I Am Two Years Late On My Annual. And I Am Done Apologizing For It.
As a mother I have to keep track of everything.
Every game, activity, doctor’s appointment, meal, poop, health concern, permission slip. The list goes on.
Sometimes I want to close my eyes real tight and wish it all away. Because I have 3 kids, which means keeping track of the above… times 3.
Then add in my husband’s needs too… is he capable? Of course.
But at the same time he works the same hours as any clinic, and has his own full day of patients. So while he is busy providing for our family, I am providing for him from home. I am happy to support him and my family.
However, even with my willingness it does not change the mental load I feel. I have always put so much pressure on myself to do it all, hold it all, and keep it all together. I often worry that if I don’t do this it won’t get done. That it’s impossible to ask for help, because it’s easier if I just do it myself.
And at the end of the day there’s nothing left for myself.
I am an entire 2 years late on my annual, which kind of defeats the purpose. I also have a mole on my leg that I was meant to follow up with 6 months after my initial appointment… That was over a year ago. Even saying that out loud, I am blaming myself for not prioritizing it.
But even when there is actual time in the day to call my own doctors. I don’t want to. I am out of social battery. I don’t have the capacity to process my ever growing calendar of activities. At the end of the day when it comes to choosing myself, finding the time for myself. I feel a big fat… NAH.
This is not something we talk about as mother’s. Sure, we causally talk about how we don’t get to the gym, and laugh how we don’t have time to get our hair done, or other measly tasks. And of course I don’t do those either. But I literally haven’t scheduled important doctor’s appointments.
Somewhere along the way in motherhood I convinced myself that I was meant to be last. That my needs could wait. That losing myself was for the good of my children.
And I am done pretending that does not matter.
I have been sitting with this for months now. I have realized I cannot nor need to carry it all.I cannot and will not continue to put myself last.
This has not been a whole life and identity overhaul overnight. In fact I did the exact opposite. I just noticed, what this looked like. I stopped judging myself, pressuring myself, and stopped worrying about what I needed to change.
Here’s what I have learned so far:
It had absolutely nothing to do with grand gestures. Long girls weekends or spa days. Although to be fair I would not turn that down if anyone else out there is also due for one? Feel free to let me know.
But on the other hand, it started with something so much smaller, less expected, and in some ways way more radical.
Six months ago I had nothing that was mine. Truely and totally mine, chosen by me for me. I lived for my children. I worked for my husband’s clinic. I had zero hobbies, zero creative outlets, zero things that existed just because they brought me joy.
Today I am sitting here writing this. To you. Because this, the writing, the showing up, the telling the truth out loud. This is what I have chosen for myself. This is my thing. This is Bethany outside of mom, outside of wife, outside of the one who keeps track of everything.
I am not on the other side of this. I have not figured it out. The mole appointment is still unscheduled. The mental load is still heavy. There are still days where I reach the end completely empty.
But I am in motion. And motion is everything.
“I am a mother. But I am also Bethany. And I am finally learning that both of those things get to be true at the same time.”
As I sit here with this, I think about my daughters. Not with my usual guilt, but with clarity. I want them to flourish. I want them to have support and hobbies and careers and joy. I want them to know that choosing themselves is not selfish, it is necessary. That love does not require full sacrifice. That they are worthy of being chosen. Over and over and in every way.
And the only way I know how to teach them, is to show them.
So I am showing them.
Imperfectly. In motion. One small choice at a time.
Starting with this.
What are you choosing that brings you joy?
You do not have to have it figured out to start. You just have to choose one thing that is yours. However small. However imperfect. That is the beginning.
Imperfectly,
Bethany
