age is but a number in time

 shhh….

can you hear it?

tic-toc. tic-toc. tic-toc.

it’s rhythmic. 

up. 

down. 

up. 

down.

something i discovered about myself a while ago is that i am fixated with time. this ranges from near-manic obsession with the minutes of the day melting away to hyper-focusing on the passage of time, or the passING of time. is it any wonder i studied history? shockingly, though, i don’t really focus on the future in terms of what i’ll be, or even, will i be. “age” has always been an “other” to me. i can understand “age” in relation to the past, but i have trouble applying an understanding of it to the future (my future).

as a child, i thought that when i became an adult, i would have all the answers. i turned 18 and still had questions. then 21, 25, 30 and still had questions. when my mom passed away in 2016, she left behind a list of plans she hoped to one day complete. realizing that we will die never doing all we wanted to do saddened me to no end. i questioned, what was the point then? it still saddens me when i think about it, but i’m not as nihilistic about it anymore. despite all of this, i guess i always assumed that by retirement age and beyond, i would have figured out, at least, some things. right? Right?

recently, i watched the movie Poms starring Diane Keaton. it has an all-star cast that includes Rhea Perlman, Pam Grier, and Celia Weston. i had no idea what it was about, but i love Diane Keaton, so i pressed “play.” what a treat!

as i watched Diane Keaton’s character, Martha, navigate through the emotions of selling all her belongings and moving to a retirement community to live out the last weeks of her life, i began to ponder how necessary these types of movies are. nothing about the age of this cast made the movie any better or worse than a movie in which the cast is all under 30. the glaring difference, of course, is that Martha is staring mortality in the face. and…so…So What? well, i think, this is key. we all like to think we’re immortal and we all like to think we’re not going to age.

watching Poms made me fully realize something. life as we know it doesn’t end at a certain age, nor does it end *because* you’re a certain age, and people in their 70s still have similar concerns that i have in my 40s, many of which are similar to the concerns i had in my 20s. sure, aspects of a 40-something-year old are different from the 20-something version, but, i believe, the core of who we are remains a pretty straight line. i watched these older women face challenges of friendship and family, sex and sexiness, and self-acceptance. you mean, none of those challenges get fully solved by your 70s? by golly! how refreshing!

in the movie, Martha and her friends want to be cheerleaders and are faced with obstacles varying from ageism to sheer physical challenges. of course, they overcome all that, even if the physical part is a bit slower. and, there’s nothing wrong with that! no one can expect a 75-year old body to operate in the same way a 25-year old body would. the depressing truth is that we have been conditioned to hide away the 75-year old body. why? the human body is beautiful and mesmerizing. when treated well and when respected, it can achieve so much, regardless of age. i think we need to honor bodies of all ages and stages, and we need to not hide them after a certain time - especially women’s bodies. we are so hungry for youth and remaining young that we deny the possibilities of what beauty and adventure awaits us when we are no longer a young age.

it brought me so much joy to watch Martha and her cheer squad rehearse their routines and learn different movements, not to mention being challenged to love and accept themselves as they are. i knew what the movie’s ending would bring and, yet, i still cried because it hit close to home, but my heart was so full. this kind of a movie underscores that we won’t have it all figured out by 75, or 80, or 100, should we live that long. but, that is OK because what matters most is that we appreciate the now. strangely, knowing i won’t have it all figured out in 30+ years doesn’t bother me as much as not achieving dreams and long-term to-do lists. there’s that pesky issue with time creeping in, but, with that aside, it’s important to remember that it’s the memories we make along the way that help guide us over the years. by ignoring the fact we won’t, or don’t, have the agility of our youth dishonors all that we have experienced. these experiences, after all, helped usher us into an older age in the first place.

at 75, one may not be able to run a 25K, but it doesn’t mean you cannot run. at 85, one may not be able to dance with a dance company, but it doesn’t mean you cannot dance. at 95, the wrinkles can’t be hidden, but it doesn’t mean one must hide. run, dance, and be seen, but, most importantly, smile in any way you can at whatever age you are. 

your soul will love it.

tic-toc.

Reproductive Remorse

So you’re a mom with reproductive remorse. Interesting. A mom who wishes she never had her kids. Ok. It’s, “I love my kids, but…”  

Not that I want to invalidate someone’s feelings, but, after reading articles such as this, I urge the women who feel reproductive remorse to give a different set of reasons since the ones I’ve read are disingenuous.

One of the top reasons for regretting having had kids is Time — wishing for more of it, wishing for “free time,” “me time,” and “us time.” I don’t know how this is unique to people with kids, but let me try to break it down a bit. My husband and I had kids later in life, but I don’t remember the last time I had “free time” or “me time.” My schedule always consisted of waking up early and hitting the gym, putting in a full day’s work, coming home, making dinner, cleaning up, getting some writing done and at some point sitting down to watch TV. My schedule with two kids is not that different except for working out, which I hope to resume in the near future. And whatever “free time” I had before kids was usually unfocused and stressed because in the back of my mind I was thinking about all the practical things that needed to get done.

