Doing Something for Myself
Beginning my writing journey as a mother of six
If you’re reading this to learn some great organization systems and cute crafty ideas, you’ll probably be disappointed. For some reason, when people hear that someone has more than a handful of children, they think that person must have it all together. New acquaintances often ask how I keep everyone and everything on track, and I don’t know how to respond. I don’t want to disappoint the new people, but I am usually flying by the seat of my pants.
Although I have a lot of kids, I am not one of those Pinterest-inspiring moms. Don’t misunderstand: I do have some systems in place and some crafts being made — and I might even write about them sometime — but there are many, more qualified bloggers out there that write about those things. You should pass along their info if you think about it. I can always use a better way to do things. My life is messy, my kids are noisy, and my patience is always a little thin. But I love my life right now.
Before I turned 39 six months ago
I was working in the yard with my husband when he asked if I had any goals for the last year before forty (!!). My husband is really into goal-setting. He loves the process of creating goals, planning how to reach them, and repeating.
I’m not like that. I do have aspirations…ish, but they’re usually amorphous, ethereal ideas floating around in my brain that I may choose to work on…or not. I write lists when a big event comes up so I can be sure to complete everything beforehand, but otherwise I usually start working on projects the day I decide to do them.
I’m great at procrastinating things other people want me to accomplish — like learning how to make meals my family probably won’t eat or pulling weeds and grass from my rocks. But I am (mostly) good about finishing tasks that I put forth for myself — like reading all the library books I check out or sewing a gaudy tree skirt for my Christmas tree.
At any rate, when my husband posed his question, I answered with the same old tasks I didn’t really intend to do, but then I remembered a nagging, real goal I had never reached even though I actually wanted to. I wanted to write a book. I wanted to be an author. I wanted to be published.
I’d never met my writing goals
Remember how I said I was mostly good about completing my self-assigned jobs? Well, writing wasn’t one of those success stories. I had tried on and off for the fifteen years to get my act together. I took a few writing classes — loved them and stopped writing afterward. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, two or three times, and never got further than a couple thousand words. I edited my cousin’s novel and marveled at the many books she published, but I never used it as fodder for my own creativity. I even signed up for a course that promised I’d write a novel in a year if I just followed the daily assignments, and I quit after the first eight-week segment.
I had lots of valid reasons for not writing. In those fifteen years, I had six kids. I also worked full-time for nine of the years and worked part-time for the other six. There were various deaths in the family and major transitions for close friends and relatives that worried me. Each time I started or even got inspired to start, I thought about how many other responsibilities I had and couldn’t imagine adding one more thing.
Not only was time an issue, but guilt was, too. I already knew my kids yearned for more one-on-one time. I already knew that I wasn’t living up to my own expectations of how a mom should be. I wish I could say I cherished every moment with my kids, but I didn’t. Attending to the “emergencies” multiple times a day would wipe me out. I was happy to allow them to play together and entertain themselves while I did chores and recovered enough for the next impending disaster.
I had my doubts
So, with the memory of my failed goal, I decided this could be the year to do it. I said it aloud, but I had my doubts. I pictured myself setting aside time every night to write while everyone else was asleep, and it felt unreal. I used those hours to do dishes, find lost things, and catch up on Netflix. With the goal out there floating in the realm of desires and possibility, I continued my yardwork.
Then the next week, I got an email from the novel in a year program. They were starting a new group and offering writing classes. I kept opening that email and talking myself out of joining. It cost money, and it felt wrong to spend it on some goal I probably wouldn’t reach. But then I opened the email again. And again. For two weeks, I kept that email. I clicked on the links. I filled out the form up until the payment page. And then I closed it. I deleted the email. I saved it from my trash folder. On and on.
I gave it a try
Then one day I mentioned it to my husband. You know the conversation: “You can totally say no, but…” I explained that I didn’t have to do it. I knew it wasn’t in the budget. I knew it required a lot of time. But my husband said okay. He said yes. He said because the kids weren’t able to do activities during Covid, we had the money. It was the perfect time to try. So I did.
I signed up for the novel-writing track, and I signed up for NaNoWriMo. I wrote at night. I wrote through the night sometimes. I wrote with kids crawling across my lap. I wrote in between calls of “Mom. Mom. Mom.” I wrote with my kids giving me ideas.
Pretty soon I was writing with kids writing next to me. My daughters began stories of their own. We discussed characters and setting and plot points. They cheered me on during writing sprints and eventually tried to type more words than I did.
One evening, as I sat in my little boys’ rocking chair waiting for them to snore, I heard my oldest son — the one who didn’t seem interested in all of this — telling his younger brother the silliest story, a story he was making up on the spot. The two of them were giggling and finally bonding. I smiled in the glow of the nightlight.
I’m so glad I did it
If I hadn’t decided to try out this writing thing, I would have missed out on these experiences I didn’t know to want. We wouldn’t have shared the euphoria of brainstorming and filling plot holes or the freedom to create something new.
I’m so happy I decided to give it a shot. And you know what? I finished that novel. It’s not published…yet. But I set some more writing goals. And I’m not 40 yet. Who knows what great things this year will bring? I’m excited to share it with you.
