The most jarring thing of being a working mother is the whiplash – there are days where one moment I am deeply involved in solving some technical problem or liaising with clinicians or our CEO, and suddenly I exit the door to a child who is desperate for some goldfish or has peed on the floor next to the toilet, and I have to flip a switch from work-mode to mom-mode without any ramp up or hesitation. While I’m eternally grateful I’ve had the opportunity to work from home for the better part of nine years, and luckily I am good at compartmentalization and multitasking, the switch is still a lot. I struggle when I am out of my physical office space and trying to merge the two when the back and forth is so rapid fire I can’t quite keep up.

I knew, early on, that I wanted both; I thrived in school and got fulfillment out of studying and learning and succeeding, and my mind was (is) never quiet and required constant stimulation, but I also wanted kids and everything that entailed. There are certainly days where I struggle with staying afloat, but I truly never lack motivation, I think because I so strongly require the constant mental movement to paradoxically quiet my mind. The early years of watching the kids and hours of sitting idle destroyed me, which sounds awful to say because I love them and watching them grow and develop… but it was never enough. I’m lucky that we found good schools both in Arizona early on and in North Carolina that they eagerly trot off to every weekday, and while it eases the guilt of not wanting to be with them and watching them 100% of the time, there is still a part of my that feels conflicted and like I should want that. 

There is also the pressure of being the primary breadwinner and de facto primary carrier of the mental load – not because Keith doesn’t carry his weight, but because there is definitely some combination of being the mother that innately lends itself to quietly assuming all the background duties. I need to work hard so I keep my job and succeed and keep us in the life we’re living; I need to mother so I keep my kids growing and learning and as happy as another human can make them. I falter, and things slowly fall apart. 

It’s…a lot, and while I struggle with giving myself grace in the moments where even if I’m doing it all, I’m not doing it well and sometimes think nostalgically back to the times where I could just take off and decompress by running up mountains, it’s a phase of life I wouldn’t change. I’m learning to take joy in the small moments – the victories at work, the laughter of these two tiny humans I somehow created, the dogs laying on my legs after the day is done – as those are the things that make it worth the harder parts in between. It’s ok to have both. It’s ok to some days not succeed. All in all – it’s ok.