Life and it’s meaning.

What Are You Willing to Struggle for? Fulfillment involves effort, trial-and-error, failure and learning.

On a surface level, and because I cannot think of a better answer, my children. I will struggle through and for my children. Learning that selfless type of sacrificing was the gift of motherhood, however. I was a person before motherhood, and I continue to be one beyond it.

Attempting to answer this right now in a way that is beyond my children, however, is… beyond me. I am deeply in the throes of toddlerhood these days. Much of the time I am mentally worn, exhausted, tired, and overwhelmed. Struggling (beyond the struggle right now that is making it through the weekend sane and in-tact) is a worrying thing for me to consider.

So, to answer the question, I am willing to hold on and struggle to make it to my kids’ bedtime. I am willing to struggle until I get that chance to breath, to sit down, and be me – not mom, not nurse, not chef, not maid – or the million other identities of motherhood. After my kid’s bedtime is the one period during my day in which I can be selfish, listen to my own needs, and do *exactly* it is that I want to do. For that, and for who I can be who I need to be for my children, I will struggle through.

Do I somewhat cringe at the selfish type of person this makes me feel like? Yes. Will that change my answer? Not likely, if I am being honest. Right now, the capacity I have for struggling is limited to that which fosters my own survival. That is not something I can’t be sorry for. In time, I hope, want, and need this answer to evolve. To think beyond me and to the world at large.

In time.

What Did Your 8-Year-Old Self Love Doing? Remember the joy of doing things for the fun of it? No rewards, no impressing anyone, just for yourself.

I collected rocks around this time. I loved rocks. I had a rock tumbler, and dutifully I collected prized stones that I hoped would tumble into treasures. I used all of my (paltry) allowance on buying those shiny, colourful rocks at those wooden cart kiosks you’d randomly find in stores in the 90s. I’d hold my rocks, sort them, and keep them in special boxes. Rocks were my *thing* and to this day they are a small pleasure of mine. I sadly let my greater love of rocks die at this age, however, when a friend of my father’s tried to quiz me about what were the types of rocks he had found, stating that I should know it, and I shamefully couldn’t answer. I didn’t feel worthy of loving rocks anymore at that point.

Playing secretary was my second love. My mom, who was my dad’s secretary for his door company, had this giant wooden desk at home full of ledgers and papers and pens and highlighters and those old school printing calculators. I would sit there and pretend the afternoon away. Organizing the bits, pretending to take phone calls, writing down pertinent information, ensuring everything was organized. I loved that sense of order.

Lastly, there was an off and on stint around this age with interior decorating. I got obsessed with organizing my room in certain ways and ensuring everything had a proper place. I decided I wanted to do interior decorating for a hot minute as a result. I didn’t realize at this time that it wasn’t the decoration I was there for (I’ve always been terrible at having a cohesive aesthetic). I was there for creating order, sense, and peace in my environments.

What Makes You Forget to Eat? When are you are so immersed in an activity that time passes without you realizing? Psychologist call this flow.

Housing systems in video games (must have a social element/*fuck* The Sims). I find it in the placing of items, the tweaking for perfect alignment, the striving towards some type of cohesion (even if my sense of aesthetic may suck) – it is gloriously soul nourishing and fun.

Spreadsheets. Sorting data. Learning from this data. Fixing and organizing meta-tags, adding in missing information to systems, and creating a clearly aligned cohesive system. For my brain and it’s OCD’ish needs, but also, for a world of more beautifully aligned spreadsheets and data. :>

Writing. While it’ll never be book quality, making meaning onto pages like these. The purposeful stringing together of (carefully chosen) words to create the metaphor/soliloquy/meaning I was going for, and my personal realizations and becomings in its wake.

Lastly, reading. Fictional fantasy/sci-fi nerdery. Following the lives of strong female leads into other worlds and existences that I could only dream of.

How Are You Going to Save the World? You may not end world hunger, but you can make a difference. Instead of focusing too much on finding yourself, lose yourself in something larger.

