However, I cannot shake
off a feeling of resentment. It is not so much a feeling of envy
or jealousy as it is the idea that my friends and I were supposed
to go through these rites of passage together. Growing up, we shared
the same dreams of settling down like our parents, with the hope
that our children would carry on our tradition of friendship. As
I witness each girlfriend take her symbolic steps around the fire
and say her final goodbyes during the vidaai (Hindu ritual
when bride makes her way to her husband’s home), I find myself
sitting on the madap (altar), in the same spot—minus
one.
Although many of our friends try really hard not
to change after marriage, their lives do. At one point, friendships
were their number one support systems, while their families remained
in the dark about most things including whom they were dating. Now
family commitments and obligations take precedence, while the ties
of friendships weaken. As I continue to rely more heavily on my
friendships, this loss of connection often leads to feelings of
isolation. It is furthered by my immediate family’s persistent
anxiety over the never-ending question: “When are you going
to settle down?”
I sometimes feel as though I could be the poster child for the South
Asian girl’s “dream deferred”—single, over
thirty, moved back home with her parents, still trying to find her
“calling,” and succumbing to online dating! At this
point in my life, I had hoped to be alongside my friends: marrying
my first love, working on child number two and advancing in my career.
However, first love did not live up to the promise of forever, and
as I tried to compensate for the loss, I turned into a modern-day
gypsy. In the pursuit of new love and happiness, I gracefully changed
zip codes and jobs five times in the past five years. All the while,
I became burnt out from the lack of stability and constant disappointment,
which finally led me back home to remain still for a while and to
explore the next steps and save money, while waiting for something
or someone to provide me with a sense of permanency.
Over the past year, I have met a number of South
Asian women in the same predicament as me: holding off on purchasing
a house, going back to school or climbing the career ladder. Any
decision we contemplate making at this age often hinges on a “What
if?” A good number of us are in the market for a South Asian
man and, frankly, that often requires a nationwide search. I can’t
tell you how many times I have seen some of us hesitate to move
forward with our lives because of our uncertainty about where our
future husband might be based. When I was 21, I would never consider
moving away from friends and family just to be closer to a man,
but today I have kept myself open to the possibility out of a need
to be married. The irony is that I always believed in the notion
that one does not need a “man” to be happy.
So, while trying to grapple with this overbearing feeling of weakness
about needing marriage and childbearing to feel complete, I returned
to Psychology 101 and Erik Erikson’s theory of human development.
Erikson is a renowned psychologist who developed a list of eight
developmental stages marked by conflict that human beings encounter
in the span of their lifetime. Successful resolution of each stage
leads to a positive outcome with the goal of reaching a higher wisdom
during the last course of life. Erikson’s developmental stages
of “isolation vs. intimacy” and “generativity
vs. stagnation” speak to a number of us 30-somethings trying
to achieve healthy intimate relationships with others out of fear
of ending up alone, and taking on the responsibility to care for
others (by having children) in order to avoid becoming too self-absorbed
over time.
I realized that the nagging feeling of wanting to settle down,
in the traditional sense, may be more psychological than that of
surrender. My desperation to find “a husband” is partly
due to my desire to raise a child, because I am tired of just looking
after “me.” Marriage, however, may not be the only means
to this end.
I have forged intimate relationships with single
friends over the years that have served as steady support systems
to shudder away feelings of loneliness—there are a lot of
us out there! These relationships have been both give and take,
allowing me the opportunity to nurture as well as be nurtured. Furthermore,
as a social worker, by profession, I am constantly engaged in meaningful
work whereby I am constantly contributing to issues beyond myself.
During the past few years, I have been working with children who
have fallen victim to abuse and neglect. As the childhood dreams
of marriage and family seem out of reach, I become more heavily
involved in my work with these children, who need and depend on
me for their future well-being. These children are my source of
passion and inspiration, and because of the amount of emotional
and physical energy needed, I would not be able to do this work
if I had my own family to care for. I realize that someone needs
to serve these children, and maybe my heart was meant to love, honor
and cherish those that need it the most.
So, what happens to a dream deferred? I don't know
if it is so much a dream deferred than a dream evolved. I wonder
how much of my childhood dreams I truly own? Perhaps some dreams
are meant to set a foundation to be built upon, as life experiences
lead us into new directions towards the same ultimate goal—love
and happiness. I may never share in the common experiences of my
friends’ lavish weddings, baby showers and the like, so instead
I will carve out my own unique path. Although my life has not turned
out the way I expected it to be at this age, I do not plan on abandoning
my dreams regardless of the forces that stand in my way. At this
point, the amount of time that has passed by has been my biggest
obstacle.
I am no longer going to keep myself or my heart
hostage, holding out for the hope of marriage and childbearing when
I have discovered so many other ways I can share myself to the world
through service. I know that one day I will have a family of my
own, whether it is through a community of friends, fostering and
adopting children, eventually having my own children with the right
partner or all of the above. My dreams of “happily ever after”
can either dry up like a raisin in the sun or sag like a heavy load,
or evolve into something designed specifically for me.
Sonia Kotecha, LCSW, is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in Austin, Texas.
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