Today I emailed the leader of our church small group to tell
her that, although it’s a painful decision and we love them, we simply have to
find a group that’s closer to us where we can occasionally participate and feel
like we’re part of a little community. The group had relocated to a house that
takes us 20-25 minutes to drive to right on the edge of rush-hour traffic. As a
result, it was a good week when one of us could go. And that didn’t happen very
often anymore.
I hated doing that. I’ve put it off for months. Even though
we’ve met with most of these people weekly for nearly two years and have eaten
together, laughed together, prayed and seen the healing hand of God together. And
now we find that, because of how our son has redefined our lives so
fundamentally, we have to back out of pretty much everything and start over
with what is possible.
The fact is, group starts right about the time we put our
son to bed. And right now, that bedtime is more important than pretty much
anything else. It’s more important that our social lives. More important than how
much time we get to spend playing with him after being at work all day (which
is not much).
You’d think that knowing this is a temporary sacrifice would
make the transition easier, and that would be true. But while family is top
priority, it also adds to the isolation that apparently comes with being a
parent of an infant. We thought we’d become part of some larger community of
people with babies, but that hasn’t happened either. Instead, most of the women
I know who have babies are also about 15-20 years younger than me, so there’s
not a lot of common ground.
I’m grateful to be part of a growing online community of new
mothers over 40, but that’s not the same as quality time with friends. And it
certainly doesn’t help my husband much, who needs that community at least as
much as I do.
Looking back, I started redrawing the boundary lines when I was
pregnant. The more tired I got, the more activities I pulled out of and the
further back I pulled those lines. I kept redrawing them until I admitted that I
pretty much couldn’t do anything anymore. That was pure self-preservation and I
didn’t feel a whit of guilt for it. But now I do.
I want to be part of community. I want to give of my time,
talent and treasure through our church. Now, though, I just have to admit that I
can never really say “yes” to anything but only “maybe” and even then I have to
be choosy. I’m genuinely baffled when I see people who have more than one child
who still volunteer or manage to break away for social activities on a regular
basis. It makes me wonder what I’m doing wrong – is there a magic combination and
I’m just off by a few numbers? And here I am working four days a week with my husband
and one kid, thinking I’m busy (insert sardonic laugh here).
So I guess I’m starting over. I’m erasing the lines I’ve
drawn and admitting I don’t know how to draw them anymore. Maybe I’ve been using
the wrong pencil? I’m standing outside the puzzle until I figure out how to fit
in again, or at least which side needs to be adjusted so I feel like I fit
better and know what that looks like. Until then, it’s no commitments and no
Yes’s. Just me. One day at a time.
