The countdown is on.

Errands. Last minute dorm supplies. Taking care of house stuff. Packing. 

I am still a mess. Something has shifted, some thing probably permanent. 

But I got it together enough to get out of the house to do what must be done to get us to Grinnell. 

Liam said on the way home from Walmart, “Just think about what it will be like when Oliver moves out.”

Yeah.

My house is my refuge; my dog is my therapy. My bed is my hiding place; my husband is my safe space. 

My camera is my lifeline. 

I am in laser focus; thank you to those of you who have reached out. I am pretty much in social hibernation mode through Sunday. Right now it is about getting done what has to be done, ignoring the rest.

And a memory popped up: Porter going into third grade; Liam into first. 

And now I get it: the days are gone. What’s done is done. I can hope we did our best. I don’t know. 

The sand beneath my feet has shifted; my cheese has moved. 

And while I’m out here looking for whatever I’m looking for,  first day photos are happening. Kids are being mean to Oliver at cross country. Everyone has their spots in life.

While others seem to fall into something naturally, or by happenstance, or because they know somebody, or because they’re lucky: seems I’m to make my own. 

I always knew motherhood was an add-on identity. It became a crutch for eighteen years once I left full-time work. An easy-to-fall-back-on label.

I’ll always be a mom.

But here’s the secret that isn’t so secret: my particular goal was never to be the stay-at-home mom, the room mom that is always present at every function, the runs-the-perfect-house mom, the always-put-together mom.

Which is good, because that was and is not me.

So this whole children leaving the nest thing is hitting me harder than planned.

And it feels like a double-whammy, because I am forcing a professional identity reckoning, too.

And maybe this was always coming: maybe I used my children as an emotional escape hatch to avoid the terror that came with an SSDI label.

Maybe I used motherhood to feel some semblance of normalcy in this hometown that, if I’m honest, stopped feeling hospitable about 2010 or so. About the time I left work full-time, embracing a different sort of lifestyle not by choice.

And stripping myself of that daily need two of the three children of ours don’t have anymore…. it forces me to understand that this being different, this drive to escape….it’s been there a long, long time.

It was one of the driving forces that sent me away from Carrollton, Georgia in 1998 to begin with.

You can’t ever go home. Ever.

And so: I will write. I will take photos. If client work comes great, if not, fine.

And I will bide my time and play by the rules.

But, I’m done pretending.