Husband: “Take a break. Go do your thing.”
He says this to me every once in awhile. And I look back at him – dumbfounded.
My thing. I do not have time for a thing. Even if I did, what the heck would my thing be? (If you have not already figured it out, a “thing” in this instance is a hobby.) Some hobby-like things I do include:
- Sewing? Uh…no. I think we all know what happened with that last time.
- Yoga? I like it, but I do it mostly to curb pain and feel well. I don’t know that it’s a hobby, but maybe I should consider it. I think it’s more out of desperation to “find what feels good,” in my case…
- Budgeting? I do enjoy seeing success in our finances, but I feel like it’s more to keep our family thriving.
- Gardening? I’d say it’s a hobby in May and June. I get sick of pulling weeds, dealing with bugs, and watering by late-July. And then I have to deal with it ‘til almost October. It’s a love-hate relationship.
- Drinking wine? Ok, I don’t think that I’m allowed to let that be a hobby. Maybe.
- Blogging/writing? Ok, that’s kinda my thing.
J loves to hunt, fish, watch athletic events (especially soccer and football), and cook (especially if it’s all food I grew or he killed. And he says it in a redneck accent when he makes that menu announcement. It’s something else, y’all. Especially for us not being redneck. Or southern). Why can my husband have a hobby, and not me?
Because I’m a woman, a wife, and a mom. Surely you’ve seen this image somewhere in the interwebs:
I do this all the time. I say I’m going to bed and ask the hubs to join me, but then I stop and pick up junk, organize lunch for tomorrow, and on and on. By the time I get to the bedroom, this man is already laying in the bed half asleep. It takes every fiber of my being not to blow up at him, but he gives me this look like, “You said you were coming to bed. I came to bed. Where have you been?” And he’s right. It’s not like I said, “I’m going to do all these chores first. Actual head-to-pillow time: t-minus 25 minutes.”
I don’t feel like I can take a break. And it’s especially hard to take a rest because we all know who is going to deal with the mess. You know, after I pick myself up off the lawn furniture, where my feet have been dangling in the kiddie pool as I drink a glass of chardonnay. And I say that with the caveat that my husband is super helpful with household chores. He just doesn’t see the dirty socks on the floor and the few dishes in the sink. (You feel me, ladies. Why can’t these men see it?!) Or he doesn’t plan ahead to what clothes we need clean for two days from now. (The number of times I’ve saved this man from wearing dirty underwear…) Also, I love my son. Working full-time while my child goes to daycare leaves me with an unhealthy amount of mom guilt, and I simply want to spend time with him. So taking two hours to go wine tasting with the girls? (Seriously, why is there always so much wine? I might have a problem…) I can’t completely relax while out because I feel like I should be home.
I also struggle with hobbies because I’m a Martha. I love to-do lists. I am an achiever, which means I feel success by accomplishing things. So I often feel guilty when I’m doing something for me. But I need to take care of moi because it is what makes me feel like a real person again! With my own interests, desires, and thoughts. Blogging helps me to find myself. It helps me to reflect on what I’m prioritizing in my life. So I try to do it once every other week.
Yep, it’s a “forget the wet towels in a pile on the floor” kind of night. (Well, maybe not. It’s wet towels, y’all. Gross. Just a really quick pick up to hang them over the banister. But no washing.) So persevere, ladies. Find your hobby. Do your thing. Even if it’s only once a month. Because you deserve to have interests, desires, and thoughts. You deserve to feel like a real person again. It’s time for us to bring back hobbies. It’s time for me to say to my husband, “After I do my thing, you can do yours.”