I turned 47 last year.
No one heard about it, because I was not motivated to remind everyone of how witty, cool and relevant I still am with my yearly “birthday blog.” Then, I got married this year - something I had been looking forward to for such a long time. And if I was feeling my normal, obnoxiously petty self, I would have posted dozens of photos and blogged about that, too - just for my haters and his exes.
(I see you, still peeping our socials to make sure we’re not happier than you - SPOILER ALERT: we are.)
But again, there was no motivation. There hasn’t been in a while.
Even though I’ve been living in Mississippi for almost a full year, and I was excited to start a life here with my husband, to be honest it’s been kind of a struggle. Personally, professionally, mentally and emotionally ...
And parentally.
This isn’t a self-pity party, although my current mood and playlist says otherwise. However, I figured out the reason behind my “writer’s block:” what I wanted to write was not what I needed to write.
So, here I am, sitting in my dining room office, drinking an herbal tea (necessary lifestyle changes) and trying to work through my thoughts and feelings so that I will be able to move forward - mentally and creatively.
I want to go home. Back to our house in North Carolina.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Mississippi and I’m still optimistic about our life here. Even if I’ve spent the last year in a professional slump. Trying to start up my photography here hasn’t worked out so far. So, I’ve been reluctantly filling the role of ‘trophy wife’ (in every way except aesthetically).
And I know I married the right guy, because he has been extremely supportive of having a stay-at-home wife while encouraging me to create my own opportunities in all my endeavors. He’s put up with so much in exchange for homecooked meals: portrait test requests, craft project explosions in the kitchen, Amazon impulse buys, herbal teas, potions, vitamins and … frequent trips back home to work with clients … and to see my daughter.
Because he knows the biggest struggle for me is being so far away from her. She didn’t want to move with us, and I (reluctantly) respect that - she’s an adult now. And I know she wouldn’t be living at home forever. However, hours long phone calls and virtual hugs are not the same. No one prepared me for remote parenting.
The Internet defines this new transitional period in my life as ‘empty nest syndrome,’ which coincidentally, overlaps the other transitional period in my life - ‘post menopause.’
And it has been emotionally overwhelming.
One of my favorite quotes is by Margaret Stone: “Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”
It is profoundly accurate.
And absolutely antithetical to the ideas published in upbeat web articles aimed at “Empty Nesters.” They all acknowledge that it can be hard for parents to deal with an empty house in the beginning, but ‘oh, look at all the exciting things you will be able to do now’ that your kids are gone.
Some of which include sleeping in, walking around in various stages of undress and “sex anytime, anyplace, anywhere.”
Because that is every parent’s dream - to be a lazy, naked, nympho. WHEN THEY ARE OLD.
I mean, first of all, I’m pretty sure I have not walked around naked on purpose since I was a toddler. And it wasn’t my kid stopping me from doing that as an adult … although it was a good cover when I needed it and dammit, now I won’t have an excuse.
Juuust kidding. She wasn’t my only excuse. I just wish I could remember the other ones …
However, I did join a gym this year, hoping to help bring a moderate amount of sexy back … and prepare me physically for the “sex anytime, anyplace part” - you know, in case that turns out to be a thing.
And if our parents or kids are reading this: obviously, we do everything with our clothes on, nothing touches. There will be no nakedness or nymphomaniacal behavior here - only ocassional laziness.
But, I digress.
Some of the other “things I will love” about being an empty nester were laughable - and subjective. Like, who even is writing these articles? I’m a certain percentage sure it isn’t another ‘empy nester.’
Because I don’t know about other parents ‘post-parting,’ but aside from my daughter not living at home, nothing else really changed for me. All the extra free time comes from only working part-time. I still have the same responsibilities as before, but now I just … have more time to do them.
Speaking of, let me give a quick shout out to the real MVP - my husband - for keeping me busy in my free time by making sure there is always a butt load of laundry, dishes and cleaning. I don’t know what I’d do without him and the trail of socks he leaves from the door to the living room. Every day.
But I bet it wouldn’t be picking up socks. Kidding. Maybe.
I contribute to the dishes, too!
So, what is the ‘empty nest’ life like for me? Well, you could say it’s been … a learning experiment … I mean, I had all these plans on writing more, traveling, photographing and ... stuff. But what am I actually doing? Well, not that.
Check it:
I’m holding pop-up concerts in my kitchen using a karaoke app … and adding dance moves I learned from various social media challenges. It’s quite the spectacle. No, I won’t be posting footage to the interwebz - I haven’t hit peak mid-life crisis yet.
Thanks to YouTube, I was inspired to learn acrylic paint pouring. Now I have a garage wall gallery of abstract art, more coaster sets than I know what to do with, and all the art supplies. I am single-handedly keeping the craft stores here in business.
Probably the best investment in my physical, mental and social health was joining a CrossFit gym. Initially, it was because my husband suggested I lose a few pounds - and no, I didn’t kill him. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong. But it’s been worth it - each class comes with workout buddies! It’s hard enough to make friends in a new place, much less drag them to the gym so I don’t have to suffer alone.
It helped to keep me from ambushing my husband as soon as he came home from work every day, like “tell me what the outside world is like? Did you converse with people? Actual people? Tell me everything! WHAT ARE THEIR NAMES … do they smell nice?”
Humor aside, I realize now that I’ve been in a depression. But not the kind mixed with bitterness and petty betchiness I used to experience after getting dumped by some guy I thought I was dating, which would, in turn, motivate me to write a blog or do something creatively destructive with my hair. Some of my better blog posts - and worst bangs - have come from that kind of depression.
This was a subtle build, so I didn’t really notice at first. Subconsciously, I guess I recognized this transition as one of the last big milestones of parenting and my brain acted accordingly. I didn’t want to acknowledge it; like, if I ignored or denied it, maybe it wouldn’t be true. Post-parting has to be one of the hardest chapters in a parent’s story. Maybe it’s because I only have one kid. Or maybe I’m just being overly dramatic ... because I only have one kid.
Either way, this is where I am at right now. Alone in my feelings and procrastinating on the inevitable - letting go and embracing a new chapter in my life. Even if I don’t really know what that means.
The husband would say it means being the best trophy wife I can be - JUST KIDDING …
During her junior year of university, my daughter sent me a text (out of the blue) that brought me to tears. She said that I was her role model, an inspiration and the best mom, and thanked me for loving, believing in and encouraging her (paraphrasing). I think that whatever I do from here, I hope she can still say that, and be as proud of me as I am of her.
I can’t say that this post-parting depression has completely lifted, but maybe I can harness what’s left of it into a mid-life crisis novel. That seemed to work for the authors of Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey. Although I’m not quite sure how to turn a semi-autobiography into a fan-fiction trilogy - much less a single novel.
Considering none of those novels were literary masterpieces, how hard can it be, though … right?
In the meantime, I’ll just be over here, shaking my ass around the house, serenading the dishes and laundry, writing, painting and pretending I didn’t just turn 47, reach post-menopause and become an empty nester at the same time.
And that I don’t want my daughter to come back home to stay for just a little while longer.
