Patience–My Quiet Superpower

I like to think of myself as a patience expert—mostly because life has given me an absurd amount of practice. As a kid, I spent a ridiculous amount of time waiting. Waiting for birthdays, waiting for holidays, waiting for the school year to end so I could bask in the glory of summer vacation. (Did we even have Spring Break back then, or was that just a myth created for later generations?)

Camping was my absolute favorite. After each trip, I’d stand in my bedroom, sigh dramatically, and mourn the fact that the next adventure was a whole year away. Halloween, Christmas, Easter—they all took eons to arrive. My birthday? That came roughly once a decade, or so it felt.

But all of that was just the warm-up for real-life patience training.

Take my journey to motherhood. That one required Olympic-level endurance. At 27, I was ready to start a family. My first husband, Tom, and I tried. We failed. We tried infertility treatments. We failed again. We went to marriage counseling. We got divorced. Then came Craig. More infertility treatments. More waiting. Then Craig was deployed in Operation Desert Storm. More waiting. Then we were matched with children. Russia shut down the adoption agency. Even more waiting. Finally—finally—we came home with our boys when I was 40. If patience were a degree, I’d have a Ph.D.

My first marriage? That was another patience test. I knew, deep down, that moving on was inevitable. But like a bad sitcom with too many seasons, I kept waiting for the right moment. When Tom started smoking? Not yet. When his undiagnosed bipolar disorder made the holidays extra festive—greeting my parents with a hearty “Merry F*ckin’ Christmas”? Still not time. When he moved to Chicago for the summer? Nope. When we tried marriage counseling (again)? Not quite. When he finally admitted he didn’t want a dog, a house, kids, or—minor detail—a wife? Ding, ding, ding. Time’s up!

Even on the road, I don’t lose my cool. Road rage? Never. I assume the “crazy” driver ahead of me is a terrified student. The tailgater behind me? Rushing home to an emergency. The person sitting at a green light? Probably lost in a memory of someone they loved. Or, you know, checking their phone—but let’s go with the sentimental option.

Looking back, I realize patience has been my quiet superpower. I’ve waited for things I loved, endured things I didn’t, and held on long enough to see good come out of struggle. Maybe patience isn’t just about waiting—it’s about knowing that what’s ahead is worth it. And in my case? It always has been.

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