Fear of Flying

Last summer, I took a trapeze lesson.  It was my 30^th birthday, and I made a lot of noise about wanting to do something big to mark the occasion; so a friend of mine paid for us to take the lesson together.  It was a beginners’ lesson, but it went awfully quickly.  After ten minutes of instruction (“This is a trapeze.  You’re going to swing through the air and flip upside-down on it.  Oh, you’ll be fine.”), I was the first to ascend the swaying metal ladder to the teensy platform, four stories up.  Sure, we had safety belts on and there was a net, but…OH MY GOD, it was high. 

On the platform, one of the instructors grabbed the back of my safety belt and told me to reach way, way out to grab the bar of the trapeze.  I couldn’t reach it.  She told me to reach further.  No, further.  A little more.  I started to panic – I felt like I was about to plummet off the platform.  Plus, um.  It’s VERY HIGH.  And I have NO IDEA what I’m doing.  My legs started to shake like jackhammers.  I kept saying, “I can’t reach,” and they kept telling me to reach more, that I could get it.  They were almost mean about it, really.  Finally, I got my hand around the bar and pulled it toward me.  I was leaning way forward and my toes were on the edge of the platform and they were starting to do the countdown to cue me to hop off the platform and swing forward and I felt like there was no way my arms would hold my weight and why in God’s name was I doing this?  And then I lost my shit. 

I freaked out all over that teensy platform.  I cried.  I screamed, “I can’t do this!!  I can’t!  I can’t!”  I tried to get back to the ladder to get off of the teensy platform, but the instructors wouldn’t let me.   You Will Do This, they told me.  A crowd was gathering to watch the freakout.  After a few minutes, I started to feel like a complete ass and managed to get myself sort of under control.  Finally, after the instructors told me they would use the safety ropes to slow me down, I slid slowly off platform and swung through the air in a half-assed manner.  I refused to perform the flippy-do maneuver that we were supposed to do.  (Let me reiterate:  BEGINNER’S LESSON.  And you’re expected to flip upside down, with your legs on the bar, and swing that way so that, by the end of the lesson, you can do a catch maneuver with the instructor.  Um.  I DON’T THINK SO.)  And I dropped onto the net feet-first, which we also were not supposed to do.  And then I tried not to die of embarrassment. 

No one else at the lesson had this problem.  They all did the flip thingy, and at least two of the women were able to do it with the right timing to be able to perform the catch with the instructor.  I felt like a first-class ass.  (Note to self:  You do not like heights.  You do not like doing new things without learning how to do them properly, and then watching others do them first.  You do not like danger.  You do not like being out of control.  You don’t even like roller coasters, you pansy!  Next time, know thyself a little better.)

I tell this story because, in a weird way, it ties into how I feel about having kids.  I’m not going to belabor the metaphor, but the trapeze lesson does encapsulate so many of the anxieties I have about taking huge, gigantic, life-altering, mental health-threatening life steps.  The thought of making a change that big, that irreversible, utterly terrifies me.  Because once you’re off the teensy platform, that’s it.  You’re committed.  There is no turning back.  The mere thought of it makes my feet sweat. 

I’m at That Age where some of my friends are having babies.  Others, on the other hand, are still single.  I’m kind of in the middle, having been married for three years – just long enough to still be newly wed, but long enough that people sometimes remark that I got married pretty young, didn’t I?  So The Pressure is kind of there {cough}from my mom{cough} but it’s not like everyone is constantly giving me a Look.  That look of, You’d Better Hurry Up Before You Hit Menopause.  I’m just 30.  I have time.  Time is not the issue.*

* Time is also not the issue because I am virtually certain that, if I could make the decision to have children, I would adopt.  The world does not need me walking around as a pregnant woman.  I may not know myself well enough to know I wouldn’t like the trapeze, but I know myself well enough to know that I could not handle pregnancy.  Just trust me on this.   

The issue is that I don’t know if I want children.  I don’t know if being a mother is for me.  When I think about it in a certain way – the way that involves cuddling with a sweet-faced little girl in a little cotton nightgown and reading all my favorite old books to her, or watching a little boy with a cowlick exclaim over a new sled on Christmas morning – it seems nice enough, even compelling.  But when I think about it in so many other ways – the screaming, the lack of sleep, the tantrums, the worrying, the horrid music that teenagers listen to – it just seems like, for me, the negatives outweigh the rest. 

