It’s my time.
I still feel a bit guilty writing those words. I am trying to let that guilt go… all guilt for that matter. So confidently and unapologetically, I write it again:
It’s my time.
Mothers, if we have done our job right, tend to set aside so many things for our children… our passions, our hobbies, our dreams, our oases… ourselves. Mothers by our very nature, put aside our own needs for the needs of our children. We feed ourselves last, nurture ourselves last, stay up nights worrying about our kids while our husbands snore the night away. We are instructed to put on our oxygen masks first, before putting them on our children. But how many mothers actually do as instructed? We put on our oxygen masks last.
So, I put my kid’s needs and passions before my own and I regret none of it. I have raised two amazing humans. Humans who are going to make a difference in this crazy world. Humans who are going to bring beauty into the world. Humans who are already doing these things. The pride I feel in my children cannot be described. It has been, and continues to be, my privilege and honor to be their mom. I will always feel the pull to do whatever it takes to make my kids safe, happy, and successful.
But it’s my time now.
For years I drove my kids to their music lessons, practices, and performances. I cried tears of joy when they beamed out at audiences applauding them wildly. Laughed gleefully when their passion shone through their performances. I proudly affirmed that yes, those are my kids. Yes, I certainly am proud of them. Yes.
But inside I felt jealous of my kids. Jealous of my kids? After these performances we’d go home, the kids would go to bed, my husband and I would chat about how lucky we are to have such great kids. Then, I would lie awake and feel sad. I missed making my own music. I missed creativity. I yearned to rediscover the artist within myself I had let go into hiding so many years before.
Five years ago, after working up the courage, I called my son’s piano teacher and asked if she took adult vocal students. “Of course,” she replied, “but you have to bring the wine.” I have been bringing the wine, singing, laughing, talking, crying, and rediscovering my creativity with her ever since. But there has been a nagging voice within me encouraging me to create visual art.
Create visual art? Me? I was told I really was not a great artist during an Art 101 class in college by a teacher’s assistant who “taught” our studio time. I listened to him and hung up that dream.
Until recently.
I wanted to create. So I did. So I am. And I love it. I am an artist, no matter what some teacher’s assistant says. (The educator in me says he will never make a great teacher if he makes blanket judgements as he did to me.)
So I offer my words and my art to you on this website. I hope you enjoy.