A Different Kind of Purpose

I came across the following post on Instagram. The author is Natalia, and her account is called mein.leben.ohnekinder, German for my.life.withoutchildren

The caption reads:

44, Childless. Married. As I’m getting everything ready for my birthday, I realize one thing: This is not at all how I ever imagined my life would be. 

Later she goes on:

When I used to think about my 44th birthday, I had a completely different picture in my mind.

I thought I’d be a Mom by now. That kids would be running around our home, that we’d be celebrating birthdays as a family, and that our lives would look completely different.

But life had other plans.

Seven years of trying unsuccessfully to have a child have taken their toll. And at some point, I had to learn to let go of a dream that I would never have given up on of my own accord.

Today, as I stand in my kitchen preparing for my birthday, I realize: Yes, my life has turned out differently than I had hoped.

But I’m still allowed to love it.  I’m allowed to be grateful for what I have.  I’m allowed to look forward to what life still has in store for me. I’m allowed to understand that children would never have been the fulfillment of my life. I find fulfillment in Jesus alone.

I’m allowed to be happy, to laugh, to celebrate, and to be grateful; even if a great wish has gone unfulfilled.

Maybe my life isn't what I originally planned. But it's my life. And I don't want to keep missing out on it while I'm mourning someone else. 

Did you ever imagine your life would be completely different at a certain age?

This story touched me. On the one hand, I sense sadness, but I also sense courage and hope.

The picture above, taken by my Mom, shows my family. Not on my 44th birthday, but on Easter. It's the closest I could find. I don't even want to imagine what that picture would look like without that clever boy on my lap.

And yet, this could very well have been my reality, too.

We struggled for several years with our inability to conceive. Back then, I had decided that I would leave no stone unturned until I turned 40. After that, I would have to let it go.

I would have to find a way to lead a happy and fulfilling life without children, without bursting into tears whenever a pregnant woman walked past me, or a woman pushing a stroller.

I would have to find a way to stop doubting myself.

Was I working too much? Was I living an unhealthy lifestyle? Did I not deserve to become a Mom? And why did young women who drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes, and didn't even want a baby, get pregnant, while I didn't?

At the time, I had a job I loved at Starbucks. It was also a job that was pushing me to the brink of burnout. With the business growing by 30% every year and too few resources to cope with all the new stores and employees, the pressure was enormous. I sometimes wondered whether my lifestyle was the reason I couldn't get pregnant. Perhaps I was doing something wrong. Perhaps I wasn't doing enough of the right things.

Fortunately, we didn't need any medical procedures, and we were spared the looming deadline.

I was pregnant, and everything went well.

My dreams came true. My life had a purpose.

I know that might sound unfair. Every life has a purpose, with or without children. And I don't mean that my life before Colin was meaningless. Far from it. I know I made a difference at Starbucks. I supported colleagues, shared my expertise, and helped people navigate their own challenges. Some still thank me for it today, and that means a great deal to me.

But being a Mom somehow makes it easy to tick the purpose box. You're raising a human being. You're the person they depend on, the one who helps them navigate the world and, hopefully, become the person they're meant to be.

Professional purpose is different. You can contribute, support others, and be good at what you do. You can even become someone your colleagues rely on. But ultimately, you're part of an organization that will carry on without you. Someone else will take over your responsibilities, and life goes on.

Being Colin's Mom is different. Nobody else can fill that particular place in his life.

That's not to say that professional achievements don't matter, or that raising children is the only meaningful thing a person can do. But for me, being a mother gave me a kind of purpose that was different from anything I'd experienced before. It wasn't about meeting targets, managing growth, or helping an organization succeed. It was about another human being whose life I was responsible for shaping.

I'm grateful I didn't have to find out what I would have become if Colin hadn't come along.

However, soon I'll face a new challenge. At some point in the not-too-distant future, he's going to leave the nest.

And then what?

Will all those years of being a Mom, of having someone who needs me, somehow make me feel that I've lost my purpose? Or will I find a new way of being his mother?

I know people say that your kids will always be your babies, and all that. Still.

You gave birth to them, fed them, played with them, taught them what you hoped were good values, and helped them become independent so that one day they could fly away.

In my head, I know that's how life is supposed to work. You raise your children to become independent adults, not to stay dependent on you forever. But the thought of Colin packing his bags and leaving home makes me sad.

I had my 20 years or so with him, and that was it?

Yes, he may visit. Yes, if all goes well, I'll get to see him find a fulfilling job, meet that special person, and perhaps even start a family of his own.

Becoming a Grandma is my next milestone. Except that there isn't anything I can actively do to make it happen. That decision, and the timing of it, will be his and his partner's.

All over again, I'll have to do what I don't do particularly well: be patient and trust the universe.

Perhaps part of what makes this so difficult is that I know I'll always be Colin's Mom, but I won't always be needed in the same way. And being needed has been such a big part of my experience of motherhood.

I suppose that's the point of raising children: eventually, they need you less because you've helped them become capable of looking after themselves. I wouldn't want it any other way. That doesn't mean I'm already ready for it.

In the meantime, I'll keep busy.

I think I can do that.

Thoughts?