feeds
I wrote the following piece in January, but didn’t post it up. I just sat with it and let the words be.
My mood has lifted since I wrote it. I don’t feel like I’m treading water anymore – moving, but going nowhere. Instead, as we nudge into spring, I feel young shoots of excitement grow as I take on new projects and work on what really matters to me.
Moods and feelings are like cycles of the seasons; they can go full circle in a matter of weeks and much of it is connected to our mental and physically wellbeings.
Life is too short to feel at odds with the reality of your life. I’m constantly reminded by what I see, hear and experience, we must go and smell the proverbial roses or feel the sun on our skin and always SEE the people we love.
At a time of constant change and hardships, it’s the small, but real things in our lives we can cling to and appreciate.
JANUARY 2009
In the depths of winter, my mood matches the weather; closed in and still. Ideas like the shoots of spring are buried underground; reflective and waiting.
The realities of life in 2009 are depressing and pundits struggle to find the words of business optimism. My mood certainly reflects society’s malaise, but truthfully it’s not down to the economy.
I’ve sat long with my New Year’s resolutions and it goes beyond loosing weight. It’s much deeper. Dare I say it, “midlife crisis?” I don’t feel like doing something reckless, but I do know I’m at an emotional low. My body is fragile and I’m on the edge of bursting into tears at any given moment.
I hate to think I’m so shallow, but it’s hard not to compare the present with a slimmer, younger me in the mirror. Even the strongest of us have anxiety about our physical flaws living in a society that worships youth and beauty. Heck, I’ve been through two emergency C-sections and my body is battered.
My body has become my enemy with a recent diagnosis of extremely high blood pressure and a trip to the emergency room. I’m terrified of my health failing being an older mother of two young children.
After speaking to a cousin who is of a similar age, the green eye of jealousy rears its head. I’m envious of my cousin’s new found freedom. Her children are grown and at college, and now she has plenty of time to pursue her interests. She can go and see a show any time, hang out with girlfriends with no time constraints and go on vacation without due concern for childcare.
Lately, I’ve been obsessed with things I wanted to do when I was in my 20s and early 30s – learn to flamenco in Andalucía; tango in Argentina; make pasta in Tuscany and eat sushi in Japan. Is this the deep regret for the dreams I never achieved?
I know I paint a dark picture, but that’s how I feel as if I’m enveloped in a black blanket.
People who give spiritual direction often call a “crisis” – and I can call my emotional state a crisis – a “crossroads” or an opportunity to let go of the old and birth something new.
Why do I feel like this now? Well, I can’t say I’ve just turned 40 anymore. In two short years, I’ll be at that most vulnerable of ages, 44, say the researchers.
According to Professor David Blanchflower of Dartmouth College, levels of happiness decrease according to a “U-shaped” pattern. In his study of 2 million people in 72 countries over 5 years, he found the highest levels of happiness in people in their 20s and lowest in their mid-40s. Happiness levels rise again after mid-50s until you have the same levels of happiness in your 70s that you did in your 20s.
It makes perfect sense to me as my friends in their 40s have responsibilities for school-age children and aging parents and, in some cases, both at the same time. The pressures are great and their time is not their own.
If Blanchflower is right, all I can say is I wasn’t that ecstatic in my 20s so I have high hopes for my 70s!
Joking aside, the truth is I’ve lost my way. I know I’ve read the literature, but it doesn’t make it any easier experiencing it first-hand. My true self is relegated to third place after my role as mother and wife. Don’t get me wrong, I love and adore my children and husband, but I’ve somehow lost the essence of me in the demands of day-to-day realities.
I don’t want to be third place anymore. And I won’t be sucked into the myth that time spent on myself takes away from my family.
Like a drug habit I need to kick, I have to let go of my expectations of where I should be in standing and finances in my 40s. That get’s me nowhere – the grass is always greener on the other side.
I know I’m whining; something I tell my children not to do. Remember the conversation with my cousin? Well, another conversation took place in our 20s when she just had her children and I was “girl-about-town” in London, England and ready to conquer the business world. I chose to marry and have children late, and choices always have consequences we accept.
My present emotional “crisis” forces me to face my unhappiness head on. Can I view the death of past goals not as a loss or abandonment, but a rebirth of new and realistic ways to express my true goals? Even more basic than that, I want to reclaim the spark that led me to having dreams in the first place.
With two young children and financial obligations, I’m in no position to run off any time soon to channel my inner Mario Batali in Italy. I can, however, enroll in an Italian cookery class at the local community college or dare to admit to wanting to write a screenplay by connecting to local writers.
As a woman, I’m taught to be the person who makes it all better for everyone and I feel guilty about being emotional. I realize as I confront my fears it’s OK to show my emotions. Good thing, too as I’ve wailed to my husband and friends, and asked for their support. I’m crying now. No matter how old I am, the inner child in me needs my love and approval.
Essentially, I know my life is good and I give thanks for my blessings. Going forward, there are things I can’t delay, such as improving my health and living a healthy lifestyle. My goal is to be able to hit the dance floor when I become a grandmother!
I’m sure I’m not alone in my emotional crisis, but each of us is different and what’s painful for me may not be so for you. There are no cooker cutter guidelines. It’s too easy and trite to say do this and that, and all will be well, like tips in a circular email forwarded by a friend.
The first step for me is to admit the truth about myself. I am a writer, communicator, woman, mother, wife, friend, daughter and sister. I am someone who connects people and asks questions. I don’t often acknowledge my successes because they don’t seem quite good enough for a perfectionist like me. I have glossed over the strength it took and still takes to live in a different country and handle new situations without family networks. Deep down, I know I have the wherewithal to move through my emotional pain.
To hear the truth in my own words encourages me to nourish the green shoots of energy and excitement. I’m ready to rediscover who I am and find out what I want to do for the second half of my life.
By SUSAN S. CHEUNG
Susan is a freelance writer originally from London, England. She moved to Brentwood, Tenn. in July 2008 when her husband accepted a position at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. The family relocated after eight years in Albany, New York.
