Family Matters

I'm going to admit something that I've been pretty dense about for a long time, even though all the signs were there for ages. Er... it's recently become blatantly, inarguably clear to me that I want a family of my own. That is, like, a partner. And kids. Though at 39, adoption is my likely path. It's my preferred one, actually.

It's really odd, but I've had to dig around my own blindness for a while. I knew that I wished I'd had a supportive set of parents or whatnot to turn to in hard times, I knew that I was sad not to have that sort of family, but as for the whole husband/kids thing...that was a completely differently category. One that felt a lot, to me, like making a choice to sacrifice the creative side of me--the singer/songwriter, the author--to become something that I saw as a waste of my talents. After all, and it's okay if you get mad at me for this, but I guess I didn't see having a family as an accomplishment. Because to me, I had seen people popping kids out into dysfunction, misery, abuse and unhappiness, and calling that family. The idea that a husband and kids and family, in that sense, might actually be a happy thing full of memories and joy, laughter and tears, and even FUN, that just wasn't my observation of real life. It seemed like drudgery, boredom, a cage, a trap. Being owned. Being limited. Being angry. Fighting. Until I saw it for myself, I didn't know that families could be amazing. Joyful and rich and supportive. And that kind of family in this day and age--that really is an accomplishment.

I guess you could say I had a lot of programming running that I didn't even know was playing in the background of my mental computer. I knew I wanted to have my own accomplishments, I didn't want to live through my kids and have nothing to show for myself. I'd seen blood relations do that with their kids, and it often led to codependence, bitterness, resentment and fear of losing control of their children's lives because then what who would their mothers be? I didn't want my entire identity sunk into others. I didn't want to be like the women I'd grown up with. And I definitely didn't grasp that I could be who I was, do the things I was passionate about, use my gifts, and STILL have a family.

How odd is that, right?

I love kids. I've ALWAYS loved them. Because of my little brother and sister, I've been extremely protective of children my whole life--especially foster children and those in need of adoption. I even thought seriously about adopting some day.

But it still didn't necessarily seem...well...necessary. It didn't seem congruent with anything else I wanted to accomplish first and foremost. And it sure didn't really include a husband in the picture.

The thing is, I've been telling myself exactly what I wanted for years now. Like, what I REALLY wanted in my heart. But not with conscious thoughts or words. Rather, the things I sought out and the things I was unconsciously drawn to, over and over again, painted a portrait of the one thing I'd insisted was completely unimportant to my life goals--again, having a family of my own.

But if I were a case study, I'm pretty sure every good therapist EVER would have been able to tell me this pretty quickly. I mean, I have dreams about being pregnant a lot. And in those dreams I'm not freaked out, I'm not scared---I'm RELIEVED. I'm happy. I watch family vlogs on Youtube all the time. I've watched them for YEARS. I especially enjoy families with adopted kids. I watch these things with a huge smile on my face, one I seldom even realize is there. I gravitate towards them again and again.  So why did I ignore the obvious for so many years? I had to really root around and dig through some layers to see where my hangups were.

My conscious mind told myself that I needed to be a famous author and singer above anything else I might do, that I needed to do those EXCLUSIVELY before I considered anything else. And if I didn't pull this off then I was a failure, because I'd been raised to think I was born less. Because of my circumstances as a child, shame sunk into my bones and drove my goals for so long that the idea of bothering with a family of my own brought me feelings of humiliation. I couldn't settle for what I saw growing up. That wasn't going to be enough to show them they were wrong. I couldn't let them be right. I wouldn't let them see me, or my brother and sister, as bastard children, raised in poverty, one of a few sad cases who weren't as worthy, as shiny, as wanted or loved as the others. Their vanity dictated my sense of worthiness. I had to prove them wrong for my sake and my siblings'. I had to do huge, incredible things first and before anything else, or I'd die a failure. And I couldn't share energy between those endeavors and search for a good partner/start a family of some kind. The family thing was fine for others, but I had to be more. I had to PROVE myself worthy. Worthy of love, worthy of being here. Then I could say, see? I'm enough now. Maybe a family would come later.

I didn't think starting a family of my own would ever satisfy my need to prove myself to my family of birth. I'd latched onto my talents from a very young age, saw that they were the only things that seemed to bring me scraps of approval or validation in their eyes, and so the neural pathways were forged in my little brain that would drive me my whole life. That would keep me a certain level of alone, by choice, but not, as it turns out, by desire.

Something always felt sad in my heart. And missing. Something I didn't even realize I wanted. Something I couldn't even identify or understand.

I'd cried to my little sister for a few years, confused by my own sadness, by the sense of emptiness and a void I couldn't understand. It took me 39 years to realize that I didn't have to choose my talents over my heart. That I didn't have to become a famous and amazing anything in order to prove a thing to people who were never worthy of ME. People I didn't even talk to anymore. It was time to stop letting some shit programming decide my life goals. I could do both. Congruently. Being someone's wife or mom didn't mean I'd settled and it didn't mean my identity disappears. In fact, I'd call a happy family quite an accomplishment. I was also given the gift of a nurturing, empathetic, fun-loving heart. A mother's heart. And I'm not using it to its full capacity.

Anyway, as I continue to pursue music and writing, I'm trying to move forward with more of an open heart and faith in the idea of whatever God wants a family to look like for me. Life is short, and in the end, a life rich in love is an amazing legacy to leave behind.