I get by with a little help from my (Spotify podcast) friends

When even one sided relationships get the job done

I've been engrossed in a newfound podcast I stumbled upon, presented in Hebrew—the language native to my origins. This emphasis is crucial because over the past week, since my discovery of it, I've felt a more profound connection, greater self-compassion, enhanced humor, and and sense of sisterhood than I have experienced since becoming a mother almost four years ago. These forty-minute episodes, naturally divided into 4-12 segments due to the interruptions of daily life, are the afternoon coffee dates I once envisioned sharing with a close friend while watching our children play on the carpet. They provide the sigh of relief upon hearing someone else's cringe-inducing tale and realizing that the harshness I've imposed upon myself was unwarranted, as evidenced by my joyous participation in this person's unique narrative. These moments also act as a reminder that I am someone capable of experiencing joy and being celebrated.

However, the challenge lies in recollecting this sense of self-celebration since I sometimes find myself uncertain about the identity I should rejoice in.

During a recent evening, I turned to my husband and asked, "Are we still young?" He responded, without breaking his gaze from the television screen, "No," a response that was delivered so promptly and directly that it starkly confirmed a long-standing fear of mine—that it was time for me to shed her. You know, the self I envisioned embodying at this stage of life. The stick figure sketch that was my response to the childhood query "What do you want to be when you grow up?" This ideal self was supposed to have everything figured out by now, immune to the same struggles that burdened her decades ago. The vegan, the yogi, the one perpetually serene, accepting, forgiving, forgiven, healed, always attuned to her body, free from emotional eating—an enlightened version of myself. Her. She. The imperative, it seems, is to shed this persona, as I am neither her nor evidently still young.

In all honesty, I never possessed a clear image of who I would be at this stage in life. Adulthood always invoked a sense of trepidation within me, symbolizing the end of freedom and experimentation. I was zealous about accomplishing and experiencing as much as possible during my twenties, as if an invisible force was racing behind me, threatening to strip away my tightly clutched pastel basket of opportunities. The notion of becoming entrenched in an adult reality without having bid farewell to fun and excitement frightened me. Stability was a dirty word. Not in the good way.

Sometimes I wonder if I actually believed I would make it to this age. It felt like a mortal sin to become a mother without my own. Like I was somehow slighting her, pretending to be a grownup when she and I both knew, even from almost 20 years in the grave, that I was at best playing dress up, yet more realistically, emulating a ghost. Either way, the scenario rendered me feeling stupid and lost, and so, so small.

Now, as someone who is evidently no longer young and who has been wearing the hat of a therapist for quite some time , I've come to realize that I may have been inadvertently avoiding something. It appears that I wasn't particularly fond of facing reality. The responsibilities and complexities of adulthood seemed like a landing I wasn't prepared to touch down on, as if I was still soaring high to evade the reality I was hesitant to accept. Lingering anger fueled this avoidance, and I recognized that my ambitions often functioned as a means of channeling unexpressed rage. Who knew that ambition could be such a good avatar for unexpressed rage when properly operated? I am equal parts impressed and appalled.

Returning to the podcast, it becomes evident that its allure isn't anchored in any theme you might assume would resonate so profoundly with me, like motherhood, mental health, or self-help. Instead, the podcast features two women from Tel Aviv, occasionally accompanied by guests, simply engaging in conversations about life. The absence of experts and a commitment to not taking themselves overly seriously lends it an air of relaxation. Listening to this podcast, I feel as though I'm seated on a living room floor with old friends from my hometown, conversing in my native tongue, while savoring my second glass of wine. These heart-to-heart exchanges brim with hilarity, infusing me with a deep sense of joy and camaraderie. And it made me so happy to be reminded that there is a part of me I recognize that is still in this new self. And she is still moved to tears by people’s open hearts and stories.

It's undeniable that distance, overwhelming demands, and the loneliness associated with motherhood are real, yet equally real are the connections forged, friendships nurtured, and laughter shared. The strength of women coming together to exchange stories is undeniably powerful. This is my version of a tribe, even if I attain it through Spotify's forty-minute bursts of interruption each week.

and yes, the bar is on the floor. I realize this.