By Michelle Fairchild
When I became a mom of twins in 2006 my world shifted dramatically. I had two tiny babies who needed me to care for them in all ways. Thankfully I had a husband who was with me every step of the way and was changing just as many diapers as I was. When you become a parent it is possible to lose yourself and put all your time and energy into your children. What I have had to learn along the way is that I don’t have to choose between being a good mom and doing those things that fulfill me and make me come alive. In fact when I feel happy with my creative life I believe it makes me a happier mom. I need to be writing and reading and sharing ideas and thoughts with people. I give a great deal to my family, but I also need to be contributing to more than my immediate family. I love my daughters and I express that love and I do a lot with them and for them. I am also a key role model for my daughters. As they grow I would like them to also discover what brings them joy, what makes their heart sing, and what makes their spirit soar. If they see in their mom a woman who loves what she does, feels inspired, dares to follow her dreams, then they can grow up with a greater sense of what is possible for themselves in their future.
When I hear from or about other women who are also balancing being moms with pursuing their passions or doing work that feeds their souls it inspires me. I also love to learn how they are managing to embrace their artistic, bohemian, creative and perhaps even punk selves, and are letting her out to play more regularly, rather than losing or suppressing themselves in what can be a challenging role as mom. One such example is a sister Cosmic Cowgirl by the name of Corby Caffrey-Dobosh. Come enjoy her inspiring writing and learn how her footwear choices on the precipice of becoming a mom helped her to stay in touch with her inner wild woman.
Writer: Corby Caffrey-Dobosh, MS, LPC, NCC
Doc Martens and Motherhood: A Short Tale of Self-Discovery
I wouldn’t describe myself as a “shoe girl.” Whenever possible, I run about barefoot. I’m rather fond of my feet, observing them to be two of my finer physical assets, and I enjoy decorating them with anklets, rings, and tattoos. But shoes? What’s the obsession, the lure, the importance? Shoes: just one more item to purchase, one more article of fashion to ponder, one more morning choice to consume my energy and time.
Corby with her children and her Doc Martens
Despite my indifference to foot fashion, I admit there were two shoe brands and styles I desired as a budding teenager, and still relish even today. Two coveted shoes that cost more than I was allowed to or, later given my employment in human services, willing to spend: Birkenstock sandals and Dr. Martens 1919 10-eye steel toe boots. Inevitably, I purchased both – the sandals my first year in graduate school; the boots my first pregnancy. Clearly emanating the hippie-gene pool I sprouted from and was rooted to, the sandals seemed more to fit the person so many others observed me to be: a patchouli wearin’, free-lovin’, bead-makin’, daisy chainin’, guitar playin’ girl. I wore them all about my springs, summers, falls, and winters (with socks, of course). I wore them to concerts, hikes, church, weddings, beach trips, picnics, and parties. I referred to them as my Jesus Sandals, and they were oh-so-conveniently integrated into my wardrobe. The boots, on the other hand, represented someone from deep down, vaguely macabre, Poe-Nietzsche-esque, and nihilistic: my punk rock girl (long live the Dead Milkmen). Purchasing these boots meant going beyond my acknowledgment of this girl – wearing these boots would share her with others. And the opinions of said others influenced my self-identity. The outing of my punk could – or would – change how I saw myself, presented myself to others, and named myself.
My parents ensured a stream of music ebbed throughout my childhood days: Paul McCartney, John Denver, Joni Mitchell, Cream, Fleetwood Mac, The Doors, and other such classic rock bands. When I was thirteen and in 8th grade at my rural public school, a girl in my homeroom introduced my hungry ears to The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, The Dead Milkmen, The Cure, and The Velvet Underground. I delved into a music tapestry often consistent with the line-up for college and the occasional pirate radio shows. Amidst a diverse, yet concordant, aggregation of concert-goers at all-ages shows, I saw colorful people donning various styles of boots: 8-, 10-, 14-, even 20-eyelet boots; black, green, red, pink, sliver, floral, funky. I thought these boots exuded confidence, disdain for the vapid opinions of others, an “I really don’t give a —-,” aura. I craved a pair of my very own and imagined myself wearing them and kicking about at the world, dreaming and scheming my purchase. But still, I refrained from following through. These boots, after all, represented my darker side. Sweet lovin’ girls don’t demonstrate such spit-in-your-face, flip-you-the-finger depravity! But I wanted to – and at times, I did – and as I get older, I find there are times I like being more Doc than Birk.
