Everything Girl

I’m the last person on earth who should be writing about sacrifice, because the truth is, I’ve always been the recipient of other people’s choices, not the person choosing to give something up. Oh, I gave up a stable income and a regular paycheck to write full time, yes, but that wasn’t so much sacrifice as a move to save my sanity. I was working for BigFinancialCompany then, you see, and I just wasn’t cut out for corporate drag – and I didn’t even have Technicolor hair then.

“I have, however, been on intimate terms with people who have sacrificed things for me, most notably, my mother. “

I have, however, been on intimate terms with people who have sacrificed things for me, most notably, my mother. I wasn’t old enough to realize it at the time, but I’ve heard the stories and read her papers, and I know that when I was a baby and she was a single mother trying not to depend on her parents, there were times when she skipped meals so I could eat, and I know there are times when the $20 she paid for me to have a ballet class, cello lesson, or stack of puffy Hello Kitty stickers (from when they were popular the first time, in the ’70’s) meant she had to worry about having enough gas in the car, or lunch money for the week, or whatever.

I remember a conversation my mother and I had once, shortly after I married Fuzzy. We had volunteered to work Christmas Eve at MidwesternComputerCompany because we didn’t have kids, so that our friends and colleagues could spend the evening with their young families, and my mother commented that she felt really guilty for all the times she had to work on my birthday, or Christmas, or for the fact that we never took wonderful summer vacations, because that meant losing hours at work. (This was long before she became the Goddess of Loans and exerted her power and influence to help other single mothers (and fathers) buy their first homes.)

I told her the truth then, and I repeat it now: I don’t remember the times she wasn’t there. I never felt neglected or ignored. I remember the things she DID do, like making sure we decorated for every holiday, or sewing Halloween costumes just for me (to this day I look upon store-bought costumes with no small amount of derision, and when kids come to my door in outfits that are obviously homemade, they get extra candy to share with their mothers), or taking me to see ballets and musicals, or, or, or….

As someone who is in a creative profession (even if my day job often makes me feel like a paid hack), I have always had the image of Jo March scribbling away in her attic with her special writing hat, barrel of apples and ink-stained fingers, and I’m also aware of the stereotypical “starving artist” or itinerant poet, who dress in old clothes and often skip meals to buy paint or paper, or pay rent, and I feel guilty, somehow, because while my husband and I have, at times, been stupid with money, or had financial emergencies, the most I’ve ever had to sacrifice for my art is a couple of hours of sleep, and a much-wanted cosmopolitan that would knock me out rather than inspire me.

Does this mean I don’t want success badly enough? I don’t believe so. I’m hardly spoiled. I may joke that my job only takes a couple of hours a day, but that’s the actual writing time, not the planning and researching and finding an angle time, and not the daily IM chats with the guys who pay me.
Honestly, I’m fine with working hard and skipping sleep to foster my writing career, as long as I can do so with well-maintained roots, manicured nails, waxed eyebrows, and frou-frou coffee.

Because some things, you just can’t sacrifice.

Melissa A. Bartell earns her living by writing articles for an SEO marketing firm, and dabbles in essays and fiction on the side. She lives near Dallas, TX with her husband, two dogs, and more computers than anyone really needs. She is the Senior Editor here at All Things Girl. Find out more about her on our About Page. You can find her at her blog as well as other places here and there.

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