This question. I have sat with it, wrestled with it, fought myself against it, left it, returned to it, and struggled with it. I’ve never been able to answer it and for too long I’ve let that *be* my answer. But… the following quote has left me in pause.    

“It’s fine to struggle against the constraints of human nature, hoping to mitigate the worst of what’s to come, but it’s just as important to fight smaller, more local battles that you have some realistic hope of winning. Keep doing the right thing for the planet, yes, but also keep trying to save what you love specifically—a community, an institution, a wild place, a species that’s in trouble—and take heart in your small successes. Any good thing you do now is arguably a hedge against the hotter future, but the really meaningful thing is that it’s good today. As long as you have something to love, you have something to hope for.”

  • Jonathan Franzen

I’ve got something to love.

So, think globally, yet act locally. And if I follow my heart, it leads to helping fight the fight of protecting BC’s endangered old-growth forests.

Learning how I can *utilize* my skillsets (particularly those in my second and third answers) in this regard to best help, however? That learning journey awaits me.

If You Knew You Were Going to Die One Year from Today, What Would You Do and How Would You Want to be Remembered? How do you really want to spend your time? What do you want your legacy to be?

One year, hey?

I’d want to spend it loving. Loving my children, loving those in my life that matter to me, and loving myself (and possibly as loving trees, too, ‘cause I am me and I am a *little* extra).

I’ve never thought or believed I needed a legacy. It feels presumptuous. Beyond those in my life that are important to me, I do not need to be remembered. I am no trail blazer. There are far greater acts and efforts that came before me and will follow me. Let them have the stage.

But, in those minds of those I care for, I hope to be remembered as a light. As a hope. As a supporter, defender, and lover. As someone who was good at her job, loved what she did, always wanted to learn, and tried to help others. If they also happen to remember me as a (loving) troll, doomsponge, and being far too eager at times than I ought to be, that’s okay, too. :>

Perhaps these are not the highest of ideals to achieve for in what I leave behind for the world… but, they are me. <3

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Who?

I’ve been attempting to re-write my (now deleted, burned, and ashes blown to the wind) about me section for this website as of late. In the wake of all that’s happened this past six months, it rang of a girl I no longer am. 

Separation (and divorce, once we get around to it), co-parenting while living together, being single again, my significantly changed role at work, and an inevitable move that will help further cement these necessary and changed dynamics. 

These are times of upheaval. Growth, becoming, relief – and upheaval.

I find myself standing among these pieces and grasping at where I belong. What shoe now fits. What identity rings true. What and who I now am.

For years too many, I identified myself by who I was to someone else. Mother, wife, sister, and daughter. 

In this time of now — a clawing back of independence and identity, listening to my own needs, and speaking of truths — who is Sarah

And so, I’ll write it out.

For what should become as a surprise to no one, I know not how to begin at anywhere else other than my faults.

Socially anxious and awkward. Shy. Unsure, self-doubting, and eternally self-deprecating. Often overwhelmed, terrible at asking for help, and demands of herself a level of work/”doing all the things” ethic that is often to her own detriment. Doesn’t know when to stop in those regards, and also doesn’t exercise enough or get outdoors as much as she should. Conflict avoidant (to the point of numbing out), repressor of feelings, and perpetually worried about “rocking the boat”. Has difficulties asserting herself and would love more than anything to just melt into the background – much like her slippery and evading sense of self-identity. Painfully perfectionist and introverted beyond measure.

Yet, at the same time, there is goodness.

Caring, kind, and thoughtful. Supportive, reliable, and helpful. Stable, peaceful, and patient. Careful, yet hopeful. Organized, meticulous, and detailed. Conscientious, observant, and a defender of the vulnerable. Respectful, progressive, and loving. Joyful and humble (perhaps to a fault).    

(Admittedly, not quite as good as talking about her good bits as she is her “bad”.)

And then there is that which is simply that.