I continued my journey, found my soul mate, earned my master’s degree, bought a house, married, and landed a job. I still resisted the urge to buy those 10-eye steel toe boots. I simply didn’t need them. I merely wanted them. But that’s just the lie I told myself. I did NEED them to bestow permission for my anti-social side. Pregnancy clockwork-oranged my eyes open to this illumination. The looming existence of motherhood can bring about significant epiphanies, which deserve our mindfulness and homage. I convinced myself to give in, using rationality, thinking “this is the last time you will be willing or able to spend $120 on something for your feet…YOU should do this.” And so, during a January visit to our friend’s mother in Pittsburgh with a five-months pregnant me, I resolved that we would shuffle off to Bovine’s and get me those boots.
Once I had them, I wore them every chance I got. Unleashed and free, punk me embraced hippie me. Throughout all three of our pregnancies, to doctor and midwife appointments, lamaze, and ultrasounds, I wore them. I wore them holding Finnegan’s chubby two-year-old hand at a Sonic Youth show. I wore them to work, where a coworker joked: “What are your children going to say when kids tease them with, ‘YOUR MOMMA WEARS COMBAT BOOTS!!’ My only possible reply was, “They’ll proudly scream out, ‘YES SHE DOES!!!” No longer an adolescent, I wore my boots in mosh pits, raves, and fairy circles. I wanted to be the type of mother who, every so often, changed herself, reinvented herself, squeezed the living out of life – a woman incapable of being defined or pinned. And so, it took motherhood and my children to teach me that I better stop examining myself through the eyes of others, as I’ll only confront a discouraging mirage of who I truly am. My Docs and my children invited me to permit my size nine’s some foot candy and abandon my blah-blah-ho-hum shoe stance, consequently creating space for my punk and willing me to proudly allow her a showcase from time to time (and love her).
Corby
Corby Caffrey-Dobosh, MS, LPC, NCC
I hold many roles, my most cherished being Finnegan’s, Caleb’s, and Ruah’s mommy – and Doug’s soul mate wife. I am a sister, daughter, mermaid, punk, poet, healer, gardener, and musician. I try to be a socially conscious and idealistic girl. I counsel children who live on the margins of life, struggling to make their way in an unsafe anti-child world. I teach neurological psychology, family, social problems, and introductory sociology at our local university. I am committed to change and acceptance.
My other Loves: mommy-dom, getting my toenails painted with glitter, oral traditions, salt water and sand from the ocean, being barefoot, sunflower seeds, Kids-in-the-Hall, exploring in the woods, the two Bobs (Dylan and Marley),night swimming, 80s music, T.S. Elliot, Ezra Pound, glitter and glue, sweat, diversity, doing tai chi with children, sacred spaces, science, dirt in my fingernails, gardens and flowers, science, sleep, punks, hippies, the BEATS, “power-with-others” people, and my Doc Marten’s
My Hates: mosquitoes, reality television, people being rude to parents whose children are a witness, ignorance, onion tears, splinters under your fingernails, arrogance, bullies, “power-over-others” people, traffic, technology.
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Michelle Fairchild is married to a middle school science teacher and is also mommy to identical twin daughters, who are very active 5-year-olds that keep her dancing. She is a writer and artist who has a business called Red Boa Productions. She also works for a non-profit foster-adoption agency in Northern California. At Heart she is a soulful and sensitive intuitive, a courageous creator, a resilient visionary, a self-esteem fluffer, a marvelous music mixer and one who offers up bridges of connections to her fellow travelers. She believes that We Are All Meant to Shine! You can learn more about Michelle’s vision and read more of her writing on her blog The Red Boa
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Tags: articles for women and girls, courage, creative action, creativity, features, inspiring women, living a creative life, Motherhood, revolution, self love, Self-discovery, Wisdom, words of women
Thank you for sharing your personal experiences and views about self-fulfillment and discovery. One could find your life experiences very interesting.