If You Need Me This Summer…

By Chelsey Dankert

Let me start by saying that I have had four healthy and very average pregnancies; however, I know this is not the case for some and I hope you have found peace and healing if you have endured a traumatic pregnancy-related experience. 

When I was younger and about to graduate high school, I was no exception to the  daunting question of “What are you going to do?” And more often than not I responded with “Whatever I need to do until I get married and have kids.” 

That was my honest outlook on my future. That was my calling. That was what God had created me, and women in general, to “do”. 

I grew up in a fantastic home. Both of my parents were present, my dad worked hard in the trades while my mom stayed home with all of us kids - seven in total, spanning over 20 years from the youngest to the oldest. I’m close to the top as far as ages with 4 siblings younger than me. Our home was chaotic and busy. But I loved it. I loved knowing that someone would almost always be around and now that we’re all adults, my three sisters are my closest friends, even though we live quite literally scattered across the nation.

Our home was fairly conservative, meaning we were homeschooled, we didn’t have a lot of technology (until we were old enough to purchase it ourselves), we went to church every Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening, and also Thursday youth group when I was in high school. Seeing my mom as a homemaker was setting the example that this kind of family unit could - and does - work. 

I didn’t think it was a big thing to assume, when I was 17, that motherhood would be my life plan, my duty, if you will. So I was shocked when some people from a much older generation implored me to “make more plans than just that…” I really had no other plans. I would do whatever I needed to do, until I was able to do what I was meant to do. 

Fast forward many, many years, many mistakes and much grace extended later - April of 2015 I am holding my precious baby girl for the first time. 

I did it. I am a mother. 

And again; and again; and again. I was blessed with my four beautiful babies in 6 years. Each experience was different, but the same in so many ways. 

I loved being pregnant. For real. I was ecstatic each time I saw that line or the word “pregnant” pop up on that plastic stick. I had morning sickness with my girls, which lasted over 4 months with my first; but even in the waves of nausea I finally felt at home in my own body. As if this was the ticket I had been waiting for to fully become me. 

Something finally clicked inside of me - I had found my purpose. 

I loved looking at my body changing, feeling the life grow within me, being in awe of what my body was capable of. (I am still working on loving my post-baby body with the same honor, but that’s a different story). 

Now, a decade into motherhood, I have been sensing a shifting in my seasons and role as a mother.

And I’ll be honest, it hasn’t felt comfortable. 

For 10 years I have known what to do: have babies, breastfeed babies, have more babies…

And now, as my youngest will be four in just a few months, I have been struggling with some inward battles about my identity, my priorities, my abilities, my callings…It wasn’t until just recently, Fourth of July weekend this year, in fact, that I was able to pinpoint the root of my bubbling anxieties and angst that has been surfacing recently. 

I do not have plans to become pregnant again - so what is my purpose now?

I’ve known the routines and expectations - but now what can fill that gap?

I had happily put my desires to the side - activities and trips all adjusted around if I could strap my infant on to participate; and if not, I’d sit out, miss out, and try to not wallow in self-pity watching others enjoy themselves because this is what I am supposed to be doing. 

I sacrificed my body - sleepless nights and bouts of mastitis; I was determined to be the best source of nutrition, trying to do all the right things, trying to manage the ever changing hormones. 

But now…

I find myself in uncharted territory, navigating the waters between a pre-teen girl to an overly- independent-not-a-toddler-but-forever-my-baby-boy, with an often-overlooked and even keeled son and a spicy 5-going-on-15 daughter in the middle. Their needs are changing and I am learning to adapt. 

I am re-learning to love myself and be open to the possibilities that this new season is bringing.

Our road trips can be longer, with fewer bathroom breaks so we can explore further adventures.

Our bedtime routines are smoother and (more often than not) kids sleep the entire night. 

Our conversations are deeper and more meaningful. 

We have fun together building Lego towns and space jets. 

My body is becoming my own again. My time is more flexible for the things I enjoy. My mind has space for complete thoughts. My heart is open to dreaming again. 

On the recent holiday weekend I found myself with the freedom to go out on the paddleboard more than once, and it wasn’t an inconvenience. 

I wasn’t an inconvenience. 

As silly as it sounds, I am reminded that I still matter outside of my motherhood. Raising my children is a blessing and life-long journey; it is part of what I do, but it is not wholly who I am. The last few months have been an emotional and spiritual season of pruning, of cutting away and stepping back to see bigger pictures; of letting go and making space for new growth. 

I am no exception to my own experience. I am not immune to the physical seasons changing around me, the internal seasons that require some sifting, or the seasons of those around me as their lives grow and change.

So if you need me this summer, I might be busy rediscovering who I am, embracing the waves, and basking in the sunshine.