A pile of forms, meticulously organized and ready for submission, sits on my kitchen counter, waiting for my attention. With just a couple of weeks to complete them, I know I’ll tackle them sooner rather than later. My youngest son is off to kindergarten, marking a significant milestone for our family. For the longest time, I felt a sense of dread about this transition—no more little ones at home? All of my boys pursuing their own paths? It’s a big adjustment, but now that I’m knee-deep in paperwork, I find myself contemplating all the opportunities that lie ahead.
I’m not alone in recognizing that a new chapter is unfolding for me and our family. Friends, family, and even casual acquaintances frequently ask, “So, what will you do with yourself now?” Each inquiry sends me into a bit of a panic. I awkwardly respond that I’ll have more time to volunteer at the school or might even consider taking my teaching credential to become a substitute teacher. “I’m sure I’ll find something,” I say, feeling the pressure of expectation.
As I fumble through my responses, I’m met with nods of approval. It seems to be a societal norm that once our kids start school, we should continue our service to others—whether it’s through school activities, community volunteering, or taking on a “real” job. While I appreciate these contributions and the joy they bring, I have no intention of diving into them full force. Sure, I’ll volunteer at the school more often—maybe twice a month, which is double my current commitment—but I’m not keen on becoming a substitute teacher.
What I really want is to carve out time for myself at a quaint coffee shop just around the corner from the school, a space where I can nurture my aspirations. Yet, I hesitate to share this ambition with those who ask about my plans. My reluctance stems not only from a fear of failure—failing publicly in front of friends and family—but also from the unspoken belief that after a decade devoted to motherhood, I should prioritize selflessness over personal ambition.
Over the past ten years, I’ve navigated the challenges of motherhood, from pregnancy to nursing, and managing the daily chaos of raising kids. It’s been a profound privilege and a conscious choice, yet it has also demanded immense effort. I’ve managed to write here and there, but my initial dream was never to be a part-time writer. With all my boys in school, this is my chance to pursue that dream with vigor. I intend to seize this opportunity.
I deeply admire those who find fulfillment in supporting our schools and their outstanding educators. Their dedication enhances our children’s educational experiences, and it’s a worthy calling. However, I firmly believe we should not impose the expectation that motherhood requires the sacrifice of personal ambition. This notion often leads to guilt and shame, perpetuating a narrative that women can only pursue their dreams until they become mothers.
I am teaching my sons a different narrative, one that I wholeheartedly believe in: Women can be ambitious. Women can have dreams. Watch me prove it.
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In summary, as my children embark on their school journey, I am embracing the opportunity to pursue my own ambitions without the weight of societal expectations. I want to model for my sons a life where dreams are pursued, and ambitions are celebrated, regardless of the responsibilities that come with parenthood.