The most confessional post ever.

I’m so settled, career-wise.  I do something I love, at a pretty good place to do it, with people I like and respect.  There are awful days, but overall, it works.  I know what I do makes  a difference, too.  And I can see some of the steps in the “where do I go from here” question…

But.  There are other ways in which I feel so, so ready to grow up, to figure it out, to leave behind the playing around stage and move into the this-is-what-I-want stage.  I see mothers with little children and even though I cannot begin to imagine how anyone finds time to be the kind of teacher I am while simultaneously raising a child—- still, I see it and I want it at such a deep level it almost hurts.  I guess this is what is rather coldly referred to as the “biological clock” but should probably be renamed something warmer that gets at the tug inside you that just pulls harder and harder.

And now I find myself alone again and pretty sad and a little hurt and with self-esteem bottoming-out, and yet accepting that in the end, it frees me for the moment when I find what you can never truly look for.  But the things I want seem so far away and out of reach, and in the meantime, so much is lost, it’s like a big chunk has been bitten out of my life and left empty.

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1 Comment

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One response to “The most confessional post ever.

  1. “I see mothers with little children and even though I cannot begin to imagine how anyone finds time to be the kind of teacher I am while simultaneously raising a child”

    As someone finishing my degree in Social Work and wanting to work with troubled teens, I had been struggling with this dilemma as well … My adopted Nana, who was a nurse, put my fears at ease just before she passed last year. She told me that you always have the time and energy for your own children, no matter how exhausted/worn out/etc you are at the end of your work day. I’m not ready for kids yet, but I hope she’s right and will hopefully test her theory one day 🙂 Hopefully it gives you some hope too …

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