Losing Myself

reflections of a middle-aged, 

stay-at-home, 

home-educating, 

rurally located, 

mother of four 

(from toddler to teen)

I used to feel attractive, competent.  

I had free time, dreams; I could breathe.  

Now I face an unending onslaught of urgency and drudgery.  

My body is wilted, worn, and wasted.  

My mind is a churning, jumbled muddle.

For a time I would fret. 

I felt trapped, that I had nothing left. 

I felt used, abused.  

I had given so much for so long. 

I worried that I had lost myself, forgotten how to be, forgotten me. 

Then I looked at what I would have to do to have a better body, nice clothes. 

I explored what it would require to “take care of myself.” 

I saw what would happen if I regularly took “time for me.”  

I had to decide: would being slender, muscular, rested, or self-nurtured make me truly happy or help my family? 

Were beauty, respite, good health or longevity more important than my own children’s desires, best interests, and needs?

In the end, I am willing to pay the cost, and cannot face what would be lost. 

In trying to nurture me, in seeking health, I would be consumed in self. 

I would be empty in a different way. 

I would have the space, but lose the close fit, the tight knit. 

Now I understand, embrace, and rest assured in my choice.

Giving defines me. 

Loving consumes me. 

Emptying myself fills me. 

I have lost myself... willingly...

and gained a thriving family.