Purpose vs. Depression

I try not to talk much here about the depression I feel about being alone at an age that is too close to 60 for my personal preference. One reason I don't talk about it is I get tired of thinking about it, and I'm sure people who read this blog get tired of reading about it. I'm sure they're thinking, "Buck up! Get over it!" That's absolutely what I'm thinking!

Mondays through Wednesdays are okay. I'm deeply involved in the workweek and whatever other activities I have scheduled. But on Thursdays I begin wondering what's ahead for the weekend. And Friday goes downhill to 5:00 p.m. If I have an activity planned with the grandbabes or the kids, even if that activity is only of thirty minutes' duration, I'm fine. But when they lead their own life and I am not included, I'm in pain.

(Let's be clear: I own this. It's my problem, not theirs.)

They need their own life. They need to be able to live their lives without constantly having to worry about including the aging mom/MIL/grandma. That's the primary reason I worked so hard to get out of their guest room and into my own space. They need their privacy. Jaci needs to be the queen of her domain. No matter how hard I try to bite my tongue, I have a hard time—as does every woman who has ever been a mother—not correcting or commenting on things the babes are doing, even when Jaci—their own MOTHER!—is standing beside me. Jaci and I are very much alike, I believe, in our need not to be mothered. Too much mothering of the wrong kind at an early age can do that to a woman. So I try to pay very close attention to what's my business and what is not my business. Giving Jaci any instruction in how to live her life is not my business. And raising my grandchildren is absolutely not my business. Caring for them is my avocation, my love, my joy, my purpose in life. But it's not my job.

Whenever I feel the depressing setting in, I try to come up with means to alleviate it, to take away the tight, painful band that encircles my head. Usually I treat myself to dinner out at some nice place on my way home. And, truthfully, once I get home, I can find lots of ways to fill the time so I'm not so overwhelmed by the loneliness. But that lag time from knowledge of impending time alone to arrival at home and free, quiet time to myself—that anticipate—is just incredibly painful.

I've come to realize anew, in the past few weeks, that I view my purpose as enabling my children to have a fuller, richer life. My life is not lived for myself, but for my children. I don't necessarily think that fact is either good or bad; it just is. Should I learn to be more self-centered rather than other-centered? Some might say "yes", but I think that's not me. That's not my nature. Just as I view myself as an accompanist rather than a soloist, I'm better at supporting others than focusing on my life.

So, again, I'm thankful that my children trust me with their children and give me the opportunity to help. And, this weekend, I look forward to about 36 hours with my little darlings.

I'm a very lucky woman.