Now, before you get all up in my grill, I know that when you have the child you fall in love with him or her, and that, no matter what, that love eclipses everything else.  But what gets me is that you have to make the decision to have the kid before you even get to that point.  You know?  I would have to make the decision to disregard all of my misgivings and take a massive leap of faith, and at this point that just doesn’t seem sensible.

My life is very structured.  It has to be, with my demanding career and my demanding “hobby” of distance running.  I get up at 6 and go to bed at 10, and in between pretty much every minute is devoted to something specific – walking the dog, running, showering, getting dressed, commuting, working, coming home, walking the dog, eating dinner hunched over the coffee table, and going to bed.  My “down time” often consists of cleaning and running errands, and in the little time I have left, I try to write, spend time with my husband, see friends, read – all of which I would love to do more, but there just isn’t time.  I am frequently exhausted.  The time I have outside of work is precious, and the thought of coming home and having to tend to someone else’s needs makes me want to crawl under the couch and hide. 

And there are other practical matters.  Money, for one.  With two lawyers, we do pretty well.  But we also just bought a pricey New York apartment with a hefty mortgage.  And we still have student loans.  As with time, there’s just enough money to pay for the things we have to do plus buy a few things here and there, plus save some and sock away for retirement.  And with what’s left over, I like to travel.  There are so many places I haven’t seen in the world, and I can’t stand the thought that years would go by and I wouldn’t get to plan a trip to some fabulous new corner of the world because we wouldn’t be able to afford it, and because we’d need to be home tending to the kid.  It sounds selfish and maybe a little childish, but there it is.  I know this is something I love and crave, and it’s one of the few things that allows me to spend time with my husband without all the other Life Stuff intruding in on us.  It’s vital to me, and I’m not ready to set it aside for something else. 

What else?  Well, there’s this thing I have about equality.  My husband and I are, at this point, equals.  We have the same job and the same earning potential.  We split up the household tasks equally – he vacuums; I scour the tub, and so on.  We each walk the dog twice a day.  We’re both runners and do that about equally well.  I don’t mean to sound like a complete freak who is constantly calibrating everything to make sure it’s always equal; in fact, most of this division of labor happened pretty naturally.  We both seem to have an instinctive need to make sure we’re pulling our weight.  And there’s something very comforting in knowing that neither of us carries a greater burden than the other.  We each do our parts. 

My fear is that our equality would be thrown off by a child.  Whether it’s due to my own perceptions of what a mother “should” be or something else, I believe that I would carry the greater burden in caring for a child.  For example, one of us, most likely me, would have to start working part-time.  I believe it would be me mostly because I think my control issues would take over and I would want to be the one spending the most time with the kid, making sure he or she was being raised in the way I want.  And also, the softer part of me thinks that I would hate being trapped at my desk all day while someone else would be raising my child.  And yet, if I compromised work and income in favor of motherhood, I am afraid I would be resentful.  Or I would feel like the world was passing me by.  Like I wasn’t achieving enough.  I already feel like I’m not achieving enough, and I don’t have much but a lack of time to hold me back.  And I would have the added feeling that I was neglecting my duties as a mom.  I would feel inadequate both at work and at home, instead of just at work and with my writing. 

I know that lots of other high-powered New York professional types have kids and manage.  They compromise where they have to, and they adapt their work schedules and lifestyle to the children.  They hire nannies and housekeepers and buy their groceries at Fresh Direct.  (There’s the whole other yuppie-competitive thing about New York parenting that I won’t even get into here, but it is very distasteful and could taint the whole experience, too.)  They just make do, like people everywhere make do with what they have.  But for me, even without experiencing it, I can imagine the mental strain it would put on me.  The pulling in too many directions.  The increase in demands and responsibilities that might send me over the edge, might make every cell in my body just fly apart from the pressure.  I don’t know if I could handle it.  And there would be no turning back, no going back down the ladder. 

So for now, I’m not even signing up for the lesson.  I’m just a bystander, watching from the ground while others take flight.  And that’s enough, for now.  There is time.

