I grew up in a “perfect” Christian family: two parents, eight kids, weekly family nights, church on Sunday, and nightly prayers. We normally ate dinner together, which was often takeout or soup on weekdays. Singing at the table got you banished to sit in the corner regardless of your age. When my mom reached her limit and gave up on trying to calm the unruly bunch, the most frequent line was “Jim! Say something!”
My dad would clear his throat and pipe in with either “What did you learn today?” Or maybe “So, how was your day?” That always went over about as well as you’d expect. He didn’t elicit much response and our conversations went on as they had before.
My parents had enough money most of my life, but I didn’t notice. We had four horses, several acres of wheat, and vacationed mostly by RV.
But it’s funny how you don’t know you’ve got it good until you lose it.
The End of Carefree
Right after my 19th birthday, my mom lost her short battle with cancer, leaving the youngest kid in kindergarten. Although I was the 4th child of the eight, a big part of the responsibility fell to me. My oldest brother struggled to take care of himself with his bipolar and schizophrenia. The next brother had an apartment of his own, and my older sister had just gotten married.
So, I moved back home after my first year of college, commuted, worked nights at a nursing home, and left a chore list and a bribe every Saturday morning before getting a few hours of sleep.
This worked out for five months until my dad got engaged. And I quickly fled the scene for a semester in a Romanian orphanage.
I could not have imagined how much his marriage would change our family. I returned from Romania to utter chaos. When I brought my concerns to my dad, I got a response I never would have expected.
“Don’t make me choose between you and my wife” he said. “I will choose her every time.”
And he did. And by doing so, I lost my dad too.
The Rescue
You may be wondering, “What’s the point of all of this?” No worries, I’ll get there eventually.
Eight years later, it became starkly apparent that my youngest two siblings needed to be rescued. My then 14-year-old brother had been banished to live with an uncle for a year in hopes that the “bad influence” of his older siblings would subside with distance and time.
Once my dad decided that these two kids were unredeemable, I was able to convince him to let them move in with me. They were completely starved of love, affection, confidence, independence, and trust.
At this time, I had two small kids of my own. My husband and I switched off going into the office for a software company where we freelanced. On my days home, I built up my own software, little by little.
Adding two more kids to our townhouse quickly felt tight. It became apparent that my dad had no intention of acknowledging their existence. We were on our own.
But something amazing happened. Our freelance position turned to employment, allowing us to buy a house with more space. And I felt like it was all for those two siblings of mine. Not for me.
I released my little software project and it immediately brought in sales. Now we could take our growing family to Disneyland, making up for the trip my dad went on without my sister as a punishment for arguing. And again, it was all for them. We played, danced, cooked, argued, laughed, hugged, mourned, cried, and let go together.
The Dissatisfaction
Years passed, they moved out as kids do. My business grew, my time shrank, and my satisfaction along with it. I now have far more financial comfort than I did then but keep it all to myself. I see need all around and want to share but don’t know how. Life moves around me, and I barely see it go by. My head is often far away, stuck on solving the next problem or just dreading every task I haven’t done yet, like homework lurking around the corner.
Steve and my four kids have learned to get by without me, even though I’m always in the same room. I come out of my bedroom and move to the couch, often failing to resist the urge to open my laptop before they leave for school.
And there I sit. The world around me might as well be silent and invisible because I hear nothing and see nothing. When the occasional interruption manages to break through my protective barrier, it comes as an annoyance that I push away as quickly as possible. Those interruptions could be my stomach, bladder, emotions, or my family. They all get blocked out.
You see, my super power is also my curse. I have an amazing ability to focus, despite what else may be happening around or inside me. Combine that with unfounded confidence, and I’m unstoppable.
The Crossroad
I’ve learned I can do hard things.
At 19, I went to school full time, had a part-time job, and took care of my house, meals, and younger siblings. At 25, I had my first baby and transitioned from a nurse to a self-taught web developer. At 27, I had more room in my heart than my home or budget. And I dare say, I saved those two siblings of mine.
And yet, I am at a crossroad. I see the trajectory of my life leading to a place where I am alone with nothing but my laptop to keep me company. But there is a deep desire that gets buried time and time again: to share generously. I still believe all of this isn’t just for me. That God has given me all I have so I can share it. But instead, I sit on my couch in my own tiny world while all those who need me go without.
It’s no wonder I feel unfulfilled as I review code, respond to messages, approve designs, acknowledge check-ins, and endless lists of tasks while my world forgets I’m still in it.
I sit on the couch with my laptop day after day until dinner is ready. I eat, we clean up together, and we all move to the couch and turn on a show while several of us turn on some individual screen. Here we sit, all six of us often in our own, secluded worlds, side by side until we retreat for bed.
Once the kids are in bed, Steve and I usually switch to yet another screen and watch a show until we’re ready to sleep, just to wake up and do it all again.
The Dream
Sometimes there are highlights and things to look forward to. One of those is the nights I spend with my siblings. Over the past couple of years, we have built relationships that are truly magical. We write while we’re apart, share and cry when we’re together, and hours vanish like minutes. The vulnerability is completely exposed with the shame, guilt, anger, dreams, and whatever comes along with it. And it makes us love each other deeper and more completely. There’s never enough time.
The thing I want most in life is more moments like these. I want the time spent with my kids, Steve, and other friends to always feel as rich and deep. I want every relationship to have the magic. I want more moments to be memorable so I can look back on a week, a year, a lifetime, and see magic. That magic makes the memories stick, preventing each day from blurring with all the rest.
But the trajectory with my kids and Steve is not headed in the direction I want. When I get perspective and see where this all leads, I don’t want the result. This is the biggest motivation to change. For I know that being present for the people around me will have the biggest impact on my life and sense of fulfillment.
Not only do I yearn for more, deeper relationships, but I also feel like I have a huge amount of power to change more lives. There’s a draw calling from somewhere I don’t understand, pleading for me to save. There are women all around me that are stuck where they are and feel powerless to change it. Their voices reach deep inside me, pleading for help.
I long to help and offer a path forward, but can’t find the time to reach out. I run through my days in my mind and can’t see a time to fit in another thing. My time and energy are expended, and despite the chorus of calling voices, I have nothing else to give.
The First Step
The only possible way forward is to work less. I fear the house of cards will fall to shambles around me if I do less or slow down. I’ve found work-life balance is a myth. And I need life. I can’t keep spending my time in ways that don’t really help anyone, and not truly seeing the world around me.
At this point, staying the same is far more painful than changing.
So I’m letting go of running the company I created 14 years ago in order to take control of my life. One must end for the other to begin.
If today were a song
What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish
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