Leaving and Letting Go – The Eve of a Renaissance

by L.K. Whitney

It was still a little warm outside when we packed the moving truck and drove to Birmingham late last November.  One fate-filled conversation about free babysitting had somehow snowballed into a job

transfer and pair of tenants in our cozy Charleston cottage.   It’s been roughly two months since we unloaded all our belongings into my in-law’s garage.  And yes, it’s been rough.

I’m not a negative person, but I won’t deny the truth.  The weather’s been cold, stark, and rainy.  Then there’s the cabin fever, the discomfort of crashing at somebody else’s house for an indefinite amount of time while we look for a new home, the stomach-churning angst associated with never quite measuring up to the mother-in-law’s cooking, cleaning, and caring for…(sigh).

I’m exhausted.

Picture this:  Three months ago I was a full-throttle, full-time professional with a blackberry, “lunch meetings” and presentations to the Chairman of the Board.  Today I’m a stay at home mum to an 18 month old in a strange and unfamiliar city. I no longer earn an income, meaning I’m no longer independent.  For the first time in my adult life I’m…(deep breath)…CO-dependent.

What the hell just happened?

I won’t exhaust the obvious heartaches involved with leaving your beautiful home, career, and strong friend network behind in pursuit of “what’s best for the family”.  I won’t beg for pity since I’m willing to bet a few of you have been in my black patent mary janes at some point or another.

I’d like to highlight several components of this move, though, that have me troubled.  Perhaps you can relate…

1 – I’ve lost the “power source”, that amazing network of women who stood by me as I grew my career, as I became a wife and, most importantly, as I became a mother.  We had book club, wine-n-walk, yoga Mondays…we had, at the end of every day, a sisterhood built of steel.  Those types of relationships take time.  Time, I’m realizing, is not my own anymore.  So when, I ask, will life allow me to find a new group of inspiring and like-minded ladies?  How long must I go without this crucial interaction?

2 – I’ve become a subtitle. Once upon a time I was the center of attention, the spotlight, the Pièce de résistance.  Now I walk into a room and I’m “his wife” or “his Mum”.  My name has so quickly become a subtitle and, well, that’s just a little hard to take.

3 – I’m a recluse. I drive around in silence for hours each week during “naptime” just so I can escape the home that isn’t my own.  (It’s a good way to learn my way around the city.)  I do my best to stay scarce and keep quiet during the day.  (The DH works from home now and the MIL doesn’t work, so I’m always trying to stay out of somebody’s way.)  I don’t wash my hair very often.  (I’m lucky if I get fifteen minutes per day for personal maintenance.  Hats are becoming a wardrobe staple.)

Don’t let me come across as ungrateful.  I’m not complaining, really I am not.  Truth be told I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, so maybe this is a cheap shot at making myself feel better.  I’ll take what I can get.

Sure, I can regain a great group of friends in this new city.  I can patiently adjust to my new identity as wife/mum/chauffer.  I’ve always looked good in hats and I have a nice collection to choose from.

I can see glimmers of hope.  The funny thing is I’d never have guessed I’d be typing instead of talking.  Confused?  Stay with me here.

Now that I’m confined to a home (not my own) way down Highway 280, up and over the mountain, I find myself reaching out to the rest of the world via Twitter and the ever-growing blogosphere.  Much to my delight, I am not alone.  There are many others.

Behold, a new network of women, friends, colleagues, fellow diaper darlings, and co-conspirators!  Here I’ve found an online army of “girl power” that’s all connected by still frames (a.k.a The “Avatar”) and minute-by-minute information that’s both personal and anonymous.  (Even now I can’t stay focused on writing because my Tweet Deck notifications are causing distraction.  Dare I miss out on the conversation?!)

You have a blog.  I have a blog.  We all have a blog and, as a result, we can all have pseudo-conversations with like-minded mommies through an intricate web of witty commentary.  I can watch your kids grow and I can find out what makes you tick. Later on, when we’re released from our homes by the revolution known as preschool, we’ll meet in person.  And I’m convinced we’ll carry on as if we’ve always chatted face-to-face, just like picking up with a friend you haven’t seen in ten years.  We women are good at that sort of thing.

Let me just sum up.  The hardest part about closing one chapter to your life and entering the next is letting go of all the previous chapter holds.  In this case, I’m talking about the women in my world, my lifeline, my biggest fans and confidantes.  I’m also referring to my once-fabulous identity (R.I.P.), now a supportive subtitle hanging out in the shadows.

At least for the short term, the light at the end of this lonely tunnel is my laptop and my immeasurable love for my husband and son.  (Because really, that’s what all this is for.)

So there you have it.  I’ve gone from the “social butterfly” to the “social cocoon”.  From South Carolina to Alabama, this very hungry caterpillar will rise again.  There is life after marriage and childbirth.  All is not lost over a new city, a new climate, a new focus.

I’m looking forward to my very own renaissance.

See you on Twitter, girls.  And just so you know, I look way more fabulous in person…