- I’m a careers-and-leadership reporter and I often write about women’s experiences at work.
- I was sure that I would be able to handle the transition from working parenthood after having a baby. I wasn’t.
- It is difficult to reconcile my professional and personal identities. I feel like I am failing.
When my husband and I were enjoying a late meal on our front porch, we were huddled together over a staticky monitor. I then told him that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back to work.
Our son was just two months old. That meant it had been roughly a year — if you count a nearly 10-month-long pregnancy — since I’d been truly alone.
My baby and I spent every day together. I would breastfeed him for hours. Then, he would fall asleep. I would then hold him as he would scream at me when I attempted to transfer him into his Mamaroo chair. I would hear him fussing at the monitor, and I would half-consciously reach out for him. Then, panic set in when I couldn’t feel him.
In July, after a four month maternity leave, I was to resume work. My job allows remote work so I had arranged for a nanny to look after my son. She was a friend of mine and had previously worked as a nanny. However, I was unsure how I would be able let someone else care for him for so many hours.
Friends with toddler-aged children told me they felt differently after I returned from my leave. They said that I would be more prepared to work again and spend more time with the baby. That night, however, I told my husband on the patio that I was questioning my decision to return to work.
My husband reminded me of what I’d told him — many times — in the years before we had a kid. I didn’t intend to stay at home mom, I just wanted to continue working. I was afraid that motherhood would take over my identity. It took me four months to realize everything I believed I knew about myself as an individual professional.
“Now, I feel differently,” said I to my husband. I wanted to be the one who heard our son cry, took him to the park and sang silly songs to him while he was squirming on the changing table. I couldn’t do any of that, I told my husband, if I had another — paying — job.
Working parenthood is only the beginning of the logistical challenges.
I began writing regularly about the pandemic early in its onset. The challengesOf being a Parent workingAnd in particular, Working mother. Based on conversations with parents and experts I realized that it can be difficult to balance your work and your child’s daycare. Managers are biased to view women as less motivated and less committed to their careers after having children.
While Writing a bookMany people have shared their experiences with me about how changing their work lives to better suit their interests and lives has changed the way they approach work. Some people stayed in a poor job to pay their bills, while others tried to change careers after having children.
So, when my husband and i decided to start our family, I assumed that all the knowledge would be helpful in preparing me for the transition. It was not only difficult logistically, but it also meant that I was subject to existential torture. I am now trying to be the parent that my child needs. At the same time, I am trying my best to be the professional I believe my colleagues expect of me.
I feel like an impostor professional — and parent
My therapist suggested that I return to work and it was a smooth transition. My managers gave me plenty of time to settle in to my new work and personal lives before I published anything. Coworkers were excited to hear about the baby’s recent developmental milestones.
Still, I felt a nagging shadow of impostor syndrome, except instead of feeling like I was a fraud at my job, I worried that I’d eventually be exposed as — what? A mom who appreciated the opportunity to learn a little bit of knowledge work, as it allowed her to stop lifting and bouncing on fallen toys and picking them up with her toes. An employee who would rather hug her kid than answer emails. My transition from working parenthood to being a parent was a constant experiment in self-flagellation, feeling alone.
I am now writing this from my son’s bedroom’s pull-out couch. It is the one I used to fall asleep on at 3:00 a.m. I can hear my son laughing with his doting nanny downstairs. I feel patently ridiculous sitting up here writing about how hard I find working motherhood when I have the extreme privilege of full-time childcare, a spacious home, and family nearby — as well as a job that allows me to work slumped over a pillow in ripped leggings.
I feel ashamed that this is my fault. For all the time I spend questioning whether this setup — me working from home, my husband working from the office, a nanny taking care of our son for part of the day — is the best for our family, my son appears perfectly content most of the time. Not to mention the fact that, even though I would rather stay home to ease some of my guilt it would make it more difficult to provide my son with all the opportunities he desires.
Although this self-deprecating cycle may have slowed down, it has not stopped in the two months since I returned to work. My only relief comes from doing what I have to do right now: writing a report, responding to Slacks emails, feeding my son and laundering loads of oneies. Knowing that my thoughts will catch me eventually, but right now I feel fine.
After my son is asleep, I sit down in front the TV and text with my girlfriends. I vent, and I complain. I find out that this isn’t a common experience. I hear one person tell me that it gets easier. “I promise.” “I promise.” I don’t think she believes me. However, I have a story to tell and bottles to wash. And somewhere, the wisdom and knowledge to know that, no matter how different I feel from anyone before me, I am not alone.
