The Chrysalis Home

On Aging, Growth, Birth, and Fear

My life is so strange. So many random things, both horrible and wonderful, have happened to me, it becomes difficult to process and categorize them all. I look back over the last fifteen years and I know that I have seen things and done things that other people haven’t, I know that I have had experiences that I’ll treasure and think upon fondly.

And it’s not enough.

I’m not ready to be done yet. I’m not ready to settle down and live in the suburbs and cook supper and do laundry all the fucking time.  But I am. I am that person and I’m afraid! I DO live in the suburbs. I don’t have adventures anymore.

I’ve become afraid of adventure.

I look at my life as it is now and I know that the person I am RIGHT NOW is not the person I want raising my son. The person I want to raise Max needs to be fearless and adventurous and vibrant. He needs a mama that can help him climb mountains and slay dragons and build forts.

I don’t feel like her.

Since he was born, I’ve become so introspective. I’ve soul-searched. I’ve looked within. I’ve lingered and thought and cried and wished and cussed. I’ve raged and hoped and faded and swelled. And I know, beyond any doubt, that it’s time for me to change. He will not have the kind of experiences I want him to have if I stay the same. I am not fearless. I am not adventurous. I am not vibrant.

I think I was, once.

But I’ve aged. And instead of aging well, I feel like I’ve wilted, become a small, gray thing.  Fearful and scurrying from day to day.

This will not do! This woman I’ve become is not me!


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