The comforts she finds in the definable. Cozy in the exacts. Beauty and stability in data. Her eye for specifics. A love of words, reading, and stories. An appreciation for wit and intellect. A (100% untrained) connoisseur of tacos, thrift shopping, and Reese’s peanut butter cups. Liberal and atheist, and at one with nature. Nerdy. Give her video games with housing systems and give her board games with friends – she will be content. A complete, utter, and well-meaning doomsponge… but, also, a troll of the most loving proportions.  

And at the end of it all, a survivor of childhood trauma and postpartum mental health reckonings – keenly aware of how they have made her who she is to this day.

New and old truths, new and old shoes. Here lies my journey fourth.

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Oh.

Finally, the separation was a reality. Happiness became you. You were free. You could live again. Oh, the sweet relief.  

And lived you did. Not long after you jumped onto Tinder (it was what people did, you thought). You were there for things you had longed for and missed. To genuinely talk to a guy, to connect, to shamelessly flirt, and to feel attractive. You soon discovered the (deceptively shallow) thrill of a match. Oh, the validation.  

Matches turned to conversations; your phone glued to hand. You were giddy on difference and change. And thrived in the attention. You came to life. Years of a dead marriage and dead bedroom left you determined. You would harness this energy. You would become again. Oh, the renewal.  

Alas, that wave soon broke.  

For you awoke. 

Eyes opened to the inner voices that lead you to stay unhappily in a marriage for years too long.  

Not a single one of these people would like you in the flesh and blood, Sarah. Your tinder profile, despite how overly honest it is, was nothing but a ruse. You, in all your eagerness and wonder, were but a ruse. Oh, to be a ruse.  

And the conversations turned to ash.  

Rife with uncertainty (where do you go next?), you turned to what you knew. The comfort of World of Warcraft. You hadn’t used your computer much these past few years and it took some adjusting, but your heart sang. You found (some) of your people again. You were having fun again. You were living again.  

But again, you awoke.  

Was this living? Or were you just there to chase the next validation? Dare not find it in yourself, but in those that once showered you with it. They found what you couldn’t. Oh, what you couldn’t.

(And among these messes that you are and where they have led you, there came to be someone else. The one with the voice that you’ve low key had a crush on *for years*. You start talking daily. You somehow end up playing WoW together, and you soon found yourself in Valheim. As your friendship has grown, so does your crush. It’s profoundly silly of you, he’s a thousand miles away. Yet, you know better than to have a single expectation. You’re just enjoying each other’s company, you reason. He’s a delightful escape from your mess, you justify. Oh, to rationalize.)

This past weekend, you deleted Tinder. It was a relief to be on the other side. But… on the other side of what? 

The other side of knowing what you want? You feel no closer to that now than you did at the precipice.

Or on the other side of knowing what you need? For this is a need that does not have the time, Tinder. The bravery. The capacity. The energy. The readiness. And it would be a lie to say I ever did.

And that next validation hit — it needs to come from myself. Myself alone.

Oh, to know.

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I see you.

In the way she navigates life. Taking those purposeful turns and back alleys, expertly maneuvering and avoiding any possible problem or issue. Even at her own peril – her own peril.

In the way she exhaustingly strives to see everyone happy, living in harmony and at peace. Even if it means she’s not there – she’s not there.

In the chronic people pleaser in her. An insistent persistence to please. Even to her own detriment – her own detriment.   

In her biggest want in life: peace. To be with and at peace among all. Even if that peace is beyond her, and there lies a battle within her — battle within her.

In her core fear: conflict. Her fallbacks and coping mechanisms of avoidance and silence. A purposeful hiding of her being – hiding of her being.   

In how she expresses herself only when there is little to no chance of discord. Absolute necessity being the only moments in which she dare gives voice – dare gives voice.   

In her obsession with safeguarding peace. Frozen still I find her. Acting or speaking her truths, she is found unable – found unable 

In her need for perfectionism. A perfectionism born rooted in a frantic need to not disappoint. To be found worthy. To be loved like you should have been – like you should have been. 

