“Is there ever enough time?”

This would be the phrase that would linger in my mind every moment of every day, as I felt the enormous weight of the relentless workload ahead of me. Running a depleting business, a crumbling household and catering to my children’s whole being seemed like a black hole never satisfied with the timed it sucked in. I always needed more.

I yearned for moments of freedom bursting with the luxury of choice.

Time was a commodity that had to be purchased with money, a creation of the system that gave me very little choice on joining the work force as a means for survival, to avoid homelessness and starvation.

The term financial freedom was a glimmer of hope. I had gone from self-employed to an entrepreneur in hopes of finding the coveted pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that would allow me to work less or at least dictate my own hours, to simply spend time with my daughters or just live life a little.

This seemed like a plausible possibility as a means for freedom until I was hit with the realization that my schooled children had been sucked into a very similar situation.

They didn’t get a choice to opt for freedom from their heavily regulated daily lives, reliant on the school’s tight schedules. They were often inundated by busy work that kept their young minds away from the natural development of exploration of the world around them or their own inner presence and feelings. Socialization was based on social order instead of an organic yearning for friendship. And their afternoons were filled with more busy work at home that they struggled to complete distracted by the craving of a moment to decompress, to just be, or to get a choice on what activity to do.

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Is it possible to be free and part of society?

I guess it depends how you define freedom.

Watching my daughters grow has been the most enlightening process I have experienced in my adult life. I’ll never forget looking into my daughter’s eyes, as she tried to understand the world she was seeing for the first time. After a few months, that look was usually followed by giggles and then laughs. Her discoveries were joyful. Not based on any ideology as they hadn’t yet adapted any. But just pure love radiating through her being. As she grew into a toddler, tears started to come from being restricted to explore freely and not being able to pursue the avenues that her curiosity took her through. That was the moment I started taking her freedom away.

Her freedom, or what she was allowed to do, was based on what I, as the parent, deemed acceptable.

I scrutinized every action my child took and corrected it. I mean it was my job as a good parent to keep her safe and teach her how to properly behave. Right? Every correction was based on what I deemed necessary for what I perceived as her safety or for my own comfort. It was my decision to make for her.

But was this a distorted ideology?

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