When I was a senior in high school we had a career day where we had to go out into the community and shadow a professional.
It was such a struggle for me to find someone. I did not have a clue what I wanted to do with my life, where I wanted to go to school, what I should study. I took numerous aptitude tests and none of them helped guide me into a complimentary field.
I went on to college and earned an undergraduate degree that I have never used. Upon graduation I went to graduate school and earned a master’s degree in something I only used for a short time. Then, years later, I returned to graduate school and earned a second master’s degree in a completely different field.
So, I spent ten years in college, have three different degrees in three different areas, and have student loans that I will never pay off.
It took me a long time to figure out what I was supposed to do.
But deep down I have always known what I always wanted to be.
From the earliest days of my life, I have always always known that I wanted to be a mom.
As a child I had so many dolls. They all had names and stories. I cared for them and carried them and changed them and loved them. They were mine.
As I grew older I always helped with children at church. I cared for them and carried them and changed them and loved them. They were not mine.
For years, I babysat and nannied so much. I cared for them and carried them and changed them and loved them. They were not mine.
Then the babies came. With time I found myself with eleven beautiful nieces and one amazing nephew. I care for them and love them. As much as they are, they aren’t mine.
All my life I have wanted to be a mom.
I have dreamed such vivid dreams, of holding my newborn baby in my arms and seeing his sweet little face.
I have had hopes and goals and fantasized and dreamed for and about.
I have named him and loved him and wanted him.
But he, but she, but they, are not mine.
A few years ago I gave myself permission, and in doing so, I learned how silently unhealthy parts of me were and how too much time had passed. I may have given myself permission but it was too late.
Letting go of a dream is hard. Letting go of a life-long goal is hard. Letting go of an identity is hard.
Letting go is hard.
Two weeks from today, I will wake up on the day after.
The day after my total hysterectomy.
Part of me says, it doesn’t matter because I am too old anyway.
Part of me says, it doesn’t matter because I love sleep too much anyway.
Part of me says, it doesn’t matter because I have my dogs anyway.
Part of me says, it doesn’t matter because I am single and it would be too hard and impossible to figure it all out anyway.
Part of me says, it doesn’t matter because I am a good aunt and they’re partly mine anyway.
Part of me says, it does matter. And I am so sad. and disappointed.
I did not know that I could cause the greatest heartbreak of my life, but here I am.
A friend says that maybe I have other things to birth and give life to. And maybe I do. Maybe there are books to write and a house in the woods to build and more dogs to love.
But for these next few days, I will sit in the presence of now, grieve what wasn’t, count the blessings of what is and go to the one who provides rest.
