It Has To Be Worth It

It will be, I’m sure of it.

It’s quiet in all the right ways.

There’s a hum of an espresso machine steaming two-percent milk, the sound of vertical water streams crashing back down into rippling water surface in an indoor fountain, and the random chatter of echoing voices encased within the high glass ceilings.

It’s just enough noise to put me at ease. Add a child and my anxiety level climbs, and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it. The Xanax in my purse makes me sleepy and I don’t want to have to take it. I want to learn how to be calm around other peoples’ children, around my own children.

I dig further, resting on this environment of peace and serenity, where there are no kids yet. Not for another hour or so. I’ll cling to this memory when our kids leave after-school care and daycare a quarter of the way into the school year.

It’ll be worth it, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

We can move faster and faster will be better once we’re out of here and over there.

But till it happens, this will be all I’ll have — this memory.

I’ll go here, in my mind, when my depression resurfaces full-force. Why can’t I be “what I’m supposed to be”?

I was immune to birth control — shouldn’t that mean I’m supposed to be maternal? That’s how it should work, right?

My body wanted this so badly, why won’t my mind just surrender?

Why do I have to have aspirations? Isn’t that what a mother is supposed to give up?

The man takes care of the finances. The woman takes care of the children. Why can’t I accept that?

One kid, that’s fine, keep working and doing your thing — that’s easy. Two, there’s a chance you can balance both. Three? Forget it. You’re done. Your life is your children.

But then I see their faces and I know this is right, this is good, this is what my subconscious wanted while my conscious mind flitted about on the next professional move.

I needed this, all of it. It’s made me better.

Then that sneaky voice creeps back in. No, it wasn’t the voice this time. This time it was the Pre-Depression leading up to the loss of limited independence as it were.

God I feel selfish.

Everything rests on his shoulders, yet here I am whining about “having to be a mom” without my sacred alone time.

We’d made it work before but I was always depressed, regardless.

My husband would stop his work and come downstairs. I’d have dinner ready and we’d all eat around five or five-thirty, then he’d sweetly tell me to get out and I’d go to the Starbucks one town away.

It never felt right, though. My body is done come evening time. I’m tired and ready to wind down, not just get started on work around six or seven o’clock at night.

But maybe things will be better now that I’m getting my Celiac Disease under control. Maybe things will be easier.


What I need to do is allow myself to feel these emotions. They’re all I’ve got to connect me with reality. They’re how my body tells me there’s something wrong. But I don’t listen, I never do. Because it leaves those around me upset and neglected.

If I do what’s right for me, my family suffers. If I do what’s right for them, the tables turn.

I can’t unmake this bed, and I don’t want to. I just want to be happy.

So I’ll go back to this place in my mind, when my “independence” is gone. I’ll sit here at my laptop in this dreamily echoing place of white and coffee and type away in this moment of peace-bred-creativity.

It will be worth it.

It will be worth it.

It will.

It has to be…

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.