Doors Open and Shut
I write this issue perched at the patio table, two lazy Danes snoring at my feet, intoxicated by the hypnotic duet of bubbling water and cooing doves. The flowering shrubs along the fence attest to the fact that Spring has sprung in my neck of the woods. Each Spring provides me with a reminder of the potential each of us possess for personal growth and improved self awareness. This Spring is a particularly bittersweet one for me: my only child will be leaving the nest in a few short months to embark on her new life as a college student on the east coast. Although it has been obvious since before she first entered high school that this day would arrive; awareness has not made the looming reality any easier. Our household is in the final frenzy of the high school experience: Colleges have wooed, visits were conducted, and a decision has been made. Senior prom has come and gone, graduation announcements have been mailed and my 18 year old is counting down the weeks until she crosses the stage to accept her high school diploma. I know I will not be the only parent in the audience with tears running down my face behind my faux Foster Grants, getting the “Mo-om” eye-roll from the newly birthed graduate. So as writing often does, this writing serves a cathartic purpose as I sort through they myriad of feelings I am currently experiencing. I hope my musings will provide you with food for thought and opportunity for introspection regarding your own approach to the inevitable part of life: Change.

Each of us carry labels in our heads which provide definition to ourselves and others. We use these labels as a form of shorthand when meeting others for the first time and to provide anchoring for ourselves when faced with doubts or challenge. Some of my labels have been transient: student, graduate student, girlfriend, legal secretary, marathoner. Others are more constant: woman, daughter, sister, psychologist, liberal, friend, spouse, stepmother, mother. Of all the labels I have held, that of “stepmom“ and “Mom” has been the ones I have taken the most pride in. That they possess such meaning is a bit of a surprise since neither are labels I expected to hold. As a little girl I rarely played with dolls and never played “Mommy” with my friends. I was most likely to be found perched high in the branches of the walnut and almond trees in my backyard, or looking for salamanders and lizards in the golden hills behind my house or riding my bike through the neighborhood with my friends. I had a preview of motherhood when I met the man who is now my husband. Like a bonus gift with purchase, I received three loveable gifts ranging in age from 7 to 10 when my husband and I began our relationship. My relationship with my stepchildren has been rewarding and rich and I credit my relationship with them as giving me confidence in myself that I could be, in Winnicott’s words, “a good-enough” mother. After a few years serving as a mostly not-so-evil, stepmother, I was surprised as I entered my 30s that my as-yet-undetected biological clock began to sound its not to be ignored, alarm. Once I realized I was pregnant, I spent every spare moment, when not reading my graduate school textbooks and writing papers, poring over all of the “What to Expect” books and child development books I could lay my hands on. When my daughter was born, it was truly the happiest day of my life, no cliché intended. Like a soundtrack for the moment the old Helen Reddy lyric "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar," ran through my mind as I, high from a combination of endorphins and exhaustion, watched my sleeping newborn breathe in the bassinet next to my hospital room bed.

For the next 18 years I would make decisions based on my child’s needs. We moved to a neighborhood that was safe and had a playground for young children and their parents to gather. Her dad and I chose the best-fit preschools and schools for her to attend. I accepted a position at an outpatient clinic that allowed me to end my day early in order to pick my daughter up at dismissal. I volunteered when I could and chaperoned field trips when asked. Over the past two decades, I helped her navigate the ups and downs of friendships, crushes and first loves, difficult teachers and rigorous academic expectations. We’ve had our share of tears, slammed doors and, our own version of everyone‘s favorite ”It’s not fair!“ battles. I’ve experienced the particularly hellish form of parental insomnia involving an interchangeable cast of characters and situations, including but not limited to: cars, parties, alcohol and predators. Thankfully none of my nightmares met the light of day and we, knock on wood, have made it through to this point in time, wiser and relatively unscathed. Her dad and I fostered and encouraged the expansion of her global view of the world through travel and multicultural experiences, and we are proud to support her decision to pursue study in international affairs and human rights issues.

So now, here I am, poised at the edge of a precipice, facing the coming weeks, months and years ahead with some anxiety as I redefine a personal label or two. I am forcing myself to be mindful of the fact that just like the new leaves and blossoms on the bushes around me, this time reflects a period of personal growth and development. This is a special season of its own, the long, rich season of shepherding my daughter through childhood and adolescence is coming to an end and I will be losing my role, at least as it has been thus far, as Mom. The house will be quieter, my schedule will be less busy and my life will be altered. Life up to this point has certainly provided me with challenges: moving to a new state, the death of my parents, taking the professional leap of faith to open a private practice, but I feel that this new stage, this empty nest syndrome, has touched my emotions and rocked my world in a way that nothing else has thus far. This new season has filled me with joy, excitement, fear and, strangely, loneliness. Similar to when my parents passed away, this period of my life has caused me to become increasingly introspective. I find myself questioning who I am and who I will become next. I am surprised and somewhat confused by my own fearfulness about what the future holds. I have always viewed myself as an adventurer and one who sets, then achieves, goals. After all, I earned a Ph.D., became a stepmother, completed several grueling marathons and triathlons, am SCUBA certified, parasailed in New York, and next week plan to experience my first skydive. However, with the fast approaching date of my daughter’s departure, I am experiencing a new side to my psyche.

As I write this, I realize that this is my season to learn to let go, redefine my relationship with my spouse, deepen my relationship with my stepchildren, gain greater understanding of who I am developing into, and to look forward to the future relationship with my maturing child. Life’s transitions or stages inevitably involve endings and beginnings, some more painful than others. I am faced with the realization that this transition is yet another opportunity to close one door, however difficult that may be, in order to open another. What lies behind that new door, I am not certain. What I can be certain of is that it will hold surprises, joys, challenges and, in all likelihood, more fears. Rather than becoming paralyzed with apprehension, I recognize as I cross the threshold that this new door also holds opportunity for self-growth, understanding and richer relationships with others.

"When one door closes another door opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us."
--Alexander Graham Bell