That true north book I mentioned the other day? One of the things they talk about is the idea of being able to be your true self at work. How many of us show up as who we really are during the work day?
That got me thinking about being my true self at home. I have made choices about the type of person I am that might not align with the (in my mind) outdated values of my mother, who is navigating from a different world view both generationally and culturally. This was fine while we lived apart. I could reign in my me-ness for those brief visits with her. But now that we live together, I wonder if part of why I’m feeling so particularly burned out is that fact that I can’t really ever let my hair down and just be me. (I’m making it sound like the real me is way more wild and crazy than I really am – I’m pretty low key, as far as these things go, but still.)
When I bought my own home after I got divorced, my ex moved into an apartment just a few blocks away. We had a set parenting schedule for the kids (who were 8 and 10 years old at the time) that had them bouncing back and forth pretty regularly. This predictable schedule allowed me to have blocks of 100% me time, where I could come and go as I pleased, and do what I felt like doing in my home at any time. The boys eventually started preferring my house and would regularly just pop in, even on those days when they were scheduled to be at their dad’s. I genuinely didn’t mind this because, well, they’re awesome, and I really enjoy having them around. But on the other hand, it would occasionally catch me off guard. I had an app on their phone that would alert me when they were approaching the house, so that was helpful, but I quickly realized it was just better that they ping me and let me know when they were headed my way on those days I wasn’t expecting them.
To drive home the importance of this advance notice, I told them to assume that anytime they’re not scheduled to be at my house, I’m usually running around the house naked, waving my hands in the air, and whooping it up. To be clear, I’m not (not that there would be anything wrong with it if I was) but this image was enough to scare them into texting me every single time they were on their way over.
Now that I’m sharing a home with my elderly mother, I realize I need some me-time of my own in the home. I can retreat up to my room on the 2nd floor – which is really quite comfortable – but when I do disappear, I’ll usually eventually get a text message from her downstairs asking where I am. Or she’ll occasionally come up and actually open my closed (but unlocked) bedroom door to peak in to make sure I’m not dead. (Seriously.) So I don’t really have time to just completely let down my guard an allow my psyche to metaphorically run around the house naked, waving my hands in the air, whooping it up.
Occasionally I’ll be able to find someone to stay with my mom so I can go on weekend trips here and there. But this isn’t quite the same thing. Since she moved back into the house full time in July of 2023, I’ve had, at most, four hours of time by myself in the house.
And since I quit social media at the start of this scary new administration — didn’t think my soul could handle the curated chaos on those platforms — I’ve returned to this space as a place where I can redirect all that energy. I’ve never pro-actively shared this with others in my life – friends, partners, family, etc. (Until now. I just started letting people I know know about this — hi if you’re here because I invited you!) But this has gotten me to thinking about why I would keep this space here locked down.
What would it feel like to just let it all out there, and to absolve myself of being responsible for how people interpret this? That’s a lot to manage – and frankly, managing just myself is plenty. Why have I assumed I have to take on other people’s responses as well?
eleven bee 