Today I was adding up the numbers for my tax accountant–you know those numbers that show how much money you’ve earned–hopefully doing what you love–and then the amount you spent–those deductions–the cost of doing what you love.
I love writing. It is my passion.
But were it not for my benefactor (a loving husband) and my children supporting me at this I could not write. I would have published nothing. And if I had it would mean absolutely nothing–at least not to me, and I doubt if the stories would hold any substance for readers.
No amount of money can equal the hours my children have spent waiting for me to leave and drive them some place or to pick them up from an event to which I taken them. I’m consistently late. And I always have a book in my hand. My stories and characters are forever at the forefront of my consciousness.
And yet teachers of my youngest consistently admonish me for doing too much of her projects.
I am a very involved parent. Perhaps more so because I feel torn–that my writing has taken more of me than is healthy for a mother to give and still claim to love her children.
I want my daughters to know what it means to pursue your dreams at whatever the cost–not withstanding hurting your children, yourself or any other innocent bystander.
But at a time when people seem more focused on producing at whatever low quality time allows and to achieved fame by any means I want my life and my work to be a statement and memory that lives within them of what it means to focus on and become absorbed in the process of creating what you love–and offering up to the world your personal best.
My eldest who is scheduled to graduate college and has applied to dual degree programs in both law and international studies tells me that I am a guide for her. She also says that I am her best friend.
My youngest tells me that when I die she wants me to haunt her–“Just don’t scare me when you come back,” she says.
My husband tells me that despite what I may think he’s determined that his life would not have been better with someone else–a person more organized and full of emotions as I view myself. He’s so loving. He is also the muse for all the male characters in my stories. I love all my characters, especially the men.
My middle–a startling replica of me both psychologically and spiritually–struggles with her self-worth and to remain committed to maintaining the beat of her drum and walking in time with the whispers that emerge from within the pulsations of her heart.
It’s scary when you matter so much.
What’s your story of how much you mean despite all you may think?
Thank you for sharing …although I am not a mother, as a wife I do agree with you. Love your new blog
GoodReads-Friend
Again I am glad to find a colleague in arms in the battle to find balance between doing the things we love and responsibility to those we love.
Thanks for stopping by and taking time to comment.
Wonderful article.
I understand exactly what you talking about. As a full time employee for “Da Man” (lol), mother of 3, wife, professional reviewer, and newbie author striving to finish my first wip, I am often conflicted. Torn between how to balance the little “free time” I do have between writing and my other pursuits, and my family.
I too want to be an example to my children of what it means to pursue your drives at all costs, but yet not neglecting your love ones and alienated all of human kind in the process.
The quote from your youngest daughter is one of the cutest, most heartfelt things I have read in a while.
Thanks for sharing.
Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.
It’s great working for our families and to be able to commit ourselves to our husbands and children.
And we certainly love what we do.
But because we are so thankful and the people we work for are those we hold most dearly we also face the fact that we lost objectivity many times and don’t stop and take care of ourselves which is priority when being a fulltime wife and mother.
Thanks so much for your support and comment.