in silence, crying
I am alive.
in rays of wind
I am alive.
in waves of music
(9 March 1990)
Am I first a wife, a mother, or a writer?
Like most “either/or” questions, the answer is “yes.” I do not accept that being a mother must take something away from being a wife. Nor do I believe that writing must come at the expense of my family obligations. Throughout the ages, people have done great things without sacrificing their families.
Of course, many others have done great things at the expense of their familial relationships. But that is why I spend so much time seeking balance. Not in a mystical, Zen kind of way, but right there in that deeply practical spot where the “rubber hits the road.”
As a mother of four (one with Down syndrome) and fingers in almost every imaginable pot, I have more interests than time to dabble in them. I don’t spend much bandwidth on the topic of writing, because most of my readers aren’t really interested in the process—only the results.
Writers are neurotic about seeking advice, and equally happy to shell out our two cents. But I would rather add my voice to the multitudes of mothers, and in so doing, accomplish two tasks in one: record my life and connect with you, my wonderful readers. (It’s all about multitasking, folks.)