I went to breakfast with some friends last week to celebrate one of their birthdays, and part of our conversation has stuck with me.
The birthday girl told about one of her children who had taken an interest in drama. He was a star in the middle school play and loved singing and performing for the crowd. But 8th graders, at the top of the pecking order, become high school freshmen, the bottom of the barrel. When auditions for the high school play were approaching, the young man considered the parts he could try out for. Maybe the lead was a little beyond his skill, but maybe not. His mom encouraged him to try. She shifted their family schedule around so that he could attend an extra lesson with his voice instructor to go over his part. When she presented the opportunity to her son, he refused the lesson and rejected the mom’s sacrifice to figure out how to get him there and pay the extra money for the help. She was hurt and frustrated. “Why wouldn’t he let me help him with this?” she asked. In the end, the boy didn’t get the part he hoped for and was incredibly disappointed. Would he have gotten the part with the extra lesson? Who knows. But he didn’t put in the work ahead of time to make the possibility more likely.
In response to this story, another friend told of her son having the opportunity for some one-on-one coaching for basketball. It was pricey but worth it. His mom offered the opportunity, but he refused, saying he didn’t have time and it was a dumb idea anyway. Weeks later, she said, he was super cranky when he had a few off games and didn’t get the playing time he hoped for. She offered the one-on-one coaching again, and he refused again. She joked, “Kid, I am paying for this. Why won’t you let me help you?” Then, under her breath, she sighed, “Why won’t he just try?”
My friends laughed and commiserated, “Don’t these kids want to be really good at something?”
While they were talking, I was thinking. Why, really, are these kids not taking advantage of every opportunity to succeed in areas in which they are clearly already very talented and, with a little push, they could be so much better? Why not get that extra feedback or do that extra practice?
What are they afraid of?
And that’s what it was, I think. Fear. I only figured it out after I turned the question to myself, remembering a conversation I had with another friend a few days before the birthday breakfast.
I told her about how I spent the last year taking psychology classes, volunteering in a research lab, and looking for any ways I could fill the gaps in my vitae to apply to PhD schools, but then, as I began to compile materials for the application and considered who I might ask for letters of recommendation, I got stuck. Who would recommend me and why? On the other hand, what might make it difficult for somebody to recommend me?
Since you know me and admire me as your hard-working mom, you might think, why wouldn’t somebody recommend you or even accept you to such a program? Well, there are many reasons, but the biggest is time. Time, in this case, is measured in two ways: the weekly hours I’m willing to work and my career lifespan. I might be incredibly prepared and capable academically, but quality research and clinical work take time, and I choose not to deprioritize my family time in such a way that would allow for 50-70 hours a week at work. In addition, most clinical professors are about halfway into their careers at this point in life. It would be hard to convince a faculty member to take me on as a student if I would realistically contribute 20-40 hours of work each week for less than 20 years.
“So,” my friend asked, “If not a PhD, what then? What about writing and editing? Do you still do that? Will you try that again?”
I shrugged, trying not to cry. Had I just wasted a year and a few thousand dollars pursuing the idea that I could contribute significantly to a field with huge holes only to realize that path just isn’t for me? Why would I do that with writing too? Maybe I should be content to be the best stay-at-home mom/grandma ever. I could have a perfectly clean and organized house, make delicious and nutritious meals for my family and others, never fall behind on laundry, tend my garden, and never be late for a pick-up or drop-off. I value those things, so why not? Why put pressure on myself for something more?
I know my friend has had the same thoughts herself because we have had these conversations before. She chose not to pursue a career outside the home while raising their children, but now that her kids are grown and flown, she has a little more time for personal pursuits. At the same time, though, she has not pushed her family responsibilities down the scale to lower priority. She said, “In whatever I choose to do, I value flexibility. My husband’s job provides me with that. We are stable financially because of his work, so my work can be different.”
I agree with that wholeheartedly. My work can be different because of the sacrifices our family has made to support one person in our family as the primary breadwinner.
I nodded at her response, still too stuck on the painful idea of my past wasted efforts to give a good reply. She pressed on, “So what do you have to lose? What’s stopping you from writing?”
Well, it’s the same thing that stopped my friends’ sons from getting those extra voice and basketball lessons. Sure, I might have some latent skills in this area. I have ideas. I have resources. I bet, like the boys above, my family would be willing to shuffle some things around and maybe even invest financially in a pursuit like this so I could get some extra practice and experience. So, why not?
“I’m afraid.”
My friend understands this, and maybe you will, too, one day. Raising children is time-intensive, demanding work. It’s all-consuming. It’s non-stop. But it’s worth it. The worth of the work is not always directly obvious, but a discerning eye can see what happens to families, communities, and entire countries when the work is disregarded or left undone. I have spent my entire life doing “worthy work,” so a pursuit like writing with less obvious and predictable results seems frivolous.
Like the boys in the examples above, I’m afraid that if I push myself, get the extra lessons, do the extra practice, spend the extra time and nothing comes of it, I will feel like that time and effort are wasted. Maybe I will find that my priorities have been misplaced. What if I find out that what I thought I was a wonderful thing is just a thing? Not wonderful. Not worth it. Maybe I’ll discover I should have spent more time vacuuming out the crumb-filled crevasses of the car or carefully dusting each slat of the window blinds throughout the house.
It’s easy for me to see the faulty thinking in the stories my friends shared about my kids, but I’m doing the same thing. And even though I recognize it, I’m having difficulty talking myself out of it.
Nobody wants to waste time and effort, but how can I expect success or learning without time and effort?
