You Can't Go Home Again

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to a friend from college. She and I speak periodically, usually once a year as our birthdays are two days apart. The last time we spoke she filled me in on her life in the brief two minute way to which I have grown accustom. She told me that she was now on the mornings in radio and was still active in theater and then implored me to tell her of my life.

I, in turn told her of my life in the brief two minutes she allotted to me. Married, two babies, doing, for the most part the at home gig to concentrate a bit on the little ones, yadda yadda, but while life was crazy I was enjoying the whole crazy bit.

She then said she hoped I was not one of "those people" who never went anywhere or did anything unless it was kid related and that I (we) lived for our children. "Tell me you go out?" she implored. " Please tell me you have friends." I hesitate. Is she nuts? We have jobs and kids a nd lives, who in the hell has time for fostering friendships?

I respond with something that I hope makes me sound a little less pathetic than I actually am and chalk up our supposed lack of social life to just being busy, not necessarily because we are parents.

I realized once our conversation ended that I was guarded with my answers of my current life situation. Not because I am unhappy with the current status of my existence, but I recalled a conversation she and I had years ago.

At one point in my young twenties, I auditioned and was accepted into the American Academy for Dramatic Arts in New York city. Many applied, however, only 20 people were accepted and I was among the lucky few.

Upon telling my friend of my news she congratulated me and stated "You do know you are doing what the rest of us wish we had the guts to do?" I was taken aback as I had never considered myself a trail blazer, let alone fearless.

My Academy days never came to pass, however, as I allowed other people's fears and doubts to become my own and I chose what most people do: what is safe and familiar. I sold out for being comfortable.

Now, I find myself at a crossroads once again, professionally.

Personally, I have absolutely everything I ever asked God to graciously bestow upon me. I have a loving husband whom I adore and can laugh with at 2:30 am, and two lovely, crazy, funny children to occupy my days and time. I find great pleasure in doing for them and teaching them to hopefully, become pleasant, productive and caring little humans.

Recently, I rejoined the ranks of the paid employed as I took a job part time. Once again, I opted for the familiar. I began working at a recovery place for women with concurring disorders of substance abuse and mental health issues. I was hired as "parent support" in the 6pm-12am shift Monday through Friday. I can do the job without much effort or thought and did not expect to learn anything from my new gig.

However, after 2 months and one week of working there I have learned one very important lesson.

You can't go home again.

My days of direct care are over. I only have limited patience which seems to be reserved for little people, preferably my own. Where I used to lend a sympathetic here with no strings attached, I find myself secretly judging the decisions they have made. Of course, I am aware of the diseases of substance abuse and the complexities of mental illness. I do, in theory, understand the hardships they face in fighting their addictions and the complex inner workings as they come to terms with living with a mental illness that is sometimes very misunderstood.

Somewhere in my life experiences I think I may have seen and heard too much. I see too many of the same faces and hear too many of the same stories. Perhaps the most heartbreaking of all are the children I encounter. I see the hope in their eyes that this time will be the last time in treatment. This time mom will get it together. This time I will not be dragged from place to place. This time we will keep the house, and she will not put a man, a woman, a drug, a situation in front of me again.

My heart always goes out to the children and I feel it is my obligation to help them through. I am more touched now because of my Noodle as that very well could have been her life. She could have easily been in the very same house in which I work for her first stop in a string of homes she would live in, none of which she could call her own. Knowing this and seeing the process from the other side makes it difficult for me to be the cheerleader I believe I need to be for the women in the programs care.

Not that I would do anything to jeopardize their stay or recovery. They are quick to thank me for taking good care of their babies and lending a listening ear even though I have not been there that long. And there in lies the rub.

Do I stay with the familiar? Do I squash my misgivings about the profession and continue because its safe, easy and I can make a living?

Or do I strike out for something truly different? Will I be the person I want Nala to be and Max to be? Fearless in their decision making and confident in what they would like to do with their lives despite what others may think. Will my telling them be enough or do I need to lead by example?

Going into 2009 I suppose I have some decisions to make. In 2008 I started to tackle the biggest issue of my life with losing weight. I feel if I can tackle that I should be able to tackle anything.

You can't go home again. The beauty is, if you search long enough you can find another home.

Happy 2009 everyone. I hope its healthy, and happy and full of fearlessness.

Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki