Freedom Sandals

I ran away from home right after my third child was born. I didn't go far, and it was only for the weekend, but the fact is, I ran away. Now that I think back, I may have been suffering from what is currently widely known as Postpartum Depression. At the time I just called it crazy. I had been confined to bed through most of that pregnancy, due to preterm labor problems. The "problem" was that I was pretty much in constant labor of the final four or five months. I was already the stay-at-home mom for a 17 month old and a three year old; it was impossible to stay off my feet. Plus we had mounting medical bills we could not get out from under. So shortly after the birth of my third, overwhelmed by hormones and circumstances, I had a little mental break.

It wasn't too bad, all things considered, except every day I sat in my car and cried. Every time I drove to the market I had vivid fantasies about simply continuing onto the on-ramp of the freeway and driving until I ran out of gas; starting a new life wherever I ended up. Then I would sit in the parking lot at the market and cry about what a horrible mother I was, for even conceiving of abandoning my family. I would imagine my poor babies and their confusion when Mommy never came home. I imagined my poor husband and how hard it would be on him. Then I cried some more. I hated myself for being so selfish. And still I longed to escape. I didn't want to leave them, but I wanted to be gone.

Typically I pushed my cart through the market sniveling and spending money I couldn't afford to spend on diapers and formula and all the other expensive parts of having children. Each time I compensated myself for not riding off into the sunset by buying a candy bar-- which may explain what happened to my figure. Finally after a few months of this, one bright and beautiful Friday, I decided I had to go. I had to get a handle on everything before I lost it all. I called my husband at work and tearfully explained that I needed to get-away. I needed to go. I didn't have a plan. I had no place in mind. I just knew I had to go somewhere for the weekend and get control over my sanity or I was no good to anyone. When he arrived home from work I had a small bag packed and waiting. He took it extremely well. I know I would not have been as understanding. Maybe he recognized that I was falling apart. Maybe he was just that great a guy.

I kissed my babies goodbye, took my bag, got in the car and tried to figure out which way to point the car. I opted for North, and decided that I needed to be near the ocean. As I began my drive I realized I didn't own a pair of sandals. I couldn't recall the last sandals I had owned, and if I was going to the beach, I needed sandals. (You can see I was out of my mind, right?) I made a pit-stop at Payless and bought a pair of basic white beach sandals. I immediately felt better. These $12 sandals were a symbol of my escape, my freedom, my opportunity. I could breath now. I had sandals.

I drove for about an hour and a half in heavy traffic before I hit Ventura. I was close enough to smell the salt air and that was good enough. I pulled off the highway at the first Motel 6, checked in and called home. After verifying that everything was fine on the home-front, I walked across the parking lot to a Carrow's Restaurant and had my first meal alone in three years. I didn't have to cut anyone's food while mine got cold, no bibs, no highchairs, no constant chatter. I didn't even have a book to read. I just sat there in silence and ate slowly. No one needed to be home in time for a bath or a TV show or bedtime. But I couldn't help thinking, "what are they doing now?" It was after dinner time for them, had they finished eating? Did they get their baths? Did he play with them or just hurry them off to bed? Were there stories or just TV? Did they miss me like I missed them?

I slept soundly through the night and had another quiet meal for breakfast. I wandered over to the movie theater and watched a tear-jerker. I spent the afternoon in my motel room sorting a bag of bills, creating the matrix for us to file bankruptcy. (I had just turned 24 and I was filing my own bankruptcy because I couldn't afford for an attorney to do it.) I had dinner alone again and, after talking to my family, I watched a movie on cable and fell asleep. The next morning I headed back home after breakfast. I was ready to attack and be ravaged by life again. I was so happy to be home. I had missed them so much. Nothing had really changed while I was gone. All our troubles were still there, but I was much better prepared to cope with them.

I never actually made it to the beach that weekend, but I wore my new sandals the whole time. And I wore them for a long time after that. Years. After about a dozen years they were finally retired, having been super-glued and duct-taped together repeatedly. It wasn't that I couldn't buy another pair of sandals; it was that these sandals had been so perfect I never found a pair which made me feel the same. They linger somewhere in my closet still, because they are not just a pair of sandals. They are Freedom Sandals. Over the years they have served as a reminder of a very important lesson I learned that weekend-- I cannot take care of others unless I take care of myself first.

I know too many mothers who forget this. We spend so much time being the problem-solver and the go-to-gal for everyone around us, that we forget how important it is to nurture ourselves. I am no good to anyone if I am not healthy, mentally and physically. I have to remember to take a little time for myself every once in awhile, and there is no shame in doing so. I am not a "bad mother" because I needed a break; a breather. I don't need to run away for the weekend. I can just take an hour and get a pedicure, meet a friend for coffee, or join a monthly Bunco club. Whatever it is, however you escape, it's important to put yourself on the front burner once in awhile; to rejuvenate, take account and refocus. And there is nothing wrong with that. I think it was my mother who used to say, "When the plane is crashing, they instruct you to put the oxygen mask on yourself before trying to help others." Now I understand, those weren't flight instructions, they were life instructions. (Of course it also contributed to my fear of flying, but that's not the point!)