Have you ever felt like you were destined for something greater than you are?

Do you ever feel like you were destined for something else, took a wrong turn, and ended up in your current life? Like there’s something out there that either you wasted or that's waiting and you can’t quite figure out what it is?

I spent most of my life feeling that way. In high school, I read magazine articles about models being sighted in airports or television stars who were discovered randomly walking down the street and I waited patiently. I felt like I was waiting my turn and something was destined to happen – someone would approach me and change my life forever. Maybe I was arrogant, but I truly thought someone would pluck me from my life and transform it, like a movie. My favorite book is The Beast in the Jungle by Henry James because, like John Marcher, I've always been waiting for something and, like May Bartram, I've felt like everyone looks past me.

As I settled into adult life and had children, I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't special and I might never be. My life is wonderful, probably more comfortable and stable than most, but I felt like that spark – the thing that would differentiate me – was gone.

Last year, that feeling, the one that told me I was supposed to be doing something different, reappeared with a vengeance. At three o’clock every morning, I’d wake and run to the computer to type. By the end I’d written a novel. Before my novel, I hadn't written anything longer than a manufacturing procedure since college.

I finished the manuscript while sitting in a hotel room – a room that inspired the last scene in the book, because for the longest time, I struggled with how to end it. As I wrote the last words, I cried because I knew that even if no one read it, I had written something special for myself. I thought I’d be fortunate if a few friends and family members were interested enough to pick it up and if I didn't offend all of them.

Fast-forward to today. Almost every day, I feel special. This morning, someone I don’t know wrote to tell me she is reading my book today. It gave me chills when I read her message. Two other people told me they read it cover to cover yesterday. When people take time out of their lives to read words I've written and then care enough to contact me, it overwhelms me.

So today, I’m going to post a few of the comments people have written to me personally because there is nothing better than someone telling you that you’re special. It’s something we all need to feel and the comments I've received reach further into my soul than you can possibly imagine. To everyone who has helped me, supported me, contacted me, or taken the time to read anything I've written (even if it isn't the book), thank you. It means more to me than I can convey. I’m not waiting to feel special anymore – you guys make me feel like I already am.

 

 

They couldn't possibly live without me. Could they?

My mom said something a few weeks ago that still bothers me. “It was really nice of him to do it.” Sounds like a benign statement, right?

Who is he? My husband. What was it nice of him to do? Watch his own children on a weekend when he had nothing better to do. She said this in reference to a baby shower that I attended. Apparently, kudos are awarded when I obtain permission to leave the house.

But this may soon change. I am considering going back to work full-time. Actually, I wasn't considering it until late last week, when an unexpected contact resulted in what might be my dream job. At first I completely dismissed the idea. My children couldn't possibly live without me. Our four year old hasn't even learned to swim. Our eleven year old needs too much tutoring with homework

But, as my husband quickly pointed out, we’re through the hard part. Everyone is walking, talking, and potty-trained. Even our four year old attends all day preschool. I’ll require some help in the afternoons, but nothing like the pressure of finding a full-time daycare. Waiting a few years will make no difference in the children’s demands of me, but it might make all the difference in my sanity.

What kind of mom leaves her children voluntarily? I guess the kind that I want to be. I've spent years emphasizing how important education is to my eleven year old daughter. I try to instill self-sufficiency and pride in using her intellect to solve problems. But I don’t practice what I preach. I sacrificed my education, my career, and my entire identity to become a ghost of a mother and wife. And that might be great if I enjoyed it, but I don’t. What began as putting all of their needs in front of my own transformed into placing all of their wants in front of my own needs.

I’m sure this post will be controversial. And that is the problem. I absolutely hate that men are praised when they contribute the smallest amount of effort to their children’s upbringing, but women are vilified if we don’t sacrifice our lives in child-worship. I love my children. I love them enough that I want to be a positive example, not a depressed shell of a mother. I love them enough that I don’t want to live through them. I want my own identity so that I can allow them to have theirs. I want them to experience the joy and sorrow that result from their own choices. I hope they never feel forced to complete any task simply for my satisfaction – it is not their duty to meet my expectation or live up to my standards. Their only job is to be themselves.

So now that I've established that my kids can survive without me, the first question in my mind is, who calls off when a child is sick? If I do it, is it “nice of me” to do so, or is it only nice when my husband does it?