I was 25, strong-willed and determined to contribute something extraordinary. As such, I’d spent the previous five years producing a documentary filmmaking program for youth, a series of inspiring radio interviews on a reel-to-reel machine for a local radio station and stage-managing Othello for John Juliani, head of the Director’s Guild of Canada.

(You can watch the behind-the-scenes from Othello. See cameos of me sitting in the front pew at 8:02, 12:00.)

I’d rehearsed my future. I was resolute about my craft and saw myself as the Meryl Streep of the Filmmaking world—writing, acting and directing.

Having children was definitely not in my plans.

So when my daughter was born less than a year later, I had nine months to convince myself of the following:

#1. I’d make a good mom

#2. I would raise her my way, adventuring through life, not remaining stuck somewhere I didn’t want to be.

Nevertheless, fear lingered.

Would I lose my freedom to come and go as I pleased? Would I lose my capacity to dream big and create as I always had? Would I enjoy raising my child?

Neither my friends nor my siblings had kids. It was completely foreign territory.

A director friend even told me it was ridiculous I had a dog, let alone a child.

The sinking feeling that my carefully constructed dream life was crashing down, haunted me during the first few months of pregnancy.

Then my daughter was born, and I had a whole-body acceptance.

She was my little bundle of responsibility. I would treat her with the same dedication I’d had toward a script or creative project. All of my fears disappeared as I assumed the role of protector and advocate.

Quickly, I realized that as a single parent, I couldn’t raise her and juggle an artistic career. I was an all-or-nothing gal. Balance wasn’t in my vocabulary at the time. Besides, the situation with her father was complex.

Projecting into the future, I saw that without my focused attention, she’d be like a ship without an anchor. Letting her float along wouldn’t be doing justice to the adult she would become.

Plus, I loved hanging out with her. She was clever, sweet, funny and peaceful. We were two peas in a pod.

The universe has an interesting way of making life more fulfilling when we dedicate ourselves to something other than ourselves. Mikala was my something more.

I was no longer centred on ‘making my mark in the world.’ Instead, I focused on feeding her well, and teaching her about nature, books, manners and spirituality.

To my colleagues, I was drifting further away from my ‘dreams.’ But, I was happy. Emails came in about acting gigs and when I deleted them, rather than feel I was missing out on my possible ‘big break,’ I felt a strange sense of liberation. I no longer needed another credit to my name to know that my life had meaning.

Like the main character in a good film, I matured and developed.

Reflecting on the last 18 years, I’m proud of who I’ve become. I’ve got character, depth and a few more wrinkles.

I’ve learned the value of sacrificing a ‘dream’ for a rewarding family life.

Now that she’s older, I’ve refocused on my art. But I’ll never allow myself to be defined by what I do for work, no matter how much I love it.

I will only be defined by the love I give, the depth of my relationships and the life experience I gain.

TAKEAWAY: How we step up in life may mean more to us on our deathbed than the things we did effortlessly. If we think deeply about what happens to us, in due course realizations come; willingness, grace and determination grow us into better people.

Well, there you have it. Some of the things I’ve gleaned as a creative having raised a child.

Until next month,

Shana Lee

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