Just over five years ago, I found myself standing at the proverbial fork in the road. Down one bumpy but familiar path was my career; a continuation of nearly 12 years with the Colorado Judicial Branch and the opportunity to use that expensive, hard-earned degree. The other path – hazy and poorly lit – was the noble work of raising my children. The greatest job I would ever have and the path that everyone kept assuring me I would never regret. It was the path that surely yielded the most rewards. I mean, it’s hard to argue against pouring oneself into raising good humans.
So, in May of 2019, I stepped away from my career, my team, the familiar daily schedule, and I stepped into the haze of raising three children between the ages of 16 months and seven. My husband and I had fought hard for this family. Our first two came about through IVF and several failed frozen transfers. Then we truly had a miracle when our third pregnancy happened naturally and shocked the hell out of us. After all we had endured to bring these babies into this world, the reality of delegating away all our parental duties to fulfil work obligations felt…wrong.
In the beginning it felt as though I was merely on vacation from work; but as the days rolled into weeks and weeks stacked into months, I couldn’t help but feel isolation and overwhelm. Surely, I must be doing this wrong. Where’s my motherly glow? My organized home? My well-behaved children? My self-satisfaction? Why the hell was this so damn hard? And then it came to me. I can’t ever tap out. I CAN’T EVER TAP OUT!
That realization smacked me in the face. I knew when I accepted the job of full-time mom, that it would be an adjustment. Every new job is. What I wasn’t prepared for was walking away from Leila that day in May. I left that moniker somewhere in my office along with a box of business cards and my favorite ballpoint pens. In my new role, I was so-and-so’s mom. At appointments I was asked, “are you mom?” From every corner of the house those three letters followed me. They woke me in the middle of the night. They interrupted meals and showers. They even cut short bathroom breaks. I was drowning in needs that weren’t my own and never seemed to be satisfied. Girl, I’ve been there too. The faster I would tread water, the more quickly it rose. I wanted nothing more than to drag my exhausted self up on a deserted, sandy beach and just lie there in sunshine and quiet. The mundane chaos of the days baffled me. How am I up so early, staying up so late, getting done all the things only to realize nothing got done? Why are the days so easily derailed by teething, diapers, snacks, meals, more snacks….
About five or so months into the world’s best job ever I realized something huge. I was grieving. I missed the reprieve daycare gave me from childcare. I missed me. I missed contributing to the world in an adult capacity. I missed using my brain and thinking about more than nap schedules and childhood milestones. I dreamt at night of being at work and during the day my nightmare continued as I faced broad smiles from friends and family inquiring about how much I love being a stay-at-home mom. I cried the first time I had to fill out a form and it asked for occupation. I wanted to write so-and-so’s mom, but instead, left it blank. Which prompted a follow up question about my employment status and my reply hurt. Just mom. Just. Mom. And what was filled in to that blank space?
Homemaker. Cringe. At least they left off “worst ever”.
It took me about 18 months to finally find my legs and be able to stand more confidently as just mom. I stopped affirming those happy people asking me how I loved being home and hit them with unapologetic snippets of the truth. I started looking for the blessing of the day and sometimes it was small – kids fed. I looked for ways to get out by myself and not do chores like a Target run. And while that has backfired on occasion (I have told my husband that me going out shouldn’t feel like a punishment to myself because a three-ring circus had a one day only show in our home), it helped this ringmaster get some time out of the spotlight. Mostly, I acknowledged and made peace with my type A, line up those ducks personality. It served me so well in the workforce and about killed me on the home front.
I began treating myself with the grace I so freely gave to others. I started saying no – ok, I tried to start saying no. I was told, and it has stuck with me, one either faces the discomfort of saying no now, or the resentment for not saying no later. Yup, I definitely needed no to be a regular in my vocabulary, and not just for use with adults but with my children too. If three soccer games, two birthday parties, and a partridge in a pear tree
all happen on the same day something’s got to give. Alright, at this point you are probably thinking “didn’t she say at the beginning of this thing that it’s been five years?!
Exactly how is so-and-so’s mom doing now?” Well, I got my name back and that feels good. Turns out all I had to do was use it. Like, “Hi, I’m Leila.” Rather than “Hi, I’m so-and-so’s mom.” I also realized that being mom isn’t a job, it’s a lifestyle. I regularly practice deep breathing before losing my you know what, and I have learned that the I-won’t-ask-for-help-because-I-can-do-it-all-myself mindset is a death sentence. So good news, I’m solid with mommin’ it full-time! But it is not lost on me that my youngest is nearly 7. I’ve made it through baby phase, toddler phase, and little kid phase. I can’t help but wonder if it’s time for me to head back into the working world, and can I even handle those challenges after being out for so long? I don’t know, but I do know that I’ll grieve the end of so-and-so’s mom. We were at odds but fought for this family and for that I’m grateful.