Comments

[Allison]

Totally not understanding the whole control issues thing. At all. But now that our referral is somewhat impending, I'm beginning to think, it wouldn't be all bad if it took 6 more months. Maybe. You think about things WAY more than I ever do. I think.

[leahpeah]

my four kids are older, i'm now remarried and my husband would like to experience having his own child. i get that. i want that, too. but my thinking goes into the same tailspin yours does. i like my life right now. why would i want to change that? and yet, i might decide to turn my entire life upside down and do it. dude.

[lawyerish]

That's just it, Leah! How do you make that decision to upend everything and just do it?

You know in "The Book of Questions," there is that question about the cold lake -- do you jump in the water in spite of the cold, knowing it will be invigorating and life-affirming, and blah blah; or are you content to stay on shore and rest on a warm rock?

I always have trouble with this scenario. For me, it brings up more questions: just how cold is the water? Do I have a towel with me? What is the air temperature? The wind speed? Am I wearing water-appropriate shoes, or will I have to go barefoot?

As you can see, letting go and "just doing it" is exactly my problem.

Although the thing is, I've swam in really cold lakes and skinny dipped and all that fun stuff and was always glad I did it, despite the initial shock. It's just getting past the toe-dipping, "I don't know about this!" stage that's tough.

[hnrjmpr]

Hi,
Came here from jonniker. It is so refreshing to read about smart, funny people like you and Jonna who feel the same way as I do. I am scared to death every time I feel weird that I might be pregnant. I don't want, I couldn't handle it, and I'm certainly not in a position in life to take care of another person. And I don't know if I should feel bad about that. BTW, I feel the same way as you about being pregnant. I don't think the world could handle me being that unmanageable. :)

[Jonniker]

Ah yes, the equality. You say it all so well, too. Equality is another issue we struggle with, for since we moved here, I gave up my high-paying corporate job (nearly equal to his paycheck) for a measly newspaper salary.

It was hard, and I think that the day that I stop working altogether, if that were to ever happen, would be almost impossible to bear. And it's important to note that *I've* made it hard, not him. He's never made me feel that way.

I'm glad I found you here.

[lawyerish]

Hi, hnrjmpr! Hi, Jonniker!

I'm glad y'all found me here too! Is the Internet like life's greatest blessing, or what? I'm so feeling the WWW love. Finding common ground - yay.

One of the tough things about being on the fence about kids (or off the fence, but on the "no kids" side) is that so many people tend to be so very vocal about their opposition to the concept. They look at you like you must eat babies and kick small children in your spare time. And I happen to like babies (ooooh, baby head smell! very good, very dangerous!) - just not ready to have one myself. Or you get, "Well, you'll change your mind." Orrrr, maybe I won't! But thanks for playing. I am open to changing my mind, but I don't want to be made to feel as though I am invalid or thick-headed if I stay this way. I don't mind an intelligent conversation in which someone with children opens up about how they made their choice to have kids, or about how tough it was when they were babies but how it turned out cool, but let's keep the proselytizing out of it, 'k? Yeah.

Incidentally, someone said to me recently, "You should have kids soon. They'd be really cute." First of all - uhhh, not the best reason to procreate, maybe? And second, what if I were infertile? What if I'd just had a miscarriage? Why is my uterus suddenly a topic of conversation with someone I barely know? People stun me sometimes.

[chirky]

OMG, we're totally on the same page. I am so in love with you right now, that perhaps I'll move to NYC and live in your attic.

Do you have an attic?

Nonetheless, I'm so there with you. Every bit of what you wrote is exactly what I've felt and exactly what I've called my "selfish side" because: Children? They would just take up so much of my time. And there are so many things I still want to do without that responsibility.

So. It is official, we are friends.

[lawyerish]

Hey, Jes -

Yay! We're friends! {skipping down the sidewalk}

Sadly, we do not have an attic in our apartment, but we have a guestroom/office and a half bathroom the size of an airline lavatory - how does that work for you?

You're so right. So. Much. Time. It's comforting to look at all the famous people through history who have not had children. You look at how much they accomplished and think, dang! Maybe if I don't have kids, I can devote my time and energy to becoming the next Oprah/Julia Child/Katharine Hepburn/Susan B. Anthony! (Of course, then there's someone like RFK who was amazing and had like 50,000 kids - but he was a man, so it's not quite the same).