"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Screams my daughter, beet-red cheeks, tonsils blaring, and liquid anger streaming down her face. I drop her spoon into her bowl and stare at her in disbelief. Half a second ago she refused to mix her raisins and yogurt into her hot cereal. Now she was fuming mad because I dared to mix it up for her. "Am I in the right profession?" I ask myself as I walk away. "I have friends who have three or more kids and they don't ever seem to get dismantled by three let alone one indecisive toddler."
Suddenly, I am jolted from my pity-party by a warm, wet sensation seeping through my sock. "F@$#!" I mumble. "Aaaaaand mark that up for mom fail #2." I curse myself silently for cursing out loud. I look down and there is pee. Not just under my soaked foot, but it's a trail...it's a bread crumb trail that leads all the way around the living room, over the rug, into the office, hallway, and to the culprit now hiding with her tail between her legs. Ugh! I feel for my aging dog, but REALLY?! A puddle isn't good enough?
This is life and it's the life I've been having to live while my husband is away at training. In between toddler temper-tantrums and dog pee, I have been desperately trying to finish up a rating so I can move onto my CFI now in a "new" town. (Okay, we've lived here before but it's different moving back plus I am still wading through boxes. My house looks like we were hit by any wild wind weather phenomenon you can conjure up.) Basically, the one brain cell, I think I have, is beyond short circuiting. It's on fire. I feel overwhelmed and then feel stupid for feeling overwhelmed when I think of all the amazing women and men who are single working parents that make it work. What is my problem? Why is this shutting me down?
I lost it. I lost the drive a long time ago when I was told I was a lemon--like the kind of car you buy from a misleading car salesperson--a lemon--not at all what it was talked up to be.
I felt I wasn't cut out to be a mom. Plus, in the back of my mind, I had been struggling, since the day of the lemon, about my credibility as a pilot.
I needed a break.
And one just happened to come my way. I went to Pensacola with my daughter to stay with a friend in a condo she rented for Veterans weekend. She also brought her grand-kids, husband, and sister-in-law and her husband. Built in babysitters! Yes!
The one day we ventured down to the beach. My daughter and my friend's grand-kids were playing in the sand. One even dared to get into the chilly gulf! Eek! My friend and I stood staring out into the water chatting about flying. At some point, we start discussing the topic of impostor syndrome, when you don't think you qualify to do a job but you really do. And before I realized it, I was literally having a therapy session on the beach. My friend asked me what had led me to lose the person I was before the Air Force said "sayonara".
So I blamed it on the lemon and maybe the miserable flight instruction I received as a private pilot student. This discussion sent me on a journey. I had a long time to think about this on the six hour drive home. I even discussed it with my mom and my husband.
Obviously, someone thought I could fly. I am the owner of multi commercial and instrument rating. I have complex, high performance, and tailwheel endorsements. I regularly fly our Bonanza and Cessna 170. My instructor didn't need to help me with spins, spin recoveries, and aerobatics in the Stearman. I had been hired as a contract co-pilot in a jet and I am now back as a contract copilot for that same jet. I flew over 60 hours in two months to include all the flybys in the Air Race Classic for our team. I automatically did an aborted takeoff when needed--no pondering...I just made the split second decision and did it. I've been told by my flight commander in pilot training, the chief flight instructor at the school where I did my additional civilian ratings, and my instructors that I am a solid pilot. My husband is constantly trying to reinforce it. But why can't I accept this and believe it?
My daughter is healthy and happy (most days...she is a toddler after all). I spend many of the 24 hours out of the day with her. We have fun--go to the park, meet up with playmates, play with blocks, go flying, have art and dance time. I am being her mom. I might not be perfect but I am trying and that is what counts.
Before I left the Air Force, I had a desire to push boundaries (the good ones). I had a backbone. I wasn't afraid.
Now I was living my life full of excuses, fear, and worry.
A few days ago, I finally started to rip my life back from the death grip of fear. It's looking a little worse for wear-- some loose pieces and holes needing to be mended but it's MINE. I've started to stitch patience and love back into my life. Patience to realize I am not the same person I was 12 years ago. But I am ME. I am giving myself the luxury of patience. Patience in small but meaningful and sturdy stitches. For example, I make it a point to exercise. It is no where close to when I was training to climb a mountain or high school cross country. I run laps in my yard in the morning before my daughter gets up. I then do a short yoga session--whatever I feel motivated to do and include some strength and resistance work for my weak shoulders. I don't demand I keep to an exercise schedule because, well, I would be trying to keep a 3 hour workout schedule and that just ain't happening anymore. So even if I don't have 20 minutes. I make 5 minutes work and come to peace with it.
*Sigh*
Then the most difficult part....love. This is not my forte! I don't know how to handle compliments, attention, nor, do I know how to handle love. As we have most likely all heard, "In order to love another, you must first love yourself." Ugh! I really wish I could just skip the latter. But that's not fair. It's not fair to me, to my husband, and my daughter. I have to love myself so I can be the person I was put on this Earth to be. I believe we all have a mission in life. But my self-loathing not only hurts me--manifesting into aches, pains, and illness, but it leads me away from living my life I am supposed to live. And that is exactly what my grandmother warned me of during one of our last conversations before she died. She didn't want me to be like her. She warned me to live my own life.
Today, as I write this. I am in a much different place. I wake up in the morning excited about the day. I feel that spark-drive coming back. And not only as it was but more powerful than it once was because my experiences thus far are now fueling it. Yes, life happens, it's not perfect but I am working to not let it take me down every time it gets ugly.
I am an exceptional mom. I am an exceptional wife. I am an exceptional pilot. Now to embrace it...I think I'll go make some lemonade.
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LEMON - In context of this post is in reference to the Air Force medically disqualifying me from pilot training.