Last In Line

I used to believe being low-maintenance was key. That I shouldn’t need much: from relationships, from the world, from money, from work. Being low maintenance would ensure that I could have what I wanted, in part because my (conscious) expectations remained low and, in part, because no one would leave me because I wanted too much.

Exhibit A: For the first decade of my marriage, it literally pained me to feel all of my needs in marriage and be unable to make them go away.

Exhibit B: I never expected to stay married.

Exhibit C: When my firstborn was nearly a toddler, I felt surprised that he still needed me so much. Why hadn’t he learned to be more self-sufficient yet?

But then I had a body.

I mean, I’ve always had a body, but I didn’t know what it is was saying to me.

Pain for me started when I was very young. Eight years old, maybe. My feet chronically hurt. My knees, too. Then my hips started acting up. I was put in orthotics and stiff shoes. I received therapeutic bodywork. Eventually, I learned a few exercises that I never did because I was a teenager. Later there came the sore throats and the daily headaches.

But the pain was something to get rid of, not to understand. And years of living with inexplicable physical problems left me distrustful of my body, suspicious of its workings, afraid of what shoe might drop next.

When I gave birth to my first child after an absurdly long labor and a trip to the operating room, I was sent on a descent so deep that I became willing to listen. Pain was one thing, but not being able to complete this biological function for no “good” reason? THAT got my attention.

Over time, I learned the most miraculous thing: my body has needs!

Bit by bit, I began responding to those needs. Noticing them. Meeting them. It was a revelation. A revolution!

But then the most shocking thing happened. Tending to my body’s movement needs paved the way to understanding all of my other needs.

My environmental needs.
My relationship needs.
My financial needs.
My geographical needs .
My support needs.
My pleasure needs.
My dietary needs.
My creative needs.
My contribution needs.

It seemed that the needs wouldn’t stop. There were so many. So many different kinds.

It is one thing to need an hour to walk or to need to release my psoas or to install a hanging bar in the living room so I can work on my shoulder mobility. It’s an entirely other one to realize you no longer want to live where you’re living and need to move across the country. THAT is incredibly inconvenient. Expensive. It creates legit relationship problems and logistical problems.

~ ~ ~

This last weekend, my family was camping and I kept hearing myself say things like, “I just need some space,” “I have my own stuff to process.” I knew I had big emotions that needed tending to and that couldn’t be tended to with everyone else around.

Now, if you are partnered with children, you know that the logistics of family life can be tricky. Add Covid and they get trickier. Add camping and they get trickier again. Which is to say: I was keenly aware that me taking time to myself to address whatever I was feeling would mean that my husband would need to solo-parent, something we both already do a lot of. Too much of. And both of my children - who seemed to clearly want me with them - would need to be without.

It felt easier to just set my needs aside for the time being. This way, I wouldn’t have to deal with the discomfort of disappointing my children or of creating an extra burden on my husband.

There I am, with the need to sit and journal and cry and reconnect with myself and yet also thinking it would be best if I could be low-maintenance, low-needs, last in line.

I’ve been at this for a long time now. I know when I’m dodging something important. I’m on to myself. (Bonus: my husband is on to me, too.)

So yes, I sent all three fellas on our planned family hike and I sat by the river and wept and wept and wept. In the course of an hour, I let go of some deep grief and fear I was holding and found myself in a sweet place of ease and delight and deep connection.

It’s tempting - oh so very tempting - especially as a mother, to believe that it is best for you to be last in line. Just about every mother I’ve ever worked with has some element of this complex in play.

• She thinks that she should be resigned to doing more housework and parenting than her partner, even when her partner is available.

• She thinks that spending money on her wellbeing should come after spending money on everything else.

• She thinks that it’s not worth addressing her physical or emotional pain unless she sees it impacting her children.

• She thinks it’s better to put her life on hold than to ask someone else to be inconvenienced.

• She thinks she should come last in line.

My time by the river was good for me. Necessary for my wellbeing. I was a transformed woman because I wasn’t holding onto pain that wanted to move on out. It was good for my family, too. I was more present to everyone. I had more energy to do the work of camping. I had more awareness of what each other person needed and how I could help meet their needs. I was available for play. And not just that. After the hike, my husband asked me why I assume that time with the kids is a burden to him. He’d had a lovely hike with both children and neither expressed an ounce of displeasure at being apart. In short (and this isn’t always the case): everyone’s needs got met.

~ ~ ~

I know that you, too, have grown up in a culture that has taught you to downplay and disregard your deep needs. If you are a mother, you can add the complicating fact that your children have legitimate needs that often interfere with your own. I know how tempting it is to be low-maintenance, low-needs, last in line.

Having worked with hundreds of women, I can tell you that it doesn’t work. You’ll never be able to truly get better, feel safe or create the life you desire by being last in line.

So don’t put yourself last in line.

Sit alone by the river.

Skip the hike.

Let someone else do the dishes or do them yourself another day.

Take the nap.

Keep your yoga mat rolled out in the living room.

Organize your space in a way that reflects your version of beauty.

Find childcare so you can go for a walk.

Pay for the things that help you get better.

Go after the job that excites you.

Lower your standards. Or raise them.

Eat the foods you need.

Move to another country.

Use the baby’s nap time for orgasms or core workouts or painting.

Tell your partner your needs and insist that you work together to get them met.

Shower longer.

Take the writing class.

Invest in your business.

Sign the divorce papers.

Shut the door.

Open the door.

You have needs. That’s an essential quality of being human. Meet the needs, sister. Meet the needs.

Want help embodying the life you desire?