There’s a saying that being a parent is living with your heart on the outside of your body. Vulnerability takes on new meaning in your life. Much of that is about your intense and growing love and fears for your child. There’s also a vulnerability in your understanding of self as well. Someone tells you what they do/did, and it’s almost impossible not to hear that as judgement about what you’re doing.
Making new adult friends after your 20s is challenging enough. When you’re also a parent, there’s an added paranoia that anything you do will be openly criticized, silently condemned, or misinterpreted as you judging another parent. It’s not so much that I wake up feeling neurotic and suspicious, but that the judging and “oops am I judging?” hits at unexpected moments. Watching my child gleefully play around the park while a group of nannies loudly insists she needs pants and not shorts! A moment of joy is transformed, and my parenting choices are put on display for all the other caregivers within hearing range. Or I feel safe venting about my experience nursing, but the other mom hears it as me invalidating her own struggles, and I wonder how I can kindly navigate the conversation without hurting a potential new (and needed!) friend.
Last week, I wrote about feeling judged as a parent who is staying home, possibly until my kiddo is in preschool. Being home allows me to keep a studio practice (even if that’s only on Saturday mornings for the time being). My days have a lot of play, coffee, and baby giggles, and I love that too. My newest resolution is to be less self-conscious about the path I’m on. To not focus on the sacrifices I make, but the joyful possibilities and experiences that exist because of what I’m doing right now.
I’ve answered the question “what do you do?” in ways that left a sour taste in my mouth these last ten months. Perhaps because my adult conversations have been reduced, I fumble over my words in social situations that should be familiar but now feel alien.
What do I do? I am an artist! I am also the primary caregiver for my baby.
Can I embrace these answers without feeling that I must make apologies or explanations? Time will tell, but for now, I’ve got to get back to a painting.