It was an unremarkable October morning. Nothing to distinguish it from countless other October mornings, except I don’t think the sun was shining as it usually does in October. Gray, dreary. Unusual for October, but I didn’t much notice or care given that I was in a gray, dreary state myself.
I dragged myself out of bed that miserable morning, shuffled down the stairs, my flip flops barely leaving the ground (I do hate the sound of shuffling flip flops). I dejectedly made breakfasts and school lunches, and sent them out the door and down the street, with an audible sigh of relief. Dragged myself and my flip flops back upstairs.
I found myself, a few hours later, hunched over my phone hurriedly typing a Facebook message to a woman I’d never met and didn’t know. Still in my car with the seatbelt on, I frantically typed these words to this stranger: “…really enjoy your writing… wonder if you’d take a look… not sure… don’t know…”
Feeling very loser-ish and almost despairing, I hit send and unwrapped myself from the cocoon of the car. The fog was starting to lift. Just a teeny bit.
The day could not have been less wonderful. Less great. Less brilliant. It wasn’t even an ordinary, unremarkable day. It was a shitty day. They’d been going on for weeks, those shitty shitty days.
I longed to be somewhere and someone else. Somewhere I didn’t wake up in the morning and have to toast waffles and make cream cheese sandwiches and curse myself for unknowingly using the last square of toilet paper.
Somewhere I didn’t hate the sound of my own voice, pitched high with annoyance as I told them to “hurry up” and “brush your teeth” and “you’re going to be late.” Somewhere I didn’t hate the sound of their voices, as they nonchalantly chatted to each other, ignoring my constant, frantic reminders. Oh how I wished they would leave already!
I longed to be someone other than a mom, a wife, a nag, a caring friend, a woman trapped in this deceptively unfeminist time. Yes, you can have it all, if all is cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping and exercising and Target runs and teacher conferences and doctor appointments and endless carpools and mommying and losing yourself in the mind-numbing minutiae of every single day. A never-ending downward spiral of purposelessness and loss of self. All for you.
It usually takes a painful jolt when you hit the bottom to realize how impossible it is to live this way. And there’s nowhere to go but up once you’re at that dark, stinky bottom.
She wrote back, this woman I didn’t (and still don’t) know. She is a writer I admire and follow online, one who writes with honesty and truth about things I understand: parenting, living away from family, death, love, friendship. She is a writer and editor for a site I enjoy and wildly imagined writing for myself.
It was an unremarkable morning in October, except the sun was not shining as it usually does. And I had hit the very hard bottom.
Nowhere to go but up.
She was mildly encouraging, the anonymous editor, but very rushed and not at all bothered with my personal angst and insecurities, with my trepidations and desperations. She didn’t care that I was struggling to find my way. She didn’t care that I was a stay-at-home mom or that sometimes I didn’t eat for days at a time and always enjoyed one cocktail too many. She didn’t care at all.
And for once, neither did I. I didn’t care that she wasn’t attentive or full of praise and validation. I didn’t care that she didn’t respond to my email, or follow up or check in. The password she sent so that I could log into the site and publish my work was all I needed to breathlessly climb out of that wallowing pool of self-pity, to leap off that ledge of doubt, to write my own soaring way through this new somewhere I found myself.
And just like that, I was no longer a mom, a wife, a friend, a carpool driver, a grocery shopper, an unhappy woman trying to find her way in a dark and twisty labyrinth that has no beginning and definitely no end.
What I became in that moment was who I am today: a writer.
Originally published on The Roar Sessions, a weekly series featuring original guest posts by women of diverse backgrounds and voices, inspired and curated by the phenomenal she-power Jena Schwartz. Thank you, Jena, for giving me the space to Roar!
Next shitty shitty day I have, I’ll be back to read your words again. To remember that we write our way up and out. Big love to and for you and your words!
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Right back at’cha! xo
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Oh how I related to your post. I’ve been there, I think we’ve all been there but then we claw ourselves out of it. Out of the hole and back up again. So glad you found yourself. Warmest wishes to you.
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Thank you so much Miriam. Your words really touch me.
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My pleasure. They were heartfelt.
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I very much enjoyed reading this post – now I want to Roar too.
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Let ‘er rip Cee-Jay!
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Haha! I have enough problems to sound LOUD and AUTHORATIVE as it is without rupturing my voice box.
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Beautifully written and clothing my honest. Thank you for your courage to share your story 😌. Sending respect and truckloads of gratitude. 💜💖
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Reblogged this on Appreciating This Complicated Life and commented:
A bit of inspiration from a writing mother …
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Love your honesty, can relate to your struggles, glad you’re clawing your way out. Go get ’em girl!
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Todah chaverah! xxx
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WOW . . . love and relate to so so so much.
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Thank you Nina.
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Oh Nicki. Raw and real and beautiful. I was in this place last week, and it’s just… hard. I love your solution and determination. ❤
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Thank you sweet Dakota. Write or bust, right?! 🙂 Know that you are not alone xx
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WOW! I love this! Describing the day as an ordinary grey day, makes it all the better! I, too, feel the cycle you described constantly juggling everyone else’should needs and wants besides your own.
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Thank you so much, for coming by and for leaving this lovely comment. Doesn’t it help so much to know we are not alone in all this?
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I can relate to this so much it’s eerie! I missed this Roar in Jena’s blog but very happy to read it now.
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So happy you found it, Dana! Thank you.
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I could relate to this so so much. I’ve just now in the past year started seeing myself again as somebody other than a mom. As a writer. I even say it out loud when people ask what I do. I still get weird looks, but at least I’m saying it! I can tell in your writing voice, Nicki, that you’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching and exploring as a person, as a woman, as a writer, and it’s always a joy to stop by here.
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Oh, how I relate. I often feel like the person I function as during the day has nothing to do with the person I actually am. Writing helps. Thank you for writing so honestly. Thank you for writing, period. 🙂
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Katia your words mean so so much to me. Thank YOU, Chavera :).
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I like your article, very inspiring and thank you for your post 😊😊😊😊
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Thank you!
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beautifully written.. respect 🙂
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