Last week, I met up with my friend, Sarah, for lunch at the playground. Our laid-back playdates are numbered; her youngest is starting kindergarten this fall, and she’s deep into a series of job interviews. “I’m so anxious,” she confessed.
“Totally understandable,” I replied, feeling my palms grow clammy in sympathy. “Interviewing is really nerve-wracking.”
“No, it’s not just that,” she said. “I’m nervous they might actually offer me a job. Then it becomes real. Until now, it’s been this fun little daydream of ‘I’ll work again someday.’ But now they’re asking about salary and travel, and it’s freaking me out.”
My stomach twisted for her, and I discreetly wiped my palms on my sweatpants, stained with jelly. I, too, had been living in my “I’ll work again someday” fantasy. Reality was hitting hard—she was actually stepping back into the workforce. She’d have to trade in her comfy clothes for real pants. What would that mean for her?
Six years ago, I left my job to become a stay-at-home mom with my first daughter, and the transition was a whirlwind. My doctor called it an “adjustment period,” handing me a tissue and a prescription. I felt like I had landed on a different planet, where stress was no longer about deadlines or presentations, but rather the thought that I could fall down the stairs and nobody would notice until evening. And even then, my husband might not come looking for me until he got hungry.
At first, I struggled to find my footing, but after two more children, I settled into my little bubble. Gradually, my corporate knowledge was replaced by story hour schedules and a mental map of sketchy parks. Over the years, I’ve learned to walk slower and eat faster. I no longer buy pants unless they can double as pajamas. I even visit three grocery stores just to make one salad!
People often ask what I plan to do once all my kids are in school. I used to joke that I’d just lounge around and collect cobwebs—enjoying the fruits of my labor. When my kids were babies and I was struggling mentally, that sounded appealing. But now, saying those words brings tears to my eyes, conjuring images of me chatting with the toilet brush. Right now, I’m pushing myself as slowly as my sanity allows; any slower, and I might just slip back into chaos. They say idle hands are the devil’s playground, and in my house, that devil seems to love munching on puffer tacos while spying on the neighbors. I don’t want to fall into that trap.
In a year and a half, I’ll be putting on my big girl pants and stepping out the door. And it’s terrifying. Emerging from my cozy cocoon into the great unknown feels like a leap into the fast lane.
“Does my brain even still work?” I wonder, unearthing a mini Snickers from the couch cushions, brushing it off and popping it into my mouth. What if I have to work late? What if my kids fall ill? What about summer? What if I have to gasp multitask?
Even animals are given a transition period before being sent back into the wild—retrained in survival skills and tested in controlled environments. Just throwing myself into a completely new situation with no guide feels risky; it’s a setup for either failure or disaster in the first week.
I glanced over at Sarah, took a hearty bite of my salad, and couldn’t help but think we were both in over our heads.
I reminisced about my old job—it feels like a lifetime ago. I can hardly recall what it’s like to go ten minutes without asking someone if they need to use the restroom. I wonder if I’ll just blurt that out in a meeting.
Then I remembered that there were people who brewed coffee, stocked the snack drawer, and took out the trash.
“Hey, at least if you fall down the stairs, someone will call for help right away,” I joked.
She nodded, maybe that’s what we need to focus on for now.
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In summary, transitioning from stay-at-home mom to the workforce is a daunting journey filled with anxiety and uncertainty. As we prepare to embrace new challenges, it’s essential to remember the support systems in place and the lessons learned during our time at home. We may be stepping into the unknown, but we’re not alone.