Reframing My Experience of Time (as a Working Mother)
This year especially, as we’ve transitioned the kids to learning from home (and in combination with changes to my work-from-home business), I’ve noticed this sense of “never-enoughness” with my time:
I didn’t spend enough conscious time with the kids.
I didn’t have enough time for myself.
I didn’t get enough time for the work I wanted to do.
And when will I make enough time for my partner?
Spend enough. Have enough. Get enough. Make enough.
Is this all about scarcity of time? Is this all about how time becomes currency? And, is it possible to reframe my experience of time?
When I started working from home (and around the same time I became a mother), I thought a lot of my problems could be solved through “time management.”
And I’m not alone. Oliver Burkeman has written an entire book (called Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals) about this cultural misunderstanding of time.
That’s kind of what I learned in school, too: employers want you to go to college to demonstrate that you can handle a massive number of tasks with limited time. (Ironically, or not, I did not learn this in college; instead I learned how to sacrifice FUN for WORK.)
Maybe, though, the solution is less about how I “manage” time and more about how I experience it.
This year especially, as we’ve transitioned the kids to learning from home (and in combination with changes to my work-from-home business), I’ve noticed this sense of “never-enoughness” with my time:
I didn’t spend enough conscious time with the kids.
I didn’t have enough time for myself.
I didn’t get enough time for the work I wanted to do.
And when will I make enough time for my partner?
Spend enough. Have enough. Get enough. Make enough.
Is this all about scarcity of time? Is this all about how time becomes currency? And, is it possible to reframe my experience of time?
Because cultural understandings of time will take awhile to change. But I can invite change within my own experience right now.
What happens when I consider that -
early morning chores don’t require me to quickly rush through; maybe it’s an opportunity to work (slowly) together with my kids
washing dishes after every meal isn’t a waste of my energy; maybe it’s an opportunity to let my mind wander for awhile
helping my youngest put on her winter gear several times an hour isn’t (only) time-consuming; maybe it’s, for some reason, the opening she needs to share with me her most thoughtful thoughts
The learned-feminist in me questions (1) why I’ve chosen these examples, all stereotypically the work of the “traditional” woman or mother, and (2) why I should have to reframe these experiences at all.
Have I devalued these moments of my day because they’re mundane? Or have I devalued these moments (and myself) because that’s what I’ve learned through cultural-conditioning?
(Probably both.)
And sure, sometimes I will hate these tasks and despise the number of responsibilities I hold as a mother - despite my attempt to reframe any of it. But I don’t think it’s possible (or even necessary) to examine and reframe every moment of my day, always.
It’s this contrast between the frustrated mundane and the sacred mundane that happens within my lived experience that illuminates what really matters.
(In this case, my presence within the experience.)
This week, partly because I’ve pulled apart these big questions about how I experience time within everyday life, I’m paying close attention to the little moments - especially the ones that feel “not enough.”
Is it possible that the short-and-sweet conversations before breakfast, when everyone is a little bit groggy and hungry for pancakes, is enough? Is it possible that the conversation-cut-short with my husband, about which New Girl character is the best, is enough? Is it possible that the half-yoga-practice between activities, or the few moments I can enjoy a still-hot cup of coffee, are enough?
I think so. (I hope so.) When the frustrated mundane becomes sacred.
xx, alycia buenger
Reframing the Demands of Motherhood
Instead of embracing LIFE, I make sure I don’t enjoy things “too much,” just in case I have to quickly prepare for losing everything and enveloping myself inside grief.
And god, it’s exhausting.
I understand (intellectually) that it’s not about “losing” so much as “cycling through” what naturally comes from LIFE: change, transition, then death. I understand (intellectually) that we cannot have life without these things.
I just didn’t realize how desperately afraid of death (and life) I’ve become.
And who would have thought that I’d travel 200 miles to realize all this? To realize, too, that I have everything I want and need within the life I’m already living.
In November, I traveled from Northwest Ohio to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to explore a potential next step for our family: a move out-of-state. Since the miscarriage (and really, even before that) I’ve felt deeply unsettled and desperate to move towns.
And this is what used to help: alone time away from “the usual.”
I especially wanted to get away from what-felt-like suffocating demands of working and care-taking. I hoped a weekend trip would literally change my life for the better!
But it didn’t “help” so much as enlighten the real problem: I’m desperately afraid of losing everything and everyone I love. I’m afraid of DEATH.
So instead of embracing LIFE, I make sure I don’t enjoy things “too much,” just in case I have to quickly prepare for losing everything and enveloping myself inside grief.
And god, it’s exhausting.
I understand (intellectually) that it’s not about “losing” so much as “cycling through” what naturally comes from LIFE: change, transition, then death. I understand (intellectually) that we cannot have life without these things.
I just didn’t realize how desperately afraid of death (and life) I’ve become.
And who would have thought that I’d travel 200 miles to realize all this? To realize, too, that I have everything I want and need within the life I’m already living.
Even if it ends someday, as eventually it will, I want to show up for all of it: good parts and hard parts (and particularly with the people I adore v. alone).
Here’s an writing excerpt from my trip -
“As I wake up alone this morning, I realize that this is maybe all I’ve been missing lately: a slow, sacred start to my day, sitting in bed to write (without being woken or waking anyone!), music playing in the background, time to think and meditate and practice yoga before the demands of the day roll in…
But otherwise, I’m truly grateful for those demands, and the people who make them.
I’m grateful for our closeness especially. Not only our physical closeless, the result of two years in quarantine. But also how deeply we know each other: our daily patterns of movement, changes in facial expression and tone of voice. Sometimes I know my people better than I know myself.
And dammit if it’s taken a trip (and 30 years) to realize that I’ve been running from the good parts of this life because I’m afraid of the bad parts.
I’m afraid of getting too close, of loving too deeply and being loved… because what kind of hell does that invite if I lose all that?
I thought I was “protecting” myself from being deeply hurt, later. Which sounds completely illogical! (It is.)
But fear is not privy to logic.
I love so deeply, so intensely that it’s hard to imagine how life can, and will, change. It’s hard to imagine loss - but also growth and forward movement. I’m holding on so tightly because I can’t bear the thought of losing the people I love and care for, the dreams I nurture, the community I treasure.
And somehow that translates into the feeling that I might explode if I don’t get time away, time alone - even though actually getting that turns out to be lonely and the complete opposite of what I desire.
I’m grateful for a getaway trip. But next time, I don’t want to go alone. That was deeply helpful during an earlier part of my life - but now all I want is as much time as possible WITHIN my family, my community.
Because, if it won’t last forever, I want to show up inside all of it (good parts and hard parts) as much as possible while I can.
And I need my people for that.”
with so much love, alycia buenger