For the past couple of years, I’ve been trying to convince myself that I was mastering the art of juggling work and family life. Prior to 2013, I was self-employed, basking in the freedom of working just a few hours a day and squeezing in yoga sessions and leisurely strolls through the toddler clothing section at Target. With a law degree in hand and a role as general counsel at a corporation, I thought I was setting an example for my daughter—a model of the successful working mother who could balance it all. Little did I know, I was falling short.
In reality, I despised my full-time job and was neglecting my family’s needs. I needed multiple reminders for school supplies, and this year I forgot it was my daughter’s turn to bring snacks for her preschool class not once, but twice. I missed all the parent events at my son’s kindergarten, and was devastated to learn from other mothers that they had comforted him in my absence. Just last month, I dropped off my daughter only to find out there was no school—how did I miss that message?
I was failing to achieve that elusive work-life balance, and it showed. Mornings were a chaotic disaster, filled with shouts of “Get your shoes on, we’re going to be late!” They often skipped breakfast, mismatched socks were the norm, and brushing their teeth was an afterthought. I struggled to comb through my daughter’s delicate curls as she cried. I was a ghost in their school lives, with a nanny picking them up daily, and I never volunteered because my executive status exempted me from parental duties.
Just this past Monday, I dropped my daughter off and realized I was the only parent who forgot a shoebox for Valentine’s Day decorations. I trudged into work, greeted by the passive-aggressive president, who handed me a box of my belongings and said, “We’re going in a different direction.”
After a shower, I met with my lawyer, and as I returned home to the kids and the nanny, I announced that I would have more time for them. I was terrified, but they were thrilled.
The next day, I donned my yoga pants and zipped up a fleece to take the kids to school. Again, I had forgotten the shoebox. I suggested we improvise with a cookie box or a bunny cracker box, but my daughter was having none of it. She wanted the pink and white striped shoebox from Target, just like her friends. Off I went, feeling a bit lost at Target at 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. To my delight, I found the last pink and white striped shoebox on the shelf! I almost danced with joy—this is what winning at motherhood feels like.
I refrained from texting my husband, knowing he wouldn’t understand the significance of this small victory. While I was there, I also picked up Valentine’s Day cards—days in advance! This was a new me, capable of planning ahead.
Twenty minutes later, I entered preschool with the shoebox hidden behind my back. My daughter’s face lit up when she saw me, and the joy in her eyes as I revealed the shoebox was priceless. That afternoon, while picking up my son, a friend asked how I was handling being fired. “It sucks, but I’m winning at motherhood this week,” I replied, and she smiled knowingly.
On Wednesday, I dropped off my daughter, and her teacher asked if I would be back for Parents’ Day. Of course! I hadn’t even marked it on my calendar, but now that I was unemployed, I was free! Arriving at 9:30, I was met with a chaotic scene. Kids were sobbing as parents left, and I felt a pang of guilt thinking about the times I missed similar events. I asked the teacher, “Does my daughter cry when I miss things?” She smiled and assured me that my daughter didn’t have that kind of anxiety about separation. Ouch.
Later that day, my son was distraught over losing a piece of red string for a kite he made. We retraced his steps and found three tiny bits of string, which he insisted I tie together. Then we spent the afternoon at the park, flying that kite without a care in the world.
This morning, as we walked hand in hand toward kindergarten, he asked if I could see the rain forest painting his class was working on. “Of course! I have all the time in the world now,” I responded. “Because you don’t have a job anymore?” he asked. “I have a job, Bub. Being your mommy is my job.” He squeezed my hand tighter.
Sure, I’m anxious about how I’ll support my family moving forward, but my heart feels fuller than it has in a long time. I need to update my resume and start job hunting, but today, I’ll focus on attending a Valentine’s Day party. Life is shifting, and it’s time to embrace this new adventure.
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Summary:
The journey of balancing work and motherhood can be challenging. After losing her job, the author discovers the joys of being present for her children, cherishing small victories, and redefining her role as a mother. Embracing this new chapter, she learns to prioritize family moments while navigating the uncertainties of unemployment.
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