The New Me

Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or in a picture and I’m surprised. What happened? How is that me? Those candid shots and side views don’t line up with my mental picture of myself.

I see myself when I’m washing my face or brushing my hair in the bathroom, or when I’m deciding what to wear in my bedroom mirror. When I’m focusing on a specific detail or task, I recognize that part of me, but the whole person that I see in a reflection or photo sometimes isn’t the woman I feel like I am.

My mental image of myself is around the age of 32. Busy with children and school and meals and managing the household, I am young, strong and capable in my very active daily routine of chasing, pushing, lifting and holding my family’s world together.

I recognize the basic features of the woman I see as I pass a mirror in a store, or in the background of a candid photo, but she is softer and grayer and, let’s be honest, older. Lines around my mouth and bags under my eyes, rolls here and there, a touch of boring utility where I Imagined there was style. I’m not being hard on myself; I’m just startled by the change.

My mind hasn’t fully marked the passing of those 20 years between my image of myself and who I am now. It’s not just my looks that surprise me. My running internal clock and to-do list hasn’t quite caught up either.

Instead of organizing my day around my own tasks, I find myself thinking of where I need to be and what I need to do for my family. Some sort of alarm goes off in my head at the end of the school day; three-thirty feels like a shift change to me, and I find myself planning my day around it, even though no one needs me to pick them up or greet them at the door with a snack. Another alarm goes off around five-thirty, reminding me to get dinner started, even when I’ve already planned to heat up leftovers for our small household.

It’s not that I don’t want to be me in real time. I love the freedom I have, and the ability to pursue my own interests. I’m happy with the directions my children have taken; I love the people they are becoming. They don’t need a doting caretaker, or an overseeing manager anymore (except for the one at home–yes, I am still doting and tracking on you, my dear).

So how does a career mom adjust to this new life? I’ve had friends sit me down, concerned for my well-being when life as I know it ends, when my long-full nest is empty and lonely. It’s been in the back of my mind for a while–as I sent each one off, I imagined the inevitable, that the last one would leave as surely as the others had.

It’s a cumulative sadness leading up to the great, final heartache of not having any babies at home anymore. I have been anticipating the great grief that will descend on me when my last child leaves home. My husband and I have talked about taking a big trip, perhaps around the entire world, to distract me from my sorrow.

The end is coming, but as it closes in, it looks different than I imagined it would. My mind is a little behind, but my heart seems to know the truth. This change is looking more like a beginning than an end. I see a new aspect of my mothering coming into view, and it’s the older, grayer, rounder me that gets to do it. My children still need me–as an advisor and companion in projects or challenges–and in ways that I have yet to discover. That young woman lingering around the edges of my consciousness wouldn’t be able to handle it.

There is so much that I loved about my active-duty mothering in my children’s growing up years, and I am nostalgic about those sweet days. But the sadness that I feared would grow and threaten to flatten me has a more substantial and bold me to contend with now. I don’t have time to sit and cry, I’ve got new ideas and plans–some that revolve around my grown-up babies and some that don’t–so I’ll have to keep moving, even when the tears come.

My tears do come, but not just from a feeling of desolation and loss; they also come from deep joy and gratitude for the adventure of this life. It keeps surprising me.

(Note to the one at home: I may not be home after school, but get started on your homework and I’ll be there soon. xoxo Mom)