And in the very path that guides her as a mother and early childhood educator. Children — those of her own and the lives of others she touches — giving them the peace you didn’t have.

The peace you didn’t have. 

I see her.

I see you.  

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Still learning.

“Mama, why wasn’t [insert so and so] listening at child care today?”
“Mama, why did that person stop their car in the middle of the road?”
“Mama, why didn’t you remember to [such and such that my fried brain continually forgets to do]?”

“Because people are still learning, my sweet boy. Still learning how to control their bodies, how to obey the rules of the road, and/or how to remember to do things when functioning on not enough sleep. Life is always teaching us, and we’re always learning.”

A semblance of the above conversation (though for varying reasons) takes place between my son and I a few times a week. So much so that he now chimes in with me in answer, “yeah! They’re still learning!”

It’s a bit of an overly positive take on shitty drivers, I’ll give it that. But, there are nuggets of truth to be found in these conversations nonetheless.

With that said, we’ve recently had a helluva reminder that D and I are still learning.

But first, some backstory.

Six months ago, after having given birth to M, it became rapidly apparent that my mental health needed my son in full time child care while I stayed at home to look after my newborn. I simply wasn’t able to sanely meet both his and M’s needs on the days D was working. It was beyond me, and I feel no shame in admitting that.

Thankfully, we were quickly able to secure full time placement, and it has been the absolute best decision for us all. O adores his “school”, loves the time he can spend there with friends (as he can hardly do that anywhere else these days), and it gives him a place during the day to get out all of his energy and exploratory needs. Furthermore, when he’s at “school”, it leaves me with the sanity I need to care for his sister (now an infant), care for our home, and find some pockets of time during the day to care for myself.

This is not a decision I regret. That being said, I fully get that such an option simply would not be possible or available for some families for a multitude of reasons. Furthermore, some may have chosen differently. I respect that. My anxiety, however, had other plans in store.

Fast forward to now.

After having O at home recently (for reasons that can be found here), I realized something, and it was a something that I had started to clue in on during his week at home this past winter break.

We don’t yet truly, truly know what it means to have two kids.

(It is here I struggle in putting what I mean by that into words. A part of me feels that what I have to say next is not a valid “problem” as it is one born of first world privileges. The other part of me dismisses that notion, and says a struggle is a struggle, and giving words to problems has always helped me better make sense of it all. So, fuck it. I forge ahead.)

We don’t yet know how to fully balance the juggling act of forever meeting the needs of two children while trying to meet our own.

We don’t yet know how to deny the sigh of exhaustion that comes with forever needing to be the type of “on task” that two children require of you.

We don’t yet know how to best give each other breaks (even if that just means one of us being with the “easier” kid in that moment) so that the other can feel the briefest moment of reprieve before having to dive right back in (and how to be accepting of that fact).

We don’t yet know how to quiet the loud sighs of relief come after Sunday evening bedtimes and Monday morning child care drop offs.

How to be at peace in the mess of preschooler + infant “all-day-no time to clean” living… How to give up the illusion that our sore bodies won’t forever be laying or sitting on the floor for YEARS to come… How to not blessedly (and guilty) SAVOUR the daily TV time aka “mom and dad break” that we’ve been having from 4:30-6PM…. These and so much more are things we are very much still learning.

(Truth be told, these are things that we may never learn, or may not HAVE to learn. But, I digress.)

When O is at childcare during the week, I can re-replicate the ease of what it once was to just have one kid. I can breathe. It is a blessing, but, it is also a curse. It’s inadvertently made us be able to deny and delay the demanding, draining reality that comes with having more than one child.

There’s no choice.

Much like winter break, we’ve recently been given no choice but to face this reality head on.

There is much I could say about how it went, but I’ll simply say this: it’s been exhausting, bonding, raw-rubbing, relationship building, HARD-yet-meaningful work.

And while before all of this I may have quite rudely guffawed at the following positivity that I am going to type, I’ll do it anyway. We have been made all the better as a family for it. Yawning, laughing, grumbling, smiling, still learning and all.

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