I've been wondering if I should feel like a "bad Jew."
I don't mean pork, obviously. I mean in that once I had kids I've been in, as my friend describes, "survival mode." All day, all night, it's about keeping my offspring alive and somewhat content. It's a full time job.
The shiurim I used to listen to have fallen to the wayside. When can I listen to them? How could I even hear them, with two loud babies?
Even my reading material—when I finally get a chance to read, I need something light and escapist. I spend all day tending to the needs of two self-centered creatures; when I get the chance, I want my mind to unspool, not get worked up about my failings.
Then I saw a reel on IG from a frum woman who feels exhausted from the constant emphasis on "growth" (I personally hate that word; I've always associated them with tumors). Are we ever permitted to just . . . be?
It's not like I'm twiddling my thumbs. I spend my days telling myself not to lose it with Ben, not to lose it with Ben, not to lose it with Ben, only to lose it with Ben. He's testing boundaries right and left, and it's testing my temper.
It's not like I feel guilty. I come from European stock, which means they find the highest value in mothers killing themselves for the next generation, without demanding more.
Elul is a conversation of dun-dun-DUN!!!, but I don't care. I don't have the energy to care. I'm tapped out.
Because it's technically 24/7 chessed, people. I've already resigned myself that Ben will marry a girl who can't stand me and they'll rarely visit.
I know, I know, seek professional help.
I think that many of us have a lot on our plates. Some of us are caregivers, part of the sandwich generation to boot. They are asking God for assistance just to get through the day, and can't spare a thought to spiritual improvement.
In a funny twist, I find that I'm in a better frame of mind on the Yomim Noraim than I used to. Pre-motherhood: Invariably, at davening, someone would bring their kids, make a racket, disturb my prayer, and make me so angry I knew I failed the divine test. For the last few years I've been home, in pajamas, davening sporadically, taking care of my offspring, but calm and mellow and exuding peace and love to all humankind (sort of).
Last year my sister-in-law told me, "I've turned into you!" Now that her youngest is old enough she's started going to back to shul on Rosh HaShana/Yom Kippur, only to be driven mad by the antics of children.
"The munching of the chips—the popping of those sensory toys—I just can't—"
Maybe it's best that I'm home, doing mundane things on a sacred day. But the work is sacred to, in its own way.
2 comments:
1) Devoting time to raising frum children doesn't make you a bad Jew. It's not like you're frittering your time away on trivial things. Traditionally, expectations for women's study were minimal for this reason.
2) I know how you feel. The frum world presents a 'one size fits all' model of a 'good Jew' or rather, 'two sizes (male and female) fits all.' Real life is a lot messier.
Every year at this time, and intermittently throughout the year, I worry that I'm not a good Jew because the various health issues and brain-wiring issues I have make a lot of being a good Jew (male edition) difficult and at times impossible for me. And maybe I have valid exemptions, but it's still not the ideal state, and that's hard to deal with, especially when I compare myself with other frum men who seem to be doing much better. I spend all year just struggling flat out to get through my Jewish life, and then it gets to Elul I'm supposed to give 110% (without even talking about the practical effort needed to get through Yom Tov).
It's hard. I usually end up looking for reassurance around this time of year. I try to focus on what I am doing despite the effort involved. R' Nachman of Breslov said to look for 'good points,' to be aware of even one or two things that are good about you (middot, mitzvot, chessed) so that you don't give up on yourself.
Comparison can be good for us or bad for us. If I spend my time obsessing how another mother has it so much more together than I, I'm not going to do MY best. She has her best, I have mine.
It makes me think of that maaselah with Reb Zusha - they won't ask if we became like Moshe Rabbeinu, they will ask if we were our OWN best.
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