The Gray Couch
When I first decided to open my own piano studio in 2008, I knew exactly what I was looking for: an office space near the entrance of our home, an easily accessible bathroom, a couch or seating area for the parents and/or siblings to listen and watch, and a bookcase to store my music library that I’ve collected over the years.
In our search for the perfect home, this criteria was at the forefront of my mind. It has a beautiful backyard and spacious kitchen but it has no front room easily accessible to my students? Next. It has a brand new roof and new ac units but no bathroom near the front of the home? Next. It’s perfect in every way but in a sketchy part of town that my students may not feel entirely comfortable driving to every week? Next. You get the idea.
It wasn’t until we broadened our search radius and increased our budget that we found the right home. Yes, it was out of our price range by a bit. But it housed the possibilities of my career and its future.
My goal was to fill my schedule within my first year and, to my pleasant surprise, at my one year studio anniversary, I was fully booked WITH a waitlist. I was overjoyed.
And then I got pregnant.
My difficult pregnancy forced me on bedrest within the first trimester. And yet, in true Christine fashion, I still continued to teach almost 70 students… 5 days per week. It wasn’t until closer to my 3rd trimester that my midwife very plainly told me to choose between continuing to teach OR living my normal day-to-day life. I simply could NOT do both.
I’m not gonna lie. I really wanted to choose to teach. I thought of all of the ways I could continue, even going as far as promising that I would teach while lying horizontal.
As if.
So I took time off from teaching. And it was difficult. For the first time since… EVER… I didn’t know what to do with myself! I was no longer in school. I was no longer working. I felt like I no longer had purpose.
{I mean, seriously - “no purpose??” As if growing my firstborn child isn’t purpose?!}
And then when our sweet Jackson Dean was born, after an extremely difficult labor and delivery that ended in an emergency c-section, I declared that I would resume lessons when he was 6 weeks old. And, by golly, I stuck to it, even though I know I wasn’t ready. (And that sweet babe was definitely not ready.) On my first day back, I dropped him off at my mother-in-law’s house and drove away, with tears streaming down my face, consoling myself with the reassurance that I was doing the “right” thing.
With each new pregnancy, I slightly altered my schedule - instead of teaching 5 days per week, I would teach 4 days per week. However, in no shape or form would I lessen my student load. I simply dispersed my students to the remaining 4 days per week, making them 4 very loooooong days. And then 3 even longer days. Truthfully, it wasn’t until my health began to waver in 2019 that I took any extended period of time off from teaching - in 11 years!
“Looking back now, I see a very apparent truth:
I have always chosen my piano babies over my own babies. ”
OUCH. My heart hurts as I type that sentence.
Even in most recent years, my boys would beg me to stop teaching. They hated coming home from school, seeing me already in my studio teaching, with new children and families entering our home on a regular basis. They hated that we would wait and eat dinner until my final student left for the evening - usually closer to 8:00. And, up until just 2 years ago, they hated how quiet they had to be so that my students and I weren’t distracted by their shenanigans.
Two years ago, I convinced my ever-so-patient husband to give up his own office for the sake of my studio. He moved to a bedroom upstairs and gave up his coveted space for me. The one with the beautiful glass French doors - perfect for drowning out the sounds of the boys. The one with the bright, tall windows - perfect for filling my studio with natural light. The one with the modern bookshelves - perfect for housing my musical library. The one with the gray, leather couch - perfect for students and family members to sit on.
Though I was only teaching 3 days per week, I had the prime real estate in our home. It was perfect. Until a few months ago when, for health reasons, I decided to stop teaching.
My beautiful, perfectly-planned-out studio is now empty. And every time I walk by it, my heart sinks. As if the longer it is empty, the longer I am disappointing people. But read that, my friends. I am disappointing people - as in, OTHERS.
But what about myself? Am I disappointed in myself?
The truth is, I’m really not. The truth is, I’m so proud of myself and my decision to choose my health, my happiness, my family’s wants and needs above the wants and needs of my students. It’s about damn time! And it must be said: my students (and their absolutely amazing families) have been nothing but supportive and kind and encouraging of my time off. I am so blessed by their love.
And so, my gray couch remains empty; sat on only by my two weenie dogs who insist on alerting us of any passersby - the neighbor’s cat or dog, anyone who DARES to take a walk in front of our home, and, God forbid, a stray plastic bag.
Against my husband’s requests to sell, I decided to move my gray couch out of my office and into my bedroom to sit alongside a wall of windows - a perfect place to curl up with a good book.
This newly freed space in my office allows me to stretch out my arms and grow. For the first time in over 23 years, I am rethinking who I am; and what I can be. And a scary thought emerged:
“Who am I when not seated on a piano bench?”
A writer? A baker? A doula? A therapist? Maybe I will join the other 17% of women who decide to go back to school after raising their kids. Or the 24% of women who change their careers after entering motherhood.
Most recently, one of my boys, my youngest, needs me. With a recent autism and ADHD diagnosis, he is just not thriving in public school. As awesome as the teachers and staff have been through the entire process, and even with daily in-class support, I see the little fire inside of him slowly extinguishing. So now I am preparing myself for homeschooling starting in January. I’ve never homeschooled my boys before, besides the difficult process of virtual learning when the world shut down in 2020. And I don’t know how he will react to me being his sole teacher. But I’m willing to give it a try!
“I’m willing to put in the amount of effort I used to put into teaching my piano babies into teaching my actual baby.”
I’m sure another {comical} blog post will be headed your way soon. But until then, prayers, support, good juju and a bottle of semi-sweet red wine would be appreciated.
I feel like a bunny who tiptoed her way out of the comfort of her warm burrow, felt the sunlight touch her paw, and immediately retreated. I am terrified of newness. I am terrified of failing. I am terrified of starting all over. I am terrified of change.
The good news is that in case I do fail miserably, my gray couch will be there to catch me when I fall.
