Regrets. . .

A facebook friend posed a question this week that has worked its way under my skin, and won't let go until I address it. She was asking for advice from those of us who left the church after age 40: what would we do differently if we had it to do over again (paraphrased)? I responded that it was too painful to explore the past, and I can only move one direction: forward. Without regrets.

But I do feel regret. And sorrow. And loss. And the 'what if' is killing me. Because I think the church did steal something from me; they took the future I could have had, the future I should have had, the life I've imagined and dreamed about in those moments when I wasn't aware I was dreaming of anything at all.

As a kid in elementary school, I knew I was smart. I was always at the top of my class in every subject, and I was very confident in my intellectual abilities. I don't remember my school performance being mentioned at home; I think it was just assumed that we would all do well academically. We were raised by parents who believed in education; we weren't allowed to miss school for anything but a bonafide illness (though that might have been because school was an acceptable babysitter!), and it was always assumed that each of us would do at least some college. My parents weren't college graduates themselves, and they wanted us to have the opportunities they had missed due to circumstances beyond their control. But I don't remember ever being praised at home for being smart. I also do not remember my future ever being addressed, beyond that of being a wife and mother. I may have been smart, but I was a Mormon girl, and there were (and are) certain expectations of Mormon girls that precluded career dreams. Even for a pre-pubescent elementary school student.

Once I hit junior high school, I discovered my true voice: sarcasm. I'm a genuine smart-ass at heart, much to the dismay of my parents and teachers. I ended up in the principal's office more than once, more than twice even, and was reprimanded by English teachers, math teachers, science teachers, seminary teachers. One thing I did not excel in was self-control. But I digress. The point is that I lost confidence in my intelligence. Maybe because it wasn't acknowledged by parents or teachers, maybe because I drowned it out with my antics. I managed to do well enough to stay off my parent's radar, keeping my grades in the adequate range, but I did not display any sign of ambition or even concern for my future. When I think back on my high school days, I don't remember any encouragement to consider what I wanted to do with myself in the future. It was assumed that I would marry, have children, and stay home and raise them. Maybe it had a lot to do with the fact that I never expressed an interest in a particular career; maybe nobody expected more from me because I didn't expect anything from myself. All I know is that I floated through to graduation, with no concrete ideas for my future beyond the next year. I did plan to pursue a degree in elementary education, but only because I'd been told that teaching would fit in well with motherhood; I'd be able to be home with my kids during their breaks from school, if I had to work, and I'd have skills that would make me a better parent. But I had no real interest in teaching. It was a fall-back plan, the only one I had, besides find a suitable Mormon guy, marry him, and start on our eternal family unit.

My first year of college, I discovered the LDS Institute of Religion on campus. Thus began my years of greatest religiosity. I became immersed in LDSSA (Latter Day Saint Student Association), even serving on the board, participating in every activity religiously. Pun intended. I wasn't very focused on my secular education, having discovered that elementary education was not the career for me. But I didn't have a plan to replace that one, and I was thoroughly enjoying college life. Institute life, anyway. And it was because of my activity there that I decided to serve a mission. That had not been part of my master plan, but it felt like the right thing at the time, and I do not regret that decision.

After my mission, I had some serious decisions to make. I realized that my life to that point had lacked direction and focus, and that I couldn't count on Prince Charming showing up, sweeping me off my feet, and carrying me off into eternal bliss. That was my goal, as I'd been taught, but it wasn't a goal I could make happen. I could not make a checklist that would result in marriage the same way I could plan for a career. And it appeared that I would need to do something while I waited for the man of my dreams. Ugh. Just thinking about that gives me hives. But, that is the reality of a Mormon girl. Maybe not all Mormon girls, but it was true for this one.

Before my mission, I had considered nursing school, and had applied a couple of times. The first time, I was not accepted; the second time, I was accepted, but I declined as I was too involved with LDSSA. I didn't want to interrupt my fun with the serious pursuit of a career. About a week after I returned from my mission, I received an acceptance letter from the nursing program at Weber State. I hadn't re-applied, as I was out of the country when applications were due, and to this day, it is a mystery how my application ended up being processed. I figured it was heavenly intervention, that it was 'meant to be', and I accepted gratefully. I needed to do something, and nursing seemed like a good fit. Turned out, it was a great fit. I loved it from the moment I started. Nursing school was intense, but fun at the same time. I felt like I had found my niche.

