I went through a period a few months ago where I was filled with guilt and shame.  Why?  I actually let these words pass through my head:

“I wish I didn’t have kids.”

I was in Seattle when the thought first hit me.  I was at SNAG, a conference for goldsmiths, and I was blown away by what people who graduated at the same time than me were accomplishing.  Not to mention what people ten years older than me, who had gone to college at the “appropriate” time in their lives.  These people basically had 18 of years of practicing skills, traveling, hanging with the masters, and inspiration under their belt, while I still felt like a fledgling.

My story?  I went to school seven years after my peers.  I was a 25 year old in a room full of 18 year olds.  That part wasn’t so bad - it actually had it’s perks.   I had also JUST gotten married two months before starting school, and we started trying to have kids right away, because we knew that I would have fertility issues.  As it turns out, yes, I did… and it took 3 and a half years of constantly trying (no jokes, please), fertility treatments, and, finally, artificial insemination before I was able to conceive.  I was finally pregnant, but in the middle of my Junior year.  

Carmen was born during my Senior year, so I took a quarter off, then jumped back in right as she turned 3 months old.   This was not easy.  I had a baby who was exclusively nursing and three studio classes… one of which was my senior project.  Honestly?  I don’t remember any details from those ten weeks… just snippets of scenes, like being up all night with her at my chest, pumping milk in the storage closet at school between classes, and many, many hours of working at home to finish my projects.  I know I cried a lot, and slept very little.

When that was over, I felt like the world stopped, and I kind of liked it.  I finally had the time to smell my baby, sleep, and dream of the future and what I would be doing with my shiny new degree.

Well, the answer to that came in the next few months; we moved to Athens, started a farm, and I did a lot of henna.  Meanwhile, my studio stayed in disarray and empty of sweatshop workers.  Then, I got pregnant again.  And had another baby.  Still no consistent studio time.

It wasn’t until this past January, when we had a fantastic housemate (you know who you ar[i]e) who offered to watch both little ones while I got a little something done that things really took off.  And like WOW did they!  Arie was a fantastic and reliable nanny… the kids loved her like part of the family (so did we) and I felt comfortable enough that I could spend all day in the studio, doing my thing.  I had to basically relearn what had been coming so naturally to me before, and it was frustrating at times, but I started to churn out nearly a piece a day.  This was using just old scraps of silver and stones I had collected.  

Soon, commissions started to come in, I was getting invited to show my art at cons and shows, and there were stores that were asking to carry my lines.  I didn’t even have lines yet.  I was a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way.  It felt *great* to be creating again, and to be paid for it, and be known by people who hadn’t met me.  

So, in Seattle, about 5 months after my renaissance, I had this terrible epiphany.  Where would my artistic life be if I hadn’t had kids?  What could I have accomplished?  How many people would know my name… how many galleries could I be in… how many awards could I have won?  How many famous people could I have met, or, better yet, studied under?  Did having my kids actually slow me down, stunt my growth, or kill the career I could have had?

These thoughts followed me back to Georgia, along with the guilt of having them.  It took me weeks to shake the feeling.  I was even afraid to tell my husband that I had felt that way at all.  I felt like a horrible parent; like I didn’t deserve my amazing two daughters.

I’m working on a balance now, and feeling much more content about my past decisions.  My life wouldn’t be nearly as full of love and inspiration if I hadn’t met my children.  I will take the work as it comes and enjoy the time I have in my studio - I will learn what I can when I can, and not bemoan the time I may have “lost.”  And, most importantly, I will instill the love of creating into my own children, giving them a perfect head start.