As best as I can describe it, it’s like when you get in an elevator and it moves downward more quickly than you expect it. I think something or I do something, and then I catch the error of my thoughts.
I look at the armoire that was mine as a child, the rocker that has been in my family all these years and I think I will hold on to them for my children. I look at a spinning wheel and think, when I am pregnant I will take up spinning. I see a teenager learning to drive and think when we have a child, we will send them to driver’s ed, and not teach them ourselves.
Oh, there’s that sudden drop.
That won’t be my life. That isn’t my life. That’s not me.
The more I think about it, the more the analogy of the elevator is utterly correct. If you watched some one’s face in that elevator, perhaps you might see a change in face for a split second. If you blinked, you would miss it. So much of what happens in the heart, the mind is invisible. You just don’t see it.
Last night, I packed up my office, getting it ready to paint. By this time next week, with the new furniture in, the walls painted, it will no longer be a nursery – all that once was will have been hidden from view. Catch it quickly now, before it goes away.
I have been deliberate in my choices. Not frivolous, but demanding. I want furniture that I like. I want decor that fits me. I want a room that is all mine, and not cobbled together from what we had around the house. I have new shelves, a new desk, new lighting. I will have some new art work, and this space will be mine.
It has been strange, this desire. Creating this room has been every inch my declaration of my new life. This room is the new Mrs. Spit, the Mrs. Spit who works and doesn’t have children. This is my celebration. For all that I am leaving behind, the room tells me that I am anxious to move forward as well.
But now, as I sit in an almost empty room, with yellow and green walls, as I look around at what might have been, at what we thought and planned and dreamed, it is a too fast elevator. The sudden drop, the mental re-arranging, the change in altitude. You wouldn’t see it if I didn’t tell you, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.
That’s exactly what it’s like. Exactly. I’m sorry. But I’m also happy that you’ve found the peace you needed to move forward in a new direction. And I’m celebrating with you.
Great analogy! I could feel my stomach lurch a little as I read that.
I think the desire to do something different with the nursery — whether it was already decorated for a baby or just the designated nursery in our mind — is a common impulse among those of us who find ourselves on this road less travelled. See my own recent blog post about the new spare room bedspread (better late than never…).
I often tell people on this journey that you can’t expect to reverse all the hopes, dreams & expectations of a lifetime overnight. You can’t turn an ocean liner on a dime, etc. It’s going to take time & there will always be those little moments that catch you off guard & make you go “ouch!”
And we will be here to listen & send you (((hugs))) when you do.
It’s a big lurch.
And I know you won’t only define yourself by your work. You are more than just that.
And I am excited to see pics when you get your room done. I think you deserve to do it ‘right’ and not hodgepodge.
These are such momentous changes for you. Every beat wish as you move forward.
As Ya Chun says, you are more than a woman who works or has no children. You are defined more by your grace, humility, love, kindness, strength.
Many hugs and peace on this journey.
I know that feeling. And sometimes, there are times when you don’t even know why you have it.
I’m looking forward to seeing the new room. (I hope you intend to show us!) It sounds like it will be very much you.
Abiding with you…
“You wouldn’t see it if I didn’t tell you, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”
Oh Mrs. Spit, I cherish your voice. I am finding myself in a very similar space. Contemplating a career change that I would never be able to do if the twins were here. But they are not here. And they aren’t going to be here….
I keep trying to tell myself that feeling in my belly is anticipation. Excitement. But there is much of that familiar lurch in there as well.
Searching for a way forward with you. All my best to you…
THat is a feeling I know too well, the fast catching up with reality and the letting go of years of assumed existence. I know it is going to be a lovely room, a cocoon for your life as it is now.
Yes, Mrs. Spit. Yes. I have felt it.
Abiding with you, Mrs. Spit. Keeping you in my heart.
You should create a space that is all you. A space that is deliberate and that you have control over.
The too fast elevator is a great analogy. Only you could put a feeling into such great words.