In Which I Put On My Own Oxygen Mask

Parenting is a lot of work. I don't know a parent who wouldn't agree with that. If you're parenting a child with any type of special need, be it social, educational, intellectual, behavioral, health, or some other category I haven't thought of, it's exponentially harder than normal parenting (which, as I already mentioned, is no easy jaunt through Candyland to begin with).  Because of this, it's easy to lose sight of who you are outside of being a parent. I think this is especially true for stay at home parents.

For nearly 15 years now, my primary identity has been as a mom, first as Squirrelboy's mom and later as Kittygirl and Squirrelboy's mom. I had to deal with a little bit of extra stuff fairly early on when Squirrelboy failed to start talking on time and I had to get him evaluated and eventually get speech therapy. As Squirrelboy's dyslexia and then his ADHD became apparent as he went through school my plate got even fuller. With Kittygirl's type 1 diabetes diagnosis, my plate was so full it no longer really resembled a plate but rather a huge pile of stuff that might possibly be hiding a plate underneath it.

My mom identity morphed when Kittygirl was no longer a preschooler and it was a little bit less acceptable to be "just a stay at home mom", but I saved myself a lot of judgment by homeschooling Squirrelboy for the next three years. Now that both kids are in school for 7 hours a day I've been getting a lot of questions about what I'm going to do next. Granted, if I had a penny for every time someone had asked me that I'd only have about 20 cents, but that's still a lot of questions.

There are a lot of things I might enjoy doing. Raising a kid with diabetes has gotten me interested in the medical field and I've toyed with the idea of going back to school to become a nurse, particularly with an interest in being a school nurse. I've also started subbing very part time as a helper at Kittygirl's former preschool and I've been reminded of just how much I love preschoolers. In that same vein, I really enjoyed teaching at Squirrelboy's homeschool coop and I've toyed with the idea of getting certified to teach.

All of those ideas have some pretty big flaws, however. In nursing, the only thing that's really interesting to me is helping kids with diabetes, and the fact is there's no guarantee that any school that hired me would even have students with diabetes and that wouldn't be my main job even if they did. In order to teach in any realm long term I would need to go back to school. Ditto with nursing. At 44, I'm just not keen on fitting school back into my life, let alone paying for it. Mind you, I haven't totally discarded those ideas. I still may go in one of those directions eventually.

However, what really gives me joy is writing. I've always considered myself a writer, even when I wasn't actively actually writing. I had a few magazine pieces published before Squirrelboy was born, and I finished a middle grade novel that was summarily rejected by a slew of publishers when he was a toddler. At that point, I shelved both the novel and my writing dreams and concentrated on being a mom.

I'm beginning to realize, however, that who I am as a person and not just as a wife and mother has gotten buried over the years. Don't get me wrong. I've loved all the time I've been able to spend with my kids and I don't regret it. What I do regret is not carving out even a little bit of time for my own pursuits, including writing. A large part of the reason I started this blog was to force myself to write regularly.

The blog has done its job. I have recently begun learning what it takes to submit your work to an agent, which is the route that might have been best 14 years ago, but is definitely the best choice now if I'm serious about getting my fiction published. I've dusted off my novel, joined a critique group, and realized that the manuscript I thought was ready for submission 14 years ago needs some serious work.

To that end, I've realized that I'm going to do that I can't dedicate quite as much time to my blog. Don't worry, you handful of faithful readers. I'm not giving up the blog entirely. I'm just no longer planning to write every weekday. I still plan to check in at least once a week, sometimes probably even two or three times.

Keep reading, and, if you too have allowed parenthood to bury your identity, find your own way to begin digging your way out. It will probably look entirely different from my way, but that's okay. Oh, and about the title.... Remember how in the emergency instructions on a flight you're told to put on your own oxygen mask before assisting someone else? As you've probably heard, that image has been used as a metaphor by more than one writer to encourage people to care for themselves before pouring themselves into caring for others. I'm nearly 15 years late, but I'm finally putting on my own oxygen mask.