After graduation, I accepted a job at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. And I couldn't believe I was getting paid to do what I was doing! It was a great time in my life; I had a job I liked, I was living away from home in the big city, and I was meeting all kinds of interesting people. People who had not grown up with all the Mormon expectations. It was heady, and I was getting a glimpse of a world I had not even dreamed existed. After working for a couple of years in Salt Lake, I went to work as a traveling nurse. Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Hawaii and Boston. Good times. Fabulous experiences. My only regret from that period of my life is that I didn't go to more places. But, home and family were calling, so I returned to Utah, and got a job at Primary Children's Hospital. And it was through that job that I met my husband. More specifically, through the mother of a patient.

Meeting Daron deserves a post all it's own. Someday, maybe. The important point for this post is that, shortly before meeting him, I'd started the paperwork necessary to return to school for a bachelor's degree in nursing. I had become a bit restless, and was feeling ready for a return to the world of academia. However, by the time the paperwork had all been processed, and I was accepted into the program, I had become engaged. I was embarking on the adventure I'd long awaited, that of wife and mother, and I didn't see how furthering my education would be of any benefit. And I would have had to travel an hour each way to attend, as this was in the days before the internet made education more accessible. So, once again, I turned down an opportunity to pursue higher education. A decision I would later regret. But, at the time, I was focused on fulfilling my potential in God's kingdom. At last, I would become a wife, and I assumed motherhood was not far off. Correctly, I might add.

Marriage and motherhood fulfilled all of my wildest dreams. Okay, that's a lie. But, it was fulfilling, and I liked my life with Daron. We had 2 little girls pretty quickly, and they were fun, funny, and delightful kids. I was still working once or twice a week as a nurse, which was rather difficult as Daron was also doing shift work as a Sheriff's Deputy. Matching our schedules was a constant battle. It seemed that one or the other of us was always working, so we never had any family time. When the girls were 2 and 4 years old, we decided that the best decision for our family was for me to become a stay at home mom. A full time mom. I had had a job since I was fifteen years old, except for the 18 months I was a missionary, and I approached the idea with some trepidation. But, our stake president was a pretty traditional sort, and he had said, in a meeting once, that the Lord's way was for mothers to stay home with the children, and for fathers to provide for their needs financially. This was before the 'proclamation on the family' came out, which spelled out pretty clearly the same message. Mothers are, by divine design, meant to nurture and guide the daily lives of the little ones entrusted to their care. And at the time, I was very invested in following God's plan for me. Thus followed some of the darkest days of my life.

I was initially excited to get to be home all the time, and be my own boss. I wouldn't have to set my schedule by anybody else's needs, except my family's, of course. But I would be the boss, the big cajuna, the reigning authority. Oh, the naivete!

The excitement wore off within just a few months, and depression set in. Deep, dark, gray, heavy, bottomless depression. Depression that I could taste, and smell. Depression that sucked all the color out of the world. The summer of 1995, in my memory, had no sun, no warmth. No cold either. Just a whole lot of nothing. I had never before felt so hopeless, and so helpless. I never felt the urge to take my own life, but I started reading the obituaries with a longing that scared me. I wanted to be done. Even the sight of my daughter's beautiful faces wasn't enough to jolt me out of my despair. In fact, looking at my daughters deepened my depression. They were girls, females, lesser beings in God's kingdom. And I couldn't see a better future for them than I could envision for myself. I'd given birth to girls, who would grow up, get married, and give birth to girls, who would grow up, get married, and give birth to girls, who would grow up, get married, and give birth to girls. Into infinity. And for what? To what end? To always be at someone else's service? When would it get to be our turn?

Up to this point in my life, I hadn't spent much time considering my lot in life. I had just accepted that, as a female, my greatest joy and fulfillment would come through marriage and motherhood. That's what my mom did, and most of the other mothers I knew. They were moms, and their lives and needs and desires took a back seat to their family's lives and needs and desires. I had not wanted anything more for myself, because nobody had ever suggested that more was available. Sounds rather naive now, but growing up in the sixties and seventies, in Utah, there was one path open to me. Motherhood. And the implied promise was that it would be enough. I would raise up a righteous generation, and my reward would be in seeing them succeed. And yet, it wasn't enough. I was not fulfilled, I was not satisfied, I was not happy. Being a stay at home mom was killing me slowly.

