Shifting Into Unfamiliar Skin

I recently flew to San Diego to attend a writing conference. The night before the conference began, I met a friend from last year’s conference and a friend of hers for dinner.

The three of us sat around a table overlooking the water and discussed our journeys as writers. We instantly connected as we shared about our children, work, and love of writing.

Excitement filled us when we each described the stories consuming us, but that excitement faded when the conversation turned to something else: finding time in the midst of our many commitments to write.

Fortunately, our spouses supported us in our pursuits.

Unfortunately, we let our emotions get in the way when they tried to assist us in what seemed to them like the best way: cooking, cleaning, and helping around the home.

Each kind, loving act from our husbands was met with questions:

• Is there something wrong with my cooking?

• Why are you doing that?

• I thought I was supposed to do that?

I laughed with my writing friends as we discussed our puzzling commonality, but underneath our laughter was guilt. We knew our spouses were only trying to help and that it would be difficult to pursue our passions without their support. It was confusing that we questioned their help, especially since it was offered from their love for us.

Why were we resisting?

Our conversation around the dinner table stayed with me long after the restaurant closed for the night. A splinter of it reemerged on my flight home four days later.

A sweet family with three children under the age of 8 was seated in my row. I watched and engaged with them on my flight home.

The mom reminded me of a piece of myself that seems to be changing into something new.

She lovingly played games with her children, looked at pictures with her children, and snuggled with her children. She laughed and assisted when the smallest one spilled her juice and wiped the cookie crumb trail from her son’s shirt and lap.

She never tired of her motherly duties.

I reflected on my own motherhood. My youngest child is entering her second year of middle school. I am reminded of her growing independence every day.

My middle son just received his license and doesn’t seem to be home as often anymore.

My oldest son is one semester away from a college degree and, outside of hugs, he is long past snuggling with me.

My cherished role as their mommy is shifting.

My writing friends and I had uncovered another shift: the balance between our roles as wives and authors. The responsibilities of our new roles as writers was blurring with our previous responsibilities as wives and mothers. We were not only shifting into new roles, but trying to maintain our old roles. This left us with questions about our identities and where we fit in.

Our roles seem labeled by our responsibilities—responsibilities which wrap us in a certain identity that we package with a bow and present to the world. That identity seems to unravel when our responsibilities shift.

It’s easy to see why we would resist the shift.

Change is difficult. It requires vulnerability, letting go, and taking chances as we shift into the unknown. Yet, to reach our goals and dreams, the shift is necessary. The shift is where we learn, grow, and transform into something new.

The transformation comes not when we mold ourselves into roles and responsibilities that box us into a broad identity, but when we let life mold us into our most unique and authentic selves.

I hope that you will let go of the packaged identity that seems safe and defined and grow with me. It’s the only way to achieve the most distinctive you!