This desperate life

Today I cleaned out my email. I went from 160 unread messages to 0. As I hit the tiny trashcan emblem and methodically cleared away the unopened messages from 2020.. 2019... 2018.... 2017

I saw the evolution of a changing life.

I am gripped by my loss.

Messages from FRG, baseball teams, potluck dinners, church groups, running groups, race confirmations, deployment reunion photos, swim team updates

It is all gone

My life is different.

There is no FRG. I am not a military wife anymore. There are no baseball team updates, soccer team updates, swim team updates. We left the swim team we were members of for almost two years and then quarantine hit us, so we have no ties to any teams, anywhere. We left the church that we attended for almost two years, and at which I helped lead AWANA weekly. As far as I know, we were not missed. Race confirmations? Quarantine. Running groups? Quarantine. I have little motivation to run at the moment and even less to be around people. Deployment reunion photos? That is a life that is done.

I have to find a new purpose and build it around my goals and that is something I have never done before now. I am completely overwhelmed by this new pressure that has been born:

What are you going do? What career fits your skills? (What skills?) What are you majoring in?

I don't know what I'm good at, where my skills lie. I was raised to be a good wife and mother, and I slayed. No regrets. Hot meals everyday, unless they were cold on purpose. Birthdays celebrated, milestones acknowledged, laundry done (folded, ironed if needed, put away, not left in piles), dishes done, house neat. Family first, me last.

Now the priorities are all jumbled. Family first, me first? Kids first always, me second? Me first, kids first. I am no longer adequate. I cannot meet the needs of the people that surround me. Financial security is gone, future is uncertain and indeterminate.

There was a plan, but looking back, I don't know if I was the one with the plan or if the plan belonged to "we," or "us," or if it just became: an evolution of expectation born of decisions forced or made out of obligation.

Being a family in the military is a unique experience. The lie of choice and control- pick your next duty station, find a suitable house, it's your choice! The reality is, you have very little control over where the military sends you. As if Crayola said, "You may have any color crayons you would like! You may choose from blue, yellow, or red!" When choices are limited, there is safety. There is frustration. "We don't want any of these! Red, blue, yellow. Fort Bragg, Fort Rucker, Fort Bliss. We don't like these choices!"
In the end, you choose. Blue is ok. We choose blue. You are given yellow instead. Yellow works, we can work with yellow. You go where you are assigned. Find a home. The myth of control reasserts! We can choose where to live! So exciting! Anywhere we like! On base or off base? We choose on base! So convenient! So easy, financially! We choose on base!
Housing office: "Here are your options. You may choose one of these two homes. You may not see the inside until after the lease is signed. You have 24 hours to decide, or the home will be offered to someone else." That seems wrong and strips us of our individuality and control.
We choose off base! Easy. Find a rental that is available NOW because our household goods are being held in storage and we only have two weeks of paid TLA and then we are out of money. There are three rentals available. One is over budget. One is too far from base. One is smaller than any house we have lived in yet and will require immediate downsizing. The first two rented while we were trying to decide, so house number three wins.

The safety of the scarcity model. That myth of control is so comforting. I wrapped it around myself like a warm blanket. I learned to adapt and evolve, the Darwinist lifestyle of the military spouse. There was the security of all expenses paid healthcare, COLA, housing allowance, military discounts, commissary access, paychecks on the first and the fifteenth, like clockwork.

It is gone. I never took it for granted. I appreciated it always. I do not regret letting it go.

What I miss:

Stroller running. Not just pushing a kid in a stroller, but the life that went with it. Get up, make breakfast, do laundry, clean house, go for a run, maybe end at a park and have a snack. The lifestyle of the stay at home mom. It's so much easier to build a life around other people than around yourself.

Meal prep.
Kid's sports.
Dinners like clockwork.
Quick grocery store runs.
Solo runs during swim practice.
Runs with Sam on his bike.
Being stressed because our schedule is so full of activities.
Predictability.
The absolute absence of looking inward.

The absolute absence of looking inward.
That is what I miss the most.
I had a secure identity. I was a wife and a mother. I am still a mother.
But now I have to just be me and I am uncomfortable.
I have never been best friends with myself. I don't know how my skills translate to a career, to financial independence.
I have never had career goals, or had interests that lay beyond holding my family together.
I have regressed 17 years.
Figure out what you want to be when you grow up.
This decision has been on hold since I was a sophomore in college.
Now I'm a sophomore in college once again, a rising junior in the fall. It is time to decide what I want to be! It's so exciting! I can be anything I want! The scarcity model, with all it's safety and security and limited choice is gone. The options are limitless and terrifying.

"So exciting! It's like a blank slate! I can do anything!"

My future is a blank slate, but I am not. My slate has been written on and erased. Indelible marks remain: my children, my memories (many repressed), my trauma, my children's trauma. The shadows of my choices that will never disappear, these remain. Like chalk stains on a worn out chalkboard. Or ink that stains a whiteboard that has seen too much use. I don't know how to write over these marks. I don't know how to start over at 37. I don't know how to decide what direction my life should go or what I want to be when I grow up. I thought I knew.

Now I know that I don't know anything. I don't know what to do or who to be. My identity has shifted and nothing feels safe.
I had predictability and order. For 16 years, my life had a rhythm and a beat and I danced.
It is gone.
No regrets.

I will allow myself this mourning, of a life lost. The fear of the unknown is paralyzing. The hope of new beginnings has worn thin and I am already tired. I am good at following directions, devastatingly bad at writing them for myself.

Play me a new song, and I will dance. Teach me new words, and I will sing.

Now I have to learn to write my own music, but all I hear is silence.
I have to find my own beat, but my timing is lost.
I would write lyrics, but my poetry is dissonant.

Perhaps, if I am very quiet
The music will play
The beat will begin
The words will form
And a new life will be born
Out of this brokenness