On a Thursday in May, my final day at the office, I met some colleagues at a sophisticated, dark bar for a night of drinks. After several rounds of Blue Moons, a favorite coworker, about my age and cute, took a seat beside me. Slurring his words a bit, he said, "So I'll just say it. What's the deal with you leaving? Couldn't handle the pressure of the job?"
Like usual nights out with the coworkers, I was the lone female in a group of beer guzzling guys, willing to stay out late. As a side note, I was still paying for weekly daycare, so I had no issue shipping the kids off for one last day with the sitter should I meet up with a hangover (Don't judge- you would do it too!). Anyway, I'm pretty sure my coworkers purchased several cranberry/peach vodka concoctions for me throughout the night, so my response to Cute Coworker's pressure question is a bit hazy. I think I laughed and smiled, talked about how nice it would be to spend time with the kids and nonchalantly explained that my stay-at-home decision was more of a vacation as opposed to a period of unemployment. I explained that my new life was certainly temporary, that I had started networking the heck out of people and that I was already considering several promising opportunities for the future. Like most vodka-fueled conversations with a coworker, most of this was true... though some a bit embellished. Had I charmed a vice president or two, hinting to those in power that I was available should the right position emerge? True. Did I have job opportunities lined up for the future? True... well, sort of. I had previously agreed to instruct a course in September and was happy to be doing so. However, I knew that my salary for this one course a week might cover my visits to Dunkin Donuts, and if I am very careful, a trip or two to the Banana Republic Outlet Store. Other than the very part time teaching gig, sure-- there were positions I could go for but no one was handing me a job by any means. Rejection was a scary and realistic possibility, and my unemployment period had potential to last longer than an extended vacation.
That part about looking forward to time with the kids? Um, not so much. I know that sounds really bad, but understand that outside of maternity leaves, I had always worked and frankly, my kids scared me. Being poor scared me too. Staying home was causing a big old slash in my family income. Accustomed to to being able to pay for entertainment, I questioned if I was truly creative and energetic enough to keep the kids occupied with limited resources. Choosing to stay at home with Colin and Claire was like signing up for a boot camp class at the gym. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get through it, but after it was over, I hoped I'd be able to say that all the pain was worth it.
So one truth, a sort of truth, and a lie. And then there's that part I left out altogether when talking to Cute Coworker. Was I unable to handle the pressure of my job?
Considering that I already told you that my kids frighten me, you probably figure that something BIