Anticipating and filling the needs of the people I love in my life is something that comes naturally to me. Well maybe it didn't come naturally, but it was a necessity for my survival. One of the big reasons comes from being the child of a violent beginning. My dad was an angry drunk for the majority of my life. He drank to deal with his undiagnosed untreated depression. No matter the reason, my dad drank to excess nearly every day, and the more he drank the angrier he would become.
Most of my memories of my early childhood are a blur of hurled slurred words, exchanges of punches, sirens, flashing lights, and tears. There are moments of laughter and the beach interspersed, but those memories are few and far between. After the rough nights of fighting, I remember thinking that I needed to be good and keep both of my sister’s calm. If I was good enough and took good enough care of my sisters, then maybe my parents wouldn't fight anymore. So, I learned early how to pick up, do dishes, and even make sandwiches in an effort to prolong the moments of calm in my tumultuous home.
Once my parents divorced and my sisters and I moved to the Belton/Temple area to start over with my mom my ability to anticipate and fill needs was sharpened further. My mother's bipolar disorder meant I had to try to read her moods and hold off the swings as long as possible. When my mom was in one of her depressive states the best way to keep her from taking out all of her anger on me was to make sure things were as tidy as my little hands could make them. I became fairly good at watching and navigating my mother's ever-changing moods.
When intervention came and I moved in with my aunt and uncle I became good at reading the needs of the people around me. I found myself falling into the background and not vocalizing my needs since there were six kids in our house and so many needs to be filled. There were just not enough hours in the day for my aunt and uncle to give each of us individualized attention.
As I grew, I found a lot of joy in being able to help my aunt with the cooking and cleaning. I enjoyed seeing the instant results of my efforts and even found peace in the productivity of these day-to-day activities. Then God intwined my life with a man who chose a career in the military, and I was able to use my cooking and cleaning skills to serve the men and women who protect our country. During our young married life, we hosted many meals at our home and provided a safe place for young men and women to call their home away from home.
My husband being in the military has meant that my goals and individual dreams had to take a back seat to the demands of his career. This is not a complaint, just a statement of fact. Add in having babies and deployments and it was easy for my entire day to be consumed with cooking, cleaning, and laundry. All of which I did happily, but I would be lying if I said I didn't struggle. When my kids were really little, I felt a loss of individual identity. It was like I didn't know who I was outside of my husband and my kids. There were times when that feeling really scared me.
When we moved to Nellis AFB and Ketchup Sandwiches started taking form, all of my roles as a supporting cast member were occasionally having to take a back seat to my writing. I began to feel selfish for not making sure all of the laundry was put away or leaving dishes to be washed the next day. When I would go upstairs for a few hours on a Saturday or Sunday to write leaving my husband and kiddos to fend for themselves I felt like I wasn't fulfilling my duties or being a good mom.
Logically, I know that one day of dishes waiting or laundry sitting in a basket doesn't make me a bad mom. My husband is a good father and the kids getting to spend time with just him is important. This struggle between feeling like I need to be constantly filling gaps playing the supporting role and bringing my dream to life has not gone away. I regularly have to have conversations with myself about letting go of these ideas. I have to remind myself that constant productivity does not necessarily translate to success. Rest in itself is a form of productivity.
Now, these conversations sometimes fall on deaf ears. As is evident in the fact that I am writing this while sitting poolside watching my kid’s swim. Slowly, I am getting more comfortable putting myself center stage.
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