Life/Self
I Went To England — And The Women There Made Me Envious
Comparisons across the pond…
Once upon a time, I was a single, childless woman who wore high heels and dressy clothes. I had a substantial amount of time to do my hair and makeup in the mornings and would leave the house for work feeling as put together as I could be.
These days, I’m a stay-at-home wife, mom, and stepmom who wears yoga pants and a messy bun most of the time — but not the sexy-looking kind of messy bun.
I recently went on a trip with my family to England. The last time I had been there was when I was 17, with one of my best friends. We had stayed with my aunt in London and adventured on the trains and subways alone together. It was an electric time.
Flashforward — I was now decades older, and once again found myself on the trains and subways of England. Only this time, I wasn’t that carefree teenager without any care. I wasn’t wearing cool clothes and running around with a youthful glow.
I was a middle-aged woman nagging at her husband and kids over this, that, or the other.
As I sat on the train one day during our family trip, I realized just how unglamorous I felt. My daughter had been sick the previous night and I had been fussing over her that morning.
Traveling with a sick kid, especially when you’ve made (pre-paid) plans during the trip is a special kind of hell for a parent. As the overprotective mother I tend to be, I was bearing the brunt of the mental and emotional load. My husband and I had been bickering with one another on and off, so there was a sharp silence between us.
While tensely monitoring my child’s cough on the train and quietly fretting over how the day would go, the train stopped to gather and let off more passengers.
Just then, a tall brunette woman breezed onto the train with bustling shopping bags and plopped down in the empty seat across from me. She was like a whirlwind of color and perfume. Her long, red coat was collared and belted. She was wearing black, high-heeled boots. Her flowing hair was beautifully waved and glossed. And to top it all off, she had a full face of pretty makeup.
Her outfit was barely visible under her fancy coat, but you could see it was low-cut and sexy. I glanced over toward my husband to see if he had noticed her — which, of course, he had! I could see him trying to avert his gaze. I definitely could not blame him for looking. She was quite a sight to behold.
I sat there, in my disheveledness, staring at this stunning woman with no sick kids with her, and, quite frankly, feeling envious.
At one point she got on her cell phone to call someone, and her smooth, melodic British accent was revealed. Super sexy. Man! I knew for sure my husband was hearing that.
A part of me wished she would get off the train so I could stop feeling so uncomfortably jealous. I was beginning to wallow in my self-pity. Her presence made me miss the years of being single and fabulous (or at least looking fabulous!) I was envious that she was obviously on her way to meet someone, per her phone conversation. She was free to be a woman of the world who was not tied down by anything or anyone. Well, at least that’s what I imagined.
Here I was — a stressed-out older mom on a train with her family, in my sensible, waterproof boots, cross-body fanny pack, and practical rain jacket. I wondered if the fancy British woman thought to herself how glad she was that she wasn’t me — a hot mess.
Eventually, the gorgeous woman with the shopping bags got off the train and clicked her heels off to her next destination. By that point, I was practically swimming in self-pity.
Throughout the rest of our British trip, I saw multiple women like the one on the train — wearing belted, fashionable coats, with bouncy, shiny hair. Even in the rainy weather they somehow managed to look fresh and coifed. Meanwhile, one raindrop fell on my head and my hair turned into a frizzy, flat spectacle.
Many of the women I saw wore running shoes with their dressy clothes, probably because they had to do a lot of walking to do, jumping from one train to the next. Yet, they still looked amazing and smart. I imagined most of them were single, or maybe they had partners waiting for them somewhere. They certainly weren’t lugging around backpacks and kids.
I imagined things that may or may not have been true about these women I watched traveling alone. I was projecting my fantasies onto them to make myself feel more miserable.
I was once a younger woman who traveled on her own, went to work, and had the freedom to do as she pleased. Then I committed to a partner and had a family. With family, comes obligation, responsibility, and stress.
Motherhood can cruelly twist our sense of identity when we fall so deep into the pool of nurturing others instead of ourselves that we end up feeling as though we’re drowning.
It wasn’t my family’s fault that I was feeling so down on myself. It was a symptom of my mid-life journey. I was missing the woman I used to be and frustrated with what felt like the burdens of my current life choices.
It was a sign that I needed to make a change. The women on the train weren’t the ones making me feel bad. However, their existence had triggered something inside of me that wanted to be heard. The voice of who I was, beyond being a mom and a wife.
That day, I made a vow to myself. I would start letting go of the idea that just because I wasn’t a woman who wore clever, expensive clothes or didn't have lovely, glossy hair, it didn’t mean I wasn’t also capable of being a shiny jewel in the world in my own way.
I could still glow with inspiration and I could still offer more to the world than being a stressed-out mom or a frustrated wife.
I have just as much to offer the world as a middle-aged woman who is insecure about her growing wrinkles and lack of personal freedom as a pretty lady on a train in her smashing belted coat.
