The Overdue Life of Amy Byler

by Kelly Harms

But it’s hard—looking ahead, seeing their mistakes coming, and then, unless they are in actual mortal danger, holding their hands as they make them anyway.

I realize I have been driving my life with my body. Trying somehow to carry my worries and sorrows and insecurities on my shoulders, as though I could wad up all the hurt and fear I’ve felt since John moved out, stuff it in a backpack, and hike through life with it.

He said that his identity as a man was all caught up in his work. That’s what he told me this morning. I went to diving practice with that in my head. It wasn’t a good headspace. I kept thinking, his identity as a man. What the hell does that mean? I know a bunch of other dads, and I would say that they all have being a dad at the top of their list of identities. Like, you’re a librarian, and a teacher, and a friend, and a bad dresser, but most of all you’re a mom, right?

It is a generous gift to do something you don’t necessarily want to do, at great expense of time and money, because you know it will make someone else very happy.

I get this now. I get now that you can love what you have, love your kids and your life and your friends, and still want more. I get that it’s ok to go out and get more—more love, more friendship, more fulfillment—and still be a wonderful mom.

I can be 100 percent a mother and, though it isn’t easy, still be 100 percent myself as well. It means changing how I think. It means understanding that to care for my children well, I must never again forget to care for myself.