I had a meltdown yesterday. A full-fledged “I’m so over it”, “I’ve lost my purpose”, “No one understands me,” “The kids do not respect me,” “I hate my job,”(not true) and “I have no money,” (also not true)….capital M…. Menopausal MELTDOWN.
My husband looked at me like I was crazy and then slowly, with wide eyes, offered, “Would you like for me to put some money in your account?”
“No,” I responded. “Well, I don’t know, maybe,” I hesitated.
“Yes, put some money in my account, please and thank you.”
Embarrassed, I grabbed my book and took my middle school-behaving self to bed at 6:30 p.m. I heard him release a sigh of relief as I exited the room. Perhaps he was thinking, “Wow…that was easy. Maybe the next time she has a menopausal meltdown, I’ll just offer up cash.”
As I walked away, my internal dialogue had a converse thought. “Wow…that was easy. Maybe the next time I need money, I’ll have another menopausal meltdown.”
I don’t hate my job….and I’m not completely broke. I’m just finishing my post-holiday slow season, so let’s just say that the money does not flow as freely this time of year. However, I am fortunate that while my income mostly allows my children and I to indulge in extracurriculars, it is mostly supplemental. I know that not everyone has it that easy.
Truth of the matter is that my job and my sparse winter income had nothing to do with my meltdown. I’m not even sure if I can completely blame Mother Menopause, although she certainly has a stronghold on my emotions these days. I’ve always thought that it was a cruel joke that our children go through puberty and the teenage years at the same time we enter our second puberty. (File that under: conversations I’ll have with God one day).
And just about the time we have had enough and imagine kicking our ungrateful precious slobs offspring to the curb, reality sets in. In just a few short months, they will be on the curb (college), and I will regain control of my own house, my own schedule, possibly my own sanity, and my own destiny.
Hence.the.meltdown. I am not ready.
For the past nineteen, almost twenty years, everything in my life has been centered around my children. After having my two children thirteen months apart, I realized that my goal in life was no longer to be successful, but rather to raise two successful, happy and grounded children. I shifted my career so that I could do something that was flexible, that would allow me to go to every riding lesson, every music lesson, every birthday party, every doctor’s appointment, every game and every major event possible. I have been at their beck and call – sometimes to their benefit and sometimes to their detriment. I have not regretted that decision even for one second and fully recognize this privilege.
I have been an Uber driver, a therapist, a short-order cook, a cheerleader, a disciplinarian, a meddler, a chronic nagger, a consoler, an essay reviewer/editor/ghost writer, a Spanish tutor (despite having not taken one day of Spanish in my life), a banker, an enabler, and a not no, but hell no-er. I even took a brief stint as a home school teacher (ask me how I feel about that). I’ve been a friend, and I’ve been enemy number one probably more times than I care to count.
And while some of these jobs will continue in perpetuity, I am beginning to see many of them come to their untimely demise. I am no longer needed, or even wanted, the way that I used to be. For those of us whose lives have been so deeply intertwined with the lives of our children, it is not difficult to understand why so many of us feel so lost in transition right now.
Several months ago, I was talking with a friend of mine who is an amazing general surgeon. Having just sent the third of her children off to college, she teared up when she told me that she felt that she had lost her purpose. To be honest, I was completely dumbfounded that someone who had a successful career actually SAVING THE LIVES OF OTHERS could feel this way. However, she explained that while she loved her job, her most important job was being a mother to her three kids and that her children took priority over anything. And now that they were out of the house, she felt lost.
To be honest, I had no sage words of wisdom for her in that moment. I could only walk in anticipatory solidarity as this is soon to become my fate in a few short months. This is a universal fate in which some of us thrive, while others of us flounder. While my hope is for the former, my propensity is toward the latter.
There is no map for this, and my Waze app is down. (Side note: The British boy band voice on Waze truly is the only way to go). I am simply going to have to find my own way.
I am not sure what the future holds for me as a soon-to-be empty nester. My purpose will always remain the same, despite the downgrade from being an active participant to being a very opinionated bystander. But now, I also seek a NEW purpose…or at least a distraction to help alleviate some of the pain of the (soon-to-be) empty rooms at the top of the stairs.
This will be my therapy, and I invite you to make it yours if you wish. Comment, contribute, or just roll your eyes at me as I talk myself out of the empty nest. Perhaps my breakdown will become my breakthrough. Or maybe it will simply save money on therapy bills. I do not yet have a clear path of where this little blog will go, but if it keeps me out of a psych ward, that might be enough.
Roman statesman and philosopher Seneca said that “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” 1998 Heather believed that phrase originated with the song “Closing Time” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=970Lq2M_ld0) by one-hit wonder Semisonic. Or wait, was it Third Eye Blind?? (Aren’t you happy you’ll have that song in your head for the rest ofthe day?).
Anyway, here’s to embracing new beginnings. And welcome.