards this normal. Towards this boring. Towards this semi-charmed kind of life.
And the mamas around me start asking, “is this what it is? If so, why am I not happy? Why don’t I wanna. Wanna get out of bed. Wanna do the career. Wanna make the whoopee. Where is the excitement that was there when I was seeking out the fairytale? Where is the happy ending? Is this the happy ending?”
No. No, mama. This is not the happy ending. It isn’t. I tell you. This is not your ending, mama. It is only the beginning. Your story is not over. I swear to you. Your story is only in it’s third or fourth chapter. It’s in the lull of the book. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a story. Just because the days blend together. The wake-ups into the breakfast on the table. The drop-offs. The pick-ups. The to. The fro. The “he needs to be here. You need to be there. I need to have a drink.” These are just the times you are in. And though they may feel uneventful, each day makes up a day in your own event. Your own life. You feel lost, mama. You feel tired. You feel confused. You wonder why you’re ungrateful. Why you don’t feel content.
Stop searching for what’s next. Live right here. In this day. In this time. In this phase.
You are no longer pretending. You are adulting.
So many wanted it and now, now they feel stuck. They feel suffocated by the banal details. By the mundane. They want to break free and be their own adventurer. Even though they have no idea what that would even mean. They have the mums on the front porch, the pumpkins spilling out all over, the Starbucks cup… but all those things are just that… things. And they don’t fill them up like they might have for their 20 year old selves. Because they know now that the stuff isn’t the stuff.
Mama. You are a you, too. You are a dreamer. You are a doer. You are a person. You are not defined simply by the house you keep, the children you raise, the husband you love. You are your own person. You’ve just forgotten. You’ve lost her. And you’re telling yourself that’s okay.
You don’t have to feel alone. Because you’re not. You’re not it. You’re not the only mama to ever think that you are not sure what’s next for you. You are not the only mama to question if you are doing it right. You are not the only mama to ask yourself if there is supposed to be more. These mamas are everywhere. You are not the only one.
I hear it all the time. Nothing’s really wrong but nothing’s really right. I feel like I’m coasting through. I feel like there has to be more.
You are a mama. You are a wife. An employee. A boss. A chef. A housekeeper. A taxi driver. An emphasizer of everyone else. But you can’t even see you underneath all the hats. You’ve lost the girl you once were.
This is your fairytale. But you have to write it. It won’t write itself. It won’t become unless you do. And it will be broken as long as you hide the mess brushed under the table of it all.
Don’t let boring steal your joy. Don’t let the shiny be the distraction. Elate in the normal. Rejoice in the everyday. Love the moment that you get to have right in front of you. Because mama, this is not your future. It is your present. It is your day. Your life. Your story. And you deserve to be at least one of the main characters in the cast.
Mama. I know you and I know your heart. You need to know that you are not the only one to feel this way. You do not need to compare your story to everyone else’s in order to feel valid or worthy. You need to know that you can talk to that man that you walked down the aisle to. You can talk to your girlfriends… there’s a chance that they are feeling the way you are… that they don’t want to get out of bed… that they, in a sense, are lamenting the lacklusterness of perfection pending. You need to know that I am listening and hearing you and praying for you to understand that you can’t compare your perspective to mine. Because perspective is personal. And impossible to fabricate.
You, my dear, are in a lull. You are in a blank space. A place where you know what came before. But you don’t know what’s supposed to come next. But you don’t have to feel ALONE there. You are not alone. That, I can guarantee you. I hear it OVER and OVER and OVER.
Think of it though as your blank slate. Your chance to write your next chapter. Your excuse to get out of bed, to take on the day, to find a new challenge to take on, to examine what type of adult woman you want to be for this earth. For your tribe.
Of all things I still don’t know, one I wonder on most is, are we meant for happiness or are we meant to simply feel alive. And if so, what does that mean? I don’t know.
I do know this. You. You are meant for loveliness. You are meant for a purpose. But you don’t have to find that purpose today. You just need to breathe in the fall air and know that this is not the end of your fairytale. In fact, it may very well be just the beginning.
And to all who are lost, someday maybe you’ll be found and you’ll realize the lost decade was really the most pivotal one of all. The one where you were able to undo what you’d thought you were supposed to become. Where you woke up with fresh eyes. Where you hugged your children, let the mess go, and slapped your husband on the bum to tell him good game. This decade where you felt unfull/tired/unshiny might end up being the most fulfilling in the end because it helped you decide what you don’t want to do or be instead of thinking about what everyone else wants you to become.
And that, that may be why we have to lose ourselves every once in awhile. Because it is in the finding that we see what we otherwise could not.