Daron could see what was happening, and when he suggested therapy, I was grateful to him for pointing me in that direction. I began to see a therapist, and I started a journey that would forever change my life.

What I learned in therapy can be summed up in relatively few words. Don't believe everything you tell yourself. And don't believe everything anybody else tells you, either. I learned to challenge my own thinking, and to face reality as it is rather than how I wish it would be. It is what it is. I might just tattoo that on my forehead.

As part of therapy, it was recommended that I exercise daily. I chose to walk, heading out every morning before Daron had to leave for work. Walking was as therapeutic as talking, allowing me time alone with my thoughts before dealing with the girls' needs. And, one day, I realized what was missing in my life. Me. I was missing. And I had been for a very long time. Who was I, and who did I want to be? What did I envision for my future? If motherhood wasn't enough, what else did I need? And I also realized that it was okay to think of my own needs as well as my family's. I mattered! And what I wanted mattered. If this was the only life I was going to get, what did I want it to look like? What did *I* want? What did I need? And it came to me in a flash: I wanted to go back to school. I wanted the bachelor's degree I'd denied myself for so long. And I felt excited about my life for the first time in a long time.

I started back to school in January of 1996, pursuing a bachelor's degree in Family and Human Development. The only word I can come up with to describe what I felt during that time is joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. It was the time of my life. I discovered a passion for learning that I had never before tapped in to. I was in my element. And I was having fun. Classes were fun, studying was fun, writing papers was fun. Everything about it was fun. I have to admit, I became a bit of a teacher's pet. My professors loved me! I was fortunate enough to be a research assistant for one of my favorite teachers, and fellow students looked to me for extra tutoring in statistics and research methods. Me! It was an amazing experience, and even now, I feel a bit of a thrill at the memory. I had found myself in a most unlikely place. And when I graduated, I was summa cum laude, a completely unexpected honor. But, wow, what a ride.

The last year of my program, I became pregnant with our son. We had always planned on having more children, and we had timed his birth to coincide with my graduation. So, when the dean of my college called and asked me to apply for a fellowship for graduate school, I very reluctantly told him no. I still believed that being my kids' mother, full time, was the right path. Getting my bachelor's degree was just a detour, and I was returning to my family to resume the role I thought God expected of me. And I don't regret being there for my kids. I had invited them into my life; I was happy to spend my days seeing to their needs. But. And this is a very big 'but'. Had I learned nothing? Did I really think I'd be satisfied making motherhood my career? It hadn't been enough before, why did I think anything had changed? Because it hadn't. Not really. I still yearned to be more than somebody's wife, somebody's mother. I wanted to be me, whatever that meant.

It has been almost 16 years since I graduated with my bachelor's degree, and in that time I have returned to work full time, out of necessity. Daron retired from the Sheriff's office, and we still had a growing family to support. I didn't mind stepping up to the plate; fortunately, I was able to go back to a job I enjoy. And my life is good, mostly. But, there is still that 'but'. That very big 'but'.

Who could I have been had I known that I had choices? That I could be anything, and anyone, that I wanted to be? That I could have had dreams beyond marriage and motherhood? That my life was mine to mold into whatever form fit me? How far could I have gone? This is the 'what if' that haunts my dreams, and exposes the hole in my center. I didn't fill that hole as a young adult because I wasn't aware of its existence. Some would say that I have no one to blame but myself, that I wasn't attentive and mindful of the options available. And they would be right. To a certain extent. But, the culture in which I was raised, with its Mormon ideals and notions of what it is to be female, this informed my life choices as well. I set my sights low because I'd been taught to set them low. I bought into the picture presented by those I looked to for guidance, assuming that what was fulfilling and satisfying for some would be right for me. It wasn't, and that is my biggest regret. I don't regret having a family, becoming a mother, and I don't regret spending time raising and nurturing my children. I regret that I neglected myself in the process. I neglected my gifts, and I neglected my soul. "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been."

Today, I watched my 22-year-old daughter receive her own bachelor's degree. I felt pride, and joy. And regret. I want a do-over. I want to go back to my young adulthood, and figure out who I am supposed to be without the constraints placed upon me by religious dogma. I want to own my choices, to know that the person I became was the person I was meant to become. But I can't. There are no do-overs. So, my advice, as one who discovered all of this a bit late? You only get one life, as far as I know, and it is up to you to ensure that it is the life you want. And that it looks like you. No regrets.