I’ve been feeling a general sense of malaise lately. Haven’t we all?
It might be because of last week’s cold weather, those days of oppressive snowfall and gray. It might be because our oldest daughter is facing the fact that we’ll be ringing in her eighth birthday in the same subdued way we ended up celebrating in March 2020; her birthday party was one of our first planned events canceled due to COVID concerns.
Maybe it’s the fact that we are almost approaching the one-year mark of this pandemic we all trying to cope with. Even with the onset of warmer weather and in-person instruction on the horizon (any change to our routine or opportunity for new activity outside of our home is a welcomed one), I can tell this year is really, really wearing on us around here.
I told a friend that I’ve been feeling rudderless. It’s a feeling that used to creep in when I left my job at MSU and was deeply into the stay-at-home mom life: who am I beyond a mom? What parts of my life are just about me?
It felt like I was getting back into a groove the last couple of years, with different writing opportunities and both girls attending school. I had time to myself, however brief, to recharge at least a few times a week. It felt like I was keeping my foot inside the door of a place I’d be getting back to one day.
COVID changed all of that; feeling rudderless in this storm of a year has been overwhelming.
As I shared with my friends Momfaming in their Moming through the Pandemic series, my job has been to keep us all going during this time. Holding down the fort, I often say. I’ve learned to understand and appreciate the fact that I’m the glue holding things together around here, and that it’s enough.
But this week I realized something that’s been missing. I’ve been wearing my mom hat and wife hat for such a sustained amount of time, and the opportunities to swap in my other hats are few and far between. In some ways, for right now, non-existent. But last night I got a glimmer of the person I used to be, or still am, I guess.
Let me explain.
I was invited to partipate in a panel with the Wharton Center Student Marketing Organization, a group at MSU that aims to promote the performing arts to students at the university. I’ve had a wonderful, long-standing relationship with Wharton Center, dating back to my time with FOX 47. I’m incredibly thankful to have continued writing reviews of shows and conducting interviews with cast members for this blog.
Knowing little about the student organization, I wasn’t sure what to expect from Tuesday night’s meeting, but I was looking forward to having something on my calendar just for me. I put on makeup for the first time in weeks, wore a fun necklace, and closed myself into our home office while Zack took care of the girls’ bedtime routine.
Jumping into the Zoom, I immediately saw a familiar face in Kat Cooper, whom I’ve crossed paths with several times and I admire very much. I felt more at ease. Then my friend Josh Holliday entered the Zoom. What fun! I first met Josh when he played Prince Charming in a promotional video for Cinderella at Wharton Center. You have to watch it here:
While I was excited to see familiar faces (without masks on, no less), I was trying to fight an impending sense of imposter syndrome. In comparison to the others on the panel, what could I offer to MSU students in terms of advice, connections, or an aspirational career path? I haven’t had a regular job since 2017. I write, but it’s been somewhat inconsistent, especially this past year.
That feeling began melting away as the students began to ask us questions. I felt like I could give them advice. Decent advice. I shared the experiences I’ve had living and working and growing in my little post-college world. I felt even better when my friends on the panel agreed with or echoed some of the points I made.
It was a gentle reminder that our lives are a collection of experiences, and those experiences don’t have an expiration date.
Last night’s Zoom meeting, in just the matter of an hour, energized me in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time.
I used to be a member of the College of Arts and Letters Alumni Board, serving as its final president before it was disbanded by the college in favor of new alumni engagement programming. Spending those years on the board, reconnecting with MSU and its students, was an incredible experience. It helped me learn how to give back to the university in a way that didn’t involve dollars, and would have the most direct impact on students.
This morning I texted my friend Linda, thanking her for connecting me with her intern Bryce, who invited me to participate in the Zoom. I told her that the pandemic has kept me in mom/wife mode on full blast, so feeling like I could be of help to others on my own merits and experience meant the world.
Linda wrote back, and the last bit of her text created a lump in my throat.
“I am so happy to have nudged you toward a reminder that you are still Stefanie… bursting with light, creativity, wisdom and a charm.”
May everyone have a friend like her.
Still Stefanie. Not just mama, or Stefy. I love being those things too, but those hats are getting a lot of wear lately.
This experience has inspired me to dust off the other hats, or at least remind myself that I wore them pre-pandemic. The daughter hat. The friend hat. The Spartan alumna hat. The obsessively detailed trip planner hat. The dining out hat. The theatre nerd hat. The writer hat (this one looks like Jo’s velvet cap in Little Women, I’m certain of it).
Some hats have been getting more use than others, but I just have to remember that they’ll never go out of style.
Stefanie, wow! I love your writing! (I’m a friend of your mom’s.) I remember being a mom and it’s a tough balance keeping your life going while holding down the fort!