If at first you don't succeed...
On figuring out who I am, again and again
Every Friday at work, we are faced with the question “What are you up to this weekend?”. I find myself responding every week, without fail, something along the lines of:
“Oh, the same, really - getting the house ready for an open home, maybe soccer or swimming for the child, housework, entertaining the child, hoping to make it through the weekend without too many meltdowns from either him or myself. I might try and fit in a walk or a run if I can, I’d like to do some lifting but because of the house sale I can’t get into the garage where the weights are because it’s crammed full of our stuff, so that’s essentially on hold until we sell our house and move. Oh, there’s a comedy gig on, but it’s not kid-friendly and we don’t have any family around that can look after the child. Spouse might go by himself? But then he feels guilty for going out without us. So we’ll probably watch Trolls Band Together for the 20th time.”
Last Friday, after giving the same response again, I laughed and asked myself in a self-deprecating manner “who the fuck have I become???”. And it appears I’m not alone in asking this question of myself, even four years after giving birth to my son - posing the question of identity loss post-partum/in parenthood on my socials elicited a number of comments and DMs from friends near and afar, all having experienced the same internal struggles of not quite knowing ourselves in this new (and not so new) role of “parent”. As we know, “parent” doesn’t (or shouldn’t) then remove those other parts of our life we’ve held dear - partner, creator, singer, lifter, gardener, runner, etc. etc. But while you can know intellectually that growing your family changes you and forces reprioritisation in your life, you cannot know the degree of severity and depth of this until you are in the thick of it. And while you may tell yourself that “letting go” of some of those parts of yourself will be fine (and it definitely is 300% worth it), nothing can prepare you for just how much missing that regular lifting/running/creating outlet will affect your sense of self.
Fittingly, I’m writing this as I sit on the new couch, with the four-year-old squeezing his limbs under my legs with the resistance of the laptop creating a new challenge he loves. This creates a mixture of emotions in me - adoration at this precocious child who but a mere tiny baby not long ago, frustration that I cannot get one tiny moment outside of family and work responsibilities to engage in writing as leisure, and guilt that I even have this need for independence for an interest that is mine alone and serving only a purpose for me. Something that doesn’t require my attention being divided into four different parts - to ensure the child’s needs are being met, the house duties are tended to, focus on the activity at hand and then guilt that I am allowing my mind to wander to the other priorities and not on my task. When taking all of that into consideration, the activity of choice doesn’t seem so relaxing anymore - in fact, it adds stress and pressure, so much so that I don’t bother engaging in it.
But I know that I need to do something. So, I recently reached out to my old powerlifting coach, with the hope of getting back into consistent lifting. As we know, lifting weights has incredible benefits - physically, cognitively and emotionally - but for me, it also is symbolic of a part of my self, which is mine and mine alone. Since having my child, I relish those small moments of internal focus, on my body being nurtured and tended to in a way that isn’t pulling, grabbing, jumping on (those of you with young children will know what I’m talking about). Over the years, I have taken immense pride in my physical strength - I may not be athletic, fast or nimble, but by god I’m strong. And building this strength was testament to my dedication, hard work and grit - nobody could take this away from me. I have desperately wanted to get back to a place where I feel this sense of accomplishment and achievement, purely just for myself. Despite having tried to get back into it many times, I tell myself this time will be different. I’ll stick to the plan this time - I’ll be consistent I say to myself again and again. But, of course, the obstacles of life enter as they always do, ruining my plans of finally achieving post-partum “finding myself again”. Feeling deflated and defeated, I begin to go through that spiral of negative self-talk, deeming myself a failure yet again. I almost took the proverbial bat and ball and went home.
Before having my son, I remember doing an antenatal “emotional” class with my spouse and other parents-to-be. Part of the discussion was around our values in parenting, and as families, and identifying which values are important to us, to instill in our children. I remember making a pact with my spouse, somewhat naively, that growing our family would add another layer to our lives and not remove anything. I’d seen so many people juggling parenthood and their passions, and their work, seemingly easily. Parents who were able to incorporate their kids into their existing lifestyles so naturally - so thought this would be a seamless transition for us, also. But for whatever reason, it isn’t - we’re just not built that way. Is it due to my extreme lack of chill and crippling anxiety? Possibly.
I also remember saying with my spouse, that we want to instill a sense of grit and perseverance in our child - that if something is truly important we need to keep trying, to not give up, no matter how hard it might be. It’s been a tough one to navigate as our son absolutely takes after me in wanting to hide under the blanket if something is too difficult. So, we try to calmly support him in giving it his (and our) best go. That we won’t get things right the first time - and to assess if what we’re doing is something we value, or see as important. If it is, we take a moment and look at how we’re trying to work through it - is it working for us? If not, let’s try something different. But what we won’t do is give up. And while he is four and will often flip out at the magnetic tile construction that isn’t developing as he planned, there are some times where he will stop. Breathe. Assess. Try again. In those moments, I am so immensely in awe of him, and hope that he carries this in life.
In supporting my son through the challenges and frustrations of building blocks and magentic tiles, I recognise the need to talk to myself like I do a four-year-old. No, it isn’t easy to go back to doing things that used to bring me joy and purpose. I will likely fail at getting back into consistent patterns and routines while I’m learning how to do this for the first time with a family in tow. But when I feel like I’m failing, I need to stop. Breathe. Assess. Is what I am doing important? If so, I need to try and try again. Maybe try in a different way. As others with older children have told me - you’ll find more and more moments where you find “yourself” again, though they may start few and far between. And you’ll learn so much more about yourself along the way.