By denying the opportunities to practice and learn, I’m almost guaranteeing that I won’t get results.
I keep hearing my friend, “What do you have to lose?”
Not much, I guess.
Except if I didn’t try, I suppose I’d lose a lot.
This is a topic and question I think about all the time. I truly wish it was something I understood better, and because of this I've been thinking and thinking about all you've said since Friday.
One of the things I appreciated about your essay was its emphasis on the fact that as mothers we have already been doing worthy work for years, even if others (and ourselves after ten p.m.) may not understand that. I also agree with the idea that even as my life changes I don't want to deprioritize my family. One of the most significant revelations I've had on this topic recently was the message that I am not (at this time) responsible for providing financially for my family. My work, whatever it is, should not center around the pursuit of money. Said another way, the pursuit of what the world sees as success should not come at the expense of the worthy work I still need to accomplish in my home.
But I also know that God does want me to continue to progress in ways that bring joy to my soul and that he desires for me to contribute to the good of others in a way that effects real change. I also know that God doesn't insist I do this in some generic way that others see as right and proper. He glories in the individual and specific gifts and blessings given to me. So, what does this mean??? How hard am I supposed to try to achieve good in the spaces I'm interested in? Conversely, how willing should I be to live with contentment in the life I've already been given rather than pursuing something so madly that I sacrifice what is truly important?
Recently I listened to this address given to recent graduates at BYU about balancing the paradox of seeking excellence with the importance of retaining integrity of purpose:
https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/clark-g-gilbert/a-light-to-the-world-the-paradox-of-the-byu-graduate-student/
Much of the speech is geared toward people beginning their working lives, but it struck me as similar to the paradox that faces those of us coming out of full-time care for our families and into whatever it is that is supposed to come next. We know our work with family and community has mattered and must continue in the future, but we do have (perhaps?) more time and resources to contribute to other endeavors. And yet, what is the correct balance? What is the correct direction? So much of this is driven by personal revelation that it is impossible to give a tried and true answer to the questions. Things I have learned along the way include:
- Examining my motives is helpful.
- Seeking to help others and improve the world in the work I do will keep me from becoming selfish.
But all these roundabout statements still don't get me to the answer of what to actually and really do tomorrow and the next day.
I've been working through the book "Dream Big" by Bog Goff for about four years now. I am a fast reader. My slow progress through the book has nothing to do with my ability to move through the pages. But the concepts inside of it are so hard for me to grapple with. How hard am I supposed to try at "dreaming big" for my life when my decisions affect others? Where is the line between improper obsession and cultivating a desire for joyful boldness? We can do better in our culture, all of us, at supporting women in their efforts to progress, but we don't want to throw out the importance of the family in any of our endeavors (my husband's or mine).
Recently Elder Bednar visited our local church community. The General Authority traveling with him (whose name I've forgotten) told a story of when he was asked to speak in General Conference and Elder Bednar offered to go over his talk with him. When the time came to ask for help, he decided he shouldn't bother Elder Bednar and he completed the talk alone. Following his delivery of the talk, he ran into Elder Bednar. Embarrassed about having obviously not sent his talk for discussion, he apologized. He related that Elder Bednar looked at him firmly and stated (from my notes, but obviously not perfectly transcribed):
"When you stop this self-limiting behavior, you'll be who the Lord wants you to be."
And I guess, after all this wandering around of thought, that's what I see in your discussion of fear and choice that means so much to me. It's different for everyone, yes, but when we're making decisions about who to become in a self-limiting way, we're not allowing God to work in us, and that's a problem.
So, I don't want to be the best to make money or prove I could do it someone else (or I shouldn't want to, right?) but I should want to be the best that God wants me to be, and I shouldn't hold myself back (or be part of holding others back) because of fear (as you pointed out) or a lack of understanding of who God intends me to be. That's hard in a world that doesn't understand the curling path we've chosen to take as women. But I don't think God wants us to fail in figuring it out or helping our daughters be better able to navigate it. He gave us each other for a reason and hopefully these discussions together help us get further along the way.
This post brought to mind some decisions I made over 35 years ago, when I decided I needed to qualify myself for a paying career should something happen to my husband, your father who we depended on totally for support.
The decision to get a degree suitable for work in the field of special education, especially related to at-risk youth changed our family dynamics. There was more demand on my time, my energy and resources. I wasn't always available to my husband or you children, although I did my best to meet everyone's needs, including my own.
During the process of learning and growing, I was enjoying myself. I felt like I was achieving something important. What was my family feeling? A question I heard over and over again was, "When will this be over?" or "When will you be finished with school?"
Everything in life has a price to pay for it. The price I paid for my education and subsequent career nearly cost me my husband and family. Was it worth the price I paid? I suppose there were some bright moments, memories of accomplishment, and a feeling that I had accomplished what was needed at the time for myself and those I served with my training. In the long run, yes, I can say what I learned along the way was worth the pain and sacrifice.
I remember considering applying for a Phd program or changing course and pursuing a law degree. After much prayer, while driving home from BYU one day the answer came to me in these words, "You don't need a Phd to accomplish your life's mission." There it was. The direction I needed. I could do what I was sent here to do with the skills and training I had acquired already. I could slow down and just do what I knew how to do and everything would be alright.
I don't know what your answer will be. The only advice I have is, to tread carefully. If you feel compelled to do something, do it. Move forward. Everything will fall into place. But along the way, remember, you are enough as you are too. You are loved and appreciated by all who know you. Love, Mom