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Happy Wives and Stay At Home Moms Still Get Lonely

posted 27th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Family, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

One day we took my husband to work and headed to the little petting zoo in the next town over. The sun was shining. It was warm–warm for March in Chicago: 53 degrees according to the car. My son was happily speaking his toddler-speak…something about planes, sky, and going to the “zoom.” I had all of this wonderful light, bright, happy, great stuff going on, and yet. . . . And yet I was so overwhelmed; drowning in sorrow, loneliness. I almost started crying.

That morning I just felt so alone. There was no one to share my happiness with that day. No one to share that school-girl giddiness. No one to call up and meet for coffee and a quick chat in the backyard. I missed my old home. I missed my friends. I missed the tall oaks–how they lined the streets and shaded you from the mid-day sun. And the broken-up city sidewalks with their names set in blue and white mosaic tiles at each intersection. I missed the strawberry smoothies and melt-in-your-mouth croissants from the coffee shop down the road. I missed the old craftsman windows and Tudor peaks, the sirens from the police station on 63rd, and the neighborhood market with its fresh flowers and juicy scallops.

I am used to being alone.  After all, I am an INFJ—emphasis on the “I”.  My family moved around a lot when I was young (it is difficult to cultivate deep friendships when you move every 1-3 years).  Before children, my Saturdays were spent walking down to the coffee shop, reading best-sellers, watching movies in bed, and running on the trails— alone.

There are few whom I call friends; I consider most to be acquaintances.  And over the past few years I’ve become quite stingy with my friendship, extending it only to those whom I deem worthy.  (Wow. I hope that doesn’t sound like I think my ish don’t stink.  I just am more careful about in whom I invest my time and energy.)  Yet, lately I find myself craving connection on a level that I never have before.

I was not prepared for this loneliness thing.  When I envisioned my life as a stay-at-home mom I saw myself carting the kids to and from playgroups and playdates, chatting it up on the park bench while the children slid down the slides.  There is some of that, but not nearly enough.  It turns out that as I have gotten older, become a wife and a parent, making friends has not been so easy.  Family schedules don’t always mesh.  Children do not always play nicely.  Parenting philosophies differ.

I thought that I could fill the void by connecting with my tribes online.  Don’t get me wrong—the places and spaces I found on the internet are full of inspiring individuals and communities.  They are uplifting, supportive, encouraging and all around awesome!  However, they are no replacement for real human, face-to-face interaction.  Virtual hugs do not compare to the warm embrace of a kind soul.  I prefer “LOL”s to be literal: deep hearty laughs exchanged over a glass of wine and a medium pepperoni pizza. We humans are not made to be alone.  I need to go find my people.

photo credit

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We’re All In This Together

posted 9th August 2010    Written by: Molly Mahar    CATEGORY: Molly, Quarterlife Crisis, What I've Learned

I shared this lovely poster on Facebook last week, and ever since, I’ve been stuck thinking about what it means…

“We’re All In This Together”

It’s speaking to me about connection and support and truly being there for each other in the fantastic and the awful times. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when it makes you look good.  And not just in an “I’ll vote for you in your online contest if you “like” my new business page” kind of way….  I’m talking about the “I’ll listen and hold you all teary-eyed and snotty for as long as you need, help you move that damn green couch to your third apartment in 6 months, call to ask how the big medical test went, even when it scares me to death” kind of way.  The kind of way that reaffirms  that you and I are truly in this together, that our love is unconditional, that I recognize you as someone just like me…

I think recognizing that we ARE in this together helps lessen the scariness of this big, bright world.  We yearn for connection, for that lovely “you get me” feeling, that heart-welling heaviness that all is fine for this moment, and perhaps even the next.

I know I do.

Out of all the things in the world of which to be afraid, I’m most scared of being rejected, of feeling alone, of getting stuck in a deep sense of unworthiness.

Deep connections change that.  A sense of belonging lightens the load.  Truly understanding that there is no possible way we can be alone because this amazing world is too full of crazy people just like us, gives hope.  Reaching out to others with our foibles, our fears, and our longing is what allows us to tackle those dark parts. And let me tell you, I’ve learned this the hard way…

There were two major times in my life when I felt truly depressed, scared and hopeless.

The first episode was my senior year in college.  On the outside, I was your typical sorority girl/resident adviser/drama actor/front desk clerk/trying-desperately-to-get-an-impressive-job Ivy League Senior.  On the inside, I was freaking out.   I didn’t want to be at school, where I felt this constant pressure of comparison and the need to be perfect.  The depression boiled up in binge eating, alcohol blackouts, and constant crying alone in my room.  The worst part about it?  I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone. That no one would understand.  That I was completely and utterly alone.

Now, I know addiction and depression run in my family, so I wasn’t clueless.  I saw a therapist in the counseling center and talked to my family about coming home after graduation so I could take care of myself in positive ways.  But for some reason, I still felt ashamed.  Alone.  I couldn’t tell my friends.  I was usually the helper, the positive one, the happy-go-lucky spirit.  Instead, I felt empty. Abandoned.  And seriously, seriously scared that “everyone” would find out.

For the last 6 months of my senior year, I suffered in silence.

I did go home after graduation, jobless, but relieved to be returning somewhere familiar. I was surrounded by the love and support of my parents, and the mountains, and a sweet southern boy, and busy days of work and play, and soon enough, I felt better.  Lighter.  More like myself.

I think back to that time, and wonder how it might have been different if I could have gotten over myself. If I could have reached out and asked for more help.  If I could have admitted that I (obviously) wasn’t perfect, that I was hurting, that I needed some extra support.  What if I had realized “We are all in this together” and truly understood what that meant?

Well, I got another chance to do so…   The second time that I got knocked off the easy path of life was the beginning of my very own Quarterlife Crisis.  I was working in hospitality sales at what I thought was my dream job. Sexy boutique hotel!  Awesome women boss ladies!  Cool clients!  And even though I was fabulous at my job, I felt like I was losing touch with the real me…  A lot of my job felt “fake”: from the suits to the sales process to the “the guest is always right” attitude.

And those damn $4.5o mini Coke bottles.  Seriously.  The thought of charging people that still makes me gag.

I think I ignored the little niggling feeling that “something feels off” for quite awhile before it finally blew up in “crisis” mode.  But there I was again, totally scared that I was once again alone.  After all, I was doing what I had studied in college, getting the proper promotions, kicking butt, making my bonuses, surrounded by great friends and a fabulous boyfriend.   What the fuck did I have to feel depressed about?

Instead of keeping it secret, this time I spoke up.  I wasn’t quiet at all!  I admitted that I was miserable.  I whined, bitched, and commiserated with people. I planned weekday lunches with other downtown 20somethings who felt stuck in their lives and especially their jobs.  I reached out for help from the Big Man, admitting I needed a life overhaul.

Of course, I still cried.  I still felt lost.  But because I was reaching out, it felt a million times better than my last episode of depression.  And this time?  I realized I WAS NOT ALONE.   And that realization allowed me to do something about it.  I used the support of everyone who “got me” and made the major dive of quitting my job and traveling around the world.

And now?  I’m here for you.   And you’re here for me.  And you’re all here for each other.  You may be in crisis.  You may be in awesomeland.  But…

We’re All In This Crazy, Wild, Awe-Inspiring World Together.

So let’s not forget it.

photo credit : sunny fiona

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