My first child had just been born.
I was happily married, living in my small home town, down the road from my dad. My husband’s parents were up the road in the other direction. I’d enrolled in an online Masters in Teaching program, and was walking distance to the private Montessori school where I worked part time.
Life was perfect. Too perfect. It was suffocating.
It was around that time when I had my first panic attack. I watched my life play itself out, beginning to end, only to realize I had agreed to just about everything I had always said I’d never do.
I was never going to get married. Never going to have children, and I most certainly was never going to become a teacher. I was never going to move back to my home town, and I was never ever EVER going to settle down with someone who went to the same high school as me.
Never had gotten me into a whole heap of trouble.
As the room began to spin, I laid on my back in the middle of the living room. Our dog napped in the corner, un-phased by his owner unraveling beside him. My son slept in the back bedroom, oblivious to his mother’s mid-mid-life crisis taking place on the living room floor. I rolled over onto my stomach to try and keep my heart from jumping out of my chest.
What had I done?
My heart hiccuped a few more times before returning to a steady, all be it, accelerated pace and I stood up. A bit dizzy, I held onto the furniture and door jams as I made my way to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. Tea fixes everything.
On my way past the family photos hanging in the hallway I asked myself, “Do you really want to walk away from all of this? From your husband? Your child? Are you so ungrateful for all that you have going for you?”
The resounding response I heard from within was no.
It wasn’t a matter of regret or ungratefulness. I loved my husband and would marry him several times over if I had to. I loved my son and all that he brought into this world. I was passionate about education. Pursuing a Masters in Education made good sense. And being close to my dad and brother felt comfortable and safe.
But sometimes when we’ve operated on auto pilot for so long, we forget how to return to the steering wheel.
At the time, my dad was recently widowed and his longing for my mom was palpable. It made good sense to stick around. For him, and my brother, who was facing his own struggles. I wanted to be the strong matriarch for our broken little family and I wanted to keep them close so that if we fell apart, at least we could fall apart together.
My husband had just started his teaching career. He’d come home each day brimming with passion for his students, his colleagues, and the work of an educator. His sense of purpose was through the roof and I wanted to be the supportive wife for his dreams.
Life. MY life, made sense. It all added up. It just didn’t feel “right.” What was wrong with me?
Sitting at the kitchen table, cup of tea warming between my shaking hands, I played out each never for which I had subscribed to and asked myself, “If you had it to do over, would you?” Every single time, I answered yes, but.
Yes, but we need more balance in our relationship.
Yes, but I want to learn in-person, not online.
Yes, but I want to raise him overseas.
Yes, but it’s time to stop trying to be my mom for them.
Yes, but the dream looks different now.
Doing something just because it “make sense,” isn’t always a valid reason to keep doing it. Sometimes we must do the very thing that doesn’t make sense in order to know just how far we can take our dreams.
I wasn’t living the life I wanted. I was living the life that made sense. It was easy (relatively speaking) and it was predictable. I could rely on the way things would play out. And it wasn’t all bad. I wanted to keep the people I loved in my life. I had no regrets there. I continued to feel inspired by my husband’s passion for education. A Masters in Teaching was part of my new dream. I was glad to be there to support my brother and father, but it was time to let them stand on their own two feet.
In the end, my panic attack was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It didn’t lead me to my original dream but another one unfolded. One that allowed me to feel the freedom I craved, without sacrificing the closeness of loved ones.
That’s not to say that life has been perfect. Far from it! There’s been nothing predictable about choosing to follow my dreams. Working and raising children abroad is not easy by any stretch of the word (especially during a global pandemic). But, as it turns out, I wasn’t looking for easy… or perfect.
It’s normal to be seduced by perfection. It feels safe and lures us in with the promise of happiness.
But if we can recognize that perfection is inherently elusive, then we’re freed from the urge to pursue anything short of our deepest desires. Because even if we fall short of our dreams, we can take solace in the fact that we gave it our best shot. And more often than not, our dreams evolve and we discover they weren’t that far off after all.
. . .
Caveat: Everyone’s dreams look different. This article is not meant to suggest that one dream is better than another. Dreams are not hierarchical. If you’re living your dream, then there’s probably very little you’ll gain from this message.
But if you’re hiding out from your dreams, hoping that they’ll simply leave you alone eventually (like I thought), then maybe there’s something here that can help you figure out what your next step might be.
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This post was previously published on Change Becomes You.
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