Reaching for Joy
A act of survival in These Times, in motherhood
I am trying to reorient myself towards joy, but not just any joy. Joy for myself. Joy for me, the person, not just me, the mom.
Motherhood is all consuming, especially with a young child. There is no off, only different speeds, different modes. Teaching, supporting, loving, guiding at all hours of the day. School pick ups and drop offs, organizing playdates and trips to the library. Even with I’m not with my child, I’m thinking about or doing something for them. Planning, researching, organizing, folding, sorting, figuring something out for them. Researching, reading, trying to figure out how to best support them as their brain grows so I don’t lose my mind or perpetuate cycles. I barely have time to myself with any level of energy.
Existing in these times, in the city I live in, is intense. Oil spills, warehouse fires, wildfires, roving raids kidnapping people, creating and supporting networks to keep neighbors safe; it’s nonstop. Attending and sharing fundraisers and sending money for the community to step in and fill the gaps where government is slow to move (or is failing). I often wonder what it’s like to live somewhere where your day to day isn’t this, isn’t so focused on such a high level of community safety. It’s been about two years and I can’t fully grasp what life felt like before.
Looking for another job in the age of fervent AI adoption and overuse (even as it continues to show it’s own digital ass), in a time where AI also prevents people from getting jobs, is defeating and stupefying. Reading LinkedIn feels like entering another dimension so separate from my own and the reality I see in my neighborhood, where metrics, disruption and “changing the narrative” override the need for critical thinking, the care for our planet, the consideration of what we will be leaving future generations as asinine questions gulp up our water supply. I don’t want to play this level of the game. I don’t want to destroy the earth or “disrupt.” I want to genuinely help people, while making a salary I can support my family on, ideally without that salary being tinged in blood.
Every area of my life is some level of intense, sticky, or hard. I am slowly being worn down to a nub of a person.
So now I must turn (or return) to seeking, creating, holding on to joy. Like many before me, reaching for joy isn’t just for me, reaching for joy is an act of survival. But what does that look like now, as a mother with so little free time? How do I stay in the oppression and not of the oppression? How do I maintain my personhood?
I don’t have answers yet, just questions. Just fumbling steps forwards, sideways and sometimes backwards. Trying to say yes when the moment arises, trying to step outside of the routine to make space for myself. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but I must keep trying. For me, and yes for my child, but still, for me.