So, what is “free time, really”? I think I was in my 20’s the last time I had genuine, real “free time” in which I could take two hours to write in my journal, or hang out with friends on a whim without worrying too much about bills or meeting deadlines. As for “us time,” it was, of course, a little easier before kids, but it certainly hasn’t gone away. My husband and I were both movie buffs who stopped going to movies regularly eons ago because it got too annoying to deal with crowds and obnoxious people on their cell phones. It also got frustrating to sacrifice a decent dinner just to catch the one movie that would let out early enough for us to face our responsibilities the next morning (and I’m including weekends here). Going out to a dinner for two was a lot more fun in our 20’s when we didn’t pay attention to crowds, and going out with large groups of friends was actually never much fun because we got tired of paying $70 for $20 worth of food. As a result, we have found other ways to have “us time” from enjoying TV shows together to going wine tasting to finding ourselves on the couch talking and laughing.

As for “me time,” I believe we have it all the time. Maybe just not the way we want. When I was in college and making $4.25 an hour, my “me time” included having lunch, going to a movie for $4 about 3 times a week, buying snacks and still having money left over to buy whatever CD or book I’d want at Barnes & Noble. When I finally got a professional job, years before kids, I didn’t have the time to go see a movie once a week, much less three. And if I did, I wouldn’t be able to see a movie, buy snacks, and have money left over, that’s for sure. And why is that? Because things change. 

When I turned 30, I became serious about my creative pursuits, so my “me time” became creative time whether it was writing or working on film projects. In my first trimester with my first daughter, I was depressed because I thought that any time I had for my creative pursuits would disappear. I ended up being more creative and more focused in her first two years of life than I was in my previous thirty-five (and I continue to be so). What changed was valuing the “me time” I could find, not squandering it, and not thinking about what else I could be doing. Like with anything, it’s about choices.

I also don’t think it’s genuine when someone says you can have kids and say you love them, yet wish you never had them. What that telegraphs is, “I love you, child, but only because you’re here and it is expected of me.” Who wants to feel that? If you truly wish you didn’t have kids, then let them go. Give them up so that they’re with someone who does want them, because not feeling wanted is one of the worst feelings one can feel especially from one’s own biological parent. Susan Forward, Ph.D., author of Mothers Who Can’t Love, A Healing Guide for Daughters, wrote: “There’s a shame around [being unloved by your mother], like there’s something wrong with you. If I wasn’t loved maybe I wasn’t lovable.” [1] There’s so much pain that surrounds us that children really must feel safe with their parent(s). You can’t be half in and half out. What happens to a marriage or any relationship with that attitude? Exactly.

In addition, life is too short to live in resentment, and if all you’re doing is waiting for the kids to turn 18 so they can legally leave the house, then you’ve closed yourself off from any lesson they could possibly teach you. I personally can admit that I would not have been a very good mother in my 20’s or early 30’s. And because I *knew* this, I did what I had to do to avoid becoming one. This is a very different sentiment from reproductive remorse. Whatever the reason a woman ends up having children, the consequences of making that decision shouldn’t be taken out on the child. However, this does prompt a larger discussion about the pressures put on women to have children, but that is another subject entirely. [2]

Recently, I read a complaint from a woman who was tired of having to look for a babysitter when going out. Really? That’s a reason you wish you didn’t have kids? This mom and her husband must have had the energy to go out every single night of the week before kids, and now they find it annoying and exhausting to find a babysitter. Most parents I know have a few babysitters on hand and make plans ahead of time. I would make plans ahead of time with friends when I was a teenager! And though nightlife may seem exhausting because of the kids, I discovered two years before our first child — while on my feet at a general-admission Nine Inch Nails show — that I could no longer stay up past 11pm anyway… which brings me to my last point.

The biggest reason for reproductive remorse is the wish for the life one had before kids. This irks me the most. How can you expect to have the life of a twenty-something in your 30’s or 40’s or beyond? None of us wants to get older. We all wish we were still in our 20’s, before the realities of a job started wearing us down, before the anxieties of bills and a mortgage, before the challenges of raising children. I’m a stay-at-home mom and I’ve had countless moments when I wished I had an office door I could shut in order to escape for a few moments. But not once have I wished that my two daughters were out of my life, even in the most difficult moments — and this is coming from someone who for 32 years was vehemently against having kids. I hope that those who wish they never had kids find some peace in their heart, because life should be made of up moments that make you want more, not less.

1. Shouse, Amy. My Mom Didn’t Want to Be a Mother. Dame Magazine, http://www.damemagazine.com/2015/05/07/my-mom-didnt-want-be-mother. Accessed 5 Sep. 2016. 

2.  Excellent article about this topic. http://jezebel.com/we-need-to-talk-about-women-who-regret-motherhood-1635470629