I ran a marathon when I was twenty-six. It was hard. It was painful. It took several months for me to recover. I never made the mistake of doing it again. I am a fast-twitch kind of runner: my muscles contract quickly and powerfully, but fatigue rapidly. How do you make that kind of physiology work for twenty-six miles? It is simply not for me; I was passed by a speed walker! At the time, I don’t’ think I truly appreciated the need for training.
Now, in my forties, I have difficulty managing the emotional and mental marathon required to raise my kids. It completely blows my mind! Even though I ran the marathon eighteen years ago, I have no doubt that I could (if I foolishly chose to) physically train my body to run that distance again. But, despite vigorous training efforts, on my journey as a mom, I cannot (completely) train my mind and body to accept that there are fast-twitch and slow-twitch days – or even moments! I continue to struggle with frustration and disappointment in myself, when it comes to parenting. I fully accepted a 4:45 time in my first marathon, even though I knew that I could have trained harder and done better. In the aspects of my living that require physical output, I can accept success, or failure. If I miss a goal-scoring opportunity in a soccer game, I do not wake up at 4:00 am to question my judgment, choices, or abilities. It simply is what it is. Our physical efforts are so much easier to measure. Children bring so many unpredictable challenges into our lives that it is difficult, if not impossible to train for them, to fully understand how a loving parent should handle them and behave. So, of course, there are times when I am not at my best, and I suffer because of it. My kids have usually forgotten the screaming tirade, angry tears or undignified treatment they have experienced in my care, before the clock has struck the next hour. On the other hand, I carry it with me, not as an experience to prove that I am human, but as a stabbing knife, set to sustain pain. Even if it washed through on the rinse cycle, I would be fine. But, it doesn’t and these thoughts of failure create worry and stress and eventually, depression.
This week, my body is filled with a seasonal sadness, due to the completely predictable event of returning my kids to school. Many mothers simultaneously heave a sigh so long and restorative that it changes weather systems a hundred miles away. I simply shudder. Where will I go? What will I do? Once again the description of my job has changed so irrevocably, and so quickly that I am left questioning my very purpose. Of course, the summer takes its toll. Of course, I am ready to drink my coffee while it is still hot. And yes, I am ready to give up my summer role as ‘Cruise Director’ on a ship destined for ‘Who’s in Charge Around Here Anyway’. But the deep and abiding despair that I feel at giving my kids up to a system I am not only uncertain about, but also not in control of, is consuming. So as you think of those mothers who now have their freedom back, also think of those who will experience some grief and loss at the sudden change to the shape of their days.
