Metamorphosis

I reach over to quiet the alarm, double checking the time because surely it’s not time to get up yet. Begrudgingly, I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom where I splash water on my face in an attempt to wake myself up. I’ve never been a morning person, but with four kids at three different schools with three different start times, I’m required to be a morning person these days. The rest of the house wakes moments after I do, each kid making their way downstairs, and soon the kitchen is buzzing with activity. We scrounge for breakfast options, pack lunches, double check that assignments were finished, and one by one I get the kids out the door and off to school. By the time I return home from delivering them each to the front steps of their respective schools, the house is quiet and in a state of complete disarray due to the frenzy of early morning activity. I busy myself with the task of returning some sort of order to the house and turn the radio up to drown out the silence. 

 

After I’ve tidied things up, I wander into my backyard and begin the process of watering my plants. Overwhelmed by the idea of renovating my flower beds, last summer I decided to create a container butterfly garden. This is the lazy gardener’s way of creating an oasis for butterflies, hummingbirds, and a host of other creatures. So, one by one I added pots with a selection of colorful plants to my backyard patio. Zinnia, hibiscus, lantana, begonias, petunias, and a plethora of other plants with names I don’t know and can’t pronounce line the edge of my back patio. With three containers filled with milkweed, the butterflies came in droves, and now the plants are eaten down to the stems by over a dozen hungry caterpillars roaming wild and free each day. The sight of those pots, bursting with colorful plants and living creatures, fills me with joy the moment I step onto the back patio.  

 

With all four kids gone at school, I suppose I am seeking something to take care of. My kids are growing at an alarming rate, quite like the fat, juicy caterpillars that cover the leaves of my milkweed. Instead of mornings filled with the nature walks and paint-by-number projects that came with young children at home, I find myself strolling alone in my backyard searching earnestly for new caterpillars. A thrill of excitement warms my chest at the sight of a new itty bitty crawly creature.  

 

Caterpillars spend their days eating, their appetites voracious. Their job is to eat, and they do it well. Once they’ve had their fill, they venture out into the world to find a place to make their chrysalis. They aren’t particularly choosy. Some I find a stone’s throw away on a neighboring plant. Some I find quite a distance away on a fence post or even our door frame. By the work of some sort of magic, they weave their temporary home and tuck themselves inside, only to emerge when they’re good and ready. The transformation is awe-inspiring. An entirely new creation breaks free a few days later. The only constant in nature is change. 

 

                                                                        ***

 

 Life changed in a multitude of ways when Covid hit in 2020. The kids enjoyed a long stint of remote learning from the comfort of their beds, and then I gleefully sent them back to school after a year and a half of that chaos. Fully prepared to send my husband back to work every day, I was in for a bit of shock. He had decided to work remotely from home full time. 

 

“In the corner of our bedroom?!”, I ask, hoping to make it sound dreadful and inconvenient. 

“Won’t you miss the interaction of going into an office?” 

“I love being home and getting to eat lunch with you every day”, he replies. 

My insides twist in guilt and frustration. 

“What about the kids? I mean they’re going to be loud when they get home from school!”

“Well, I worked at home for over a year with them here running around and it was fine”, he responds. 

Defeat sets in.

 

                                                                        ***

 

I shuffle my feet slowly, annoyed that I’m here. I throw a fake smile towards the lady who awaits us. He suggested counseling, and I know it’s a good idea, but I’m mad about it. He’s always been more nurturing than me, and my reflex is to just let the weeds take over. Save the tending for another day. But he insists, and I acquiesce.   

 

The counselor gently nudges us with, “Have you considered communicating to each other what you feel?” 

“But he/she should just know”, we both think silently. 

“Could it be helpful to just relay your feelings, even if it seems obvious?”, she guides. 

“You mean, just tell him when I’m feeling overwhelmed or anxious?” 

“Exactly.” 

“That seems like it would be weird,” I counter. 

“Well, at first it might feel weird because you’re flexing a new muscle, but ultimately this will just be normal communication between you both.” 

“Oh. Well, I mean, I guess we can try it,” I mumble. 

 

It’s not uncommon for couples to find themselves at odds when they become empty-nesters or when they enter retirement and their normal home environment is drastically changed, or the normal schedule is suddenly altered. We just happened to find ourselves in that place earlier than most couples. One might assume that all that time together would foster closeness and a deeper knowledge of one another. But his inability to read my mind daily frustrated me, as if proximity should lend itself to this superpower. And that’s how we found ourselves sitting on a couch in therapy, both angry that the other wasn’t able to meet this unrealistic expectation. 

 

 

                                                                        ***

 

The only constant in life is change. Since my youngest started kindergarten, I feel like I’m floundering to figure out what I’m supposed to do next. Covid was a nice reprieve from feeling that self-inflicted pressure. But now it feels like everyone has gone back to their lives, and I’m stuck in limbo again, trying to figure out what’s next. I struggle with what my head tells me to do, and what my heart longs to do. 

 

“I don’t know what to do about this job opportunity. I’m stressing out over it,” I tell him. “I’ll take it if you tell me to. It seems selfish not to take it.” 

“Why would it be selfish not to take it?”

“Well, because it’s guaranteed consistent income. And you’ve been the sole income provider for our entire marriage. I feel like everyone is waiting for me to figure out what I’m doing with my life.” My face flushes at the thought of it. 

“It’s not selfish of you to not take the job. And you take care of our family. No one is waiting for you to figure anything out.” 

 

Instantly, I feel relieved. Not because he said I didn’t need to take the job, but because there’s something therapeutic about saying the thing out loud that you have been internally agonizing over for days. Communication doesn’t always come easily for me. I’m a work in progress. A caterpillar must go through the proper steps before metamorphosis can occur. 

 

                                                                        ***

 

It's easy to see the transformation of a child growing up, to feel that empty ache as a mother that creeps in when they begin to need you less and less. The gradual changes that occur in a marriage are less obvious. You wake up one day and realize you are suddenly different. You stare across the table at each other at dinner and wonder how it is that you’re only now noticing the massive chasm that lies between you. 

 

In just a matter of weeks, a caterpillar will transform from a very tiny egg into a dazzlingly beautiful butterfly. It will take us longer. Weeks stretch into months, and the transformation is slow. At times it feels like we’re taking two steps forward and then five steps back. But we’re growing, evolving. Glimmers of hope line the horizon, and our hunger for getting this marriage thing right drives us to keep trying. Change is the only constant in this life, thus requiring us to adapt to the ebbs and flows as they come. I found something to take care of. In fact, it’s me. 

 

 

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Love After Babies".