I grew up an only child (though I am no longer— my little brother is 13 and wonderful but I was 21 when he was adopted so, only child.) Joe is not. Not even close as he’s the youngest of four (four?!) kids. To say that our adolescent environments were different would be a grave understatement as was what we came to regard as normal. As you may imagine, having three kids— and all the noise that comes along with them— has been an adjustment on my part, less for him as he’s only ever known the claustrophobia associated with having siblings.
For years, I wondered why I’d get so anxious and overwhelmed at gatherings with his family (ten grandchildren, four siblings and their partners—HI!— and the OG matriarch plus a few extra stragglers who often roll in at these get-togethers, too. All in, you’re looking at twenty-five+ people). It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized I was simply not used to being around so many people at the same time and I most certainly wasn’t used to the resulting chaos and noise and messes produced by so many people.
Ironically, it wasn’t until I had kids that I realized how much I enjoy being alone. (That probably sounds terrible but the truth is often uncomfortable. So.) I crave solitude. There are few things I enjoy more than silence and the sound of my own thoughts. I love starting my day sitting at my desk, cup of coffee warm in my hands, and writing for a bit or reading the news. It sets such a peaceful tone for the day, wreaking of good intentions even if I know that it’s going to be anything but peaceful because, well, motherhood often isn’t. Just like marriage is the opposite of solitude and daily life can be so people-y that I frequently find myself sick of everyone by lunchtime.
The fact is, you can love being alone and still love and be grateful for the people who never leave you alone because they’re yours. You can enjoy solitude and still love spending quality time with your family and feel invigorated by time spent with your girlfriends. You can crave silence while also cherishing few things more than the sound of your children’ laughter and footsteps pounding against the hardwood floors. (Speaking of, how are such tiny feet so impossibly loud and heavy? Please explain to me because I just don’t get it.) You can yearn to be along while also reveling in matrimonial partnership. You can delight in time spent with only yourself and still be grateful that you aren’t alone in life.
I not only crave time by myself, I without a doubt need it. I’m social by nature but require time to recharge after engaging with others. People drain me to the point of exhaustion most days, no matter who they are. Being so in tune with and affected by other people’ energy causes me to feel depleted, leaving little room to feel my own feelings which is a recipe for disaster with someone with so many feelings so much of the time.
Now that I think about it, it’s no surprise why quarantine has been so hard for so many people. Being stuck around people indefinitely is a tough pill to swallow when you just. want. to. be. alone. for. one. single. hour. and I’d prefer it if that hour wasn’t at the grocery store or driving around aimlessly with the windows down and the music blasting because that’s the best you could come up with. Please and thank you kindly.
Why is it that we often feel the need to justify why we are the way we are? We feel the need to preface every aspect of ourselves so that people don’t call us ungrateful, selfish, or, god forbid, a bad mom. We are often made to feel guilty for being the way we are or we feel guilt because we’re conditioned to believe that we should be something else, particularly as mothers. We almost always feel the need to apologize for being that way. We’re led to believe that when we become a mother, life will never be the same and by proxy, we will magically turn into the martyr we must be to raise happy children when all that creates is an asshole and another generation of people who think that their own needs aren’t as important as everyone else’s.
One wonderful thing about aging, among many others, is the fucks you stop giving about what people think, instead devoting that time and energy to self-acceptance and whatever means necessary required to facilitate that acceptance. Which is how it should be, isn’t it? And how about we start bluntly telling anyone anyone who makes us feel guilty about our own needs to properly fuck off and maybe politely suggest that they spend some time focusing on theirs. Just a thought.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that, like most things, it isn’t either, or. It’s and. We’re dichotomous, nuanced humans with conflicting feelings about nearly everything which is precisely why being a human is so hard. Life isn’t black and white, it’s one thousand different shades of gray. My thought is, if I’m going to be spending so much time with myself, I might as well get to know and learn to love her. What I’ve found is that by listening to my own needs and giving into what I require to feel whole, I ended up liking the person I came to know. And quite a lot. I’m not perfect and I like that about myself. I also like that I have no problem stating and respecting my needs, no matter who they may offend along the way.
And isn’t that what it’s all about? Loving yourself with the same conviction that you shower onto others?
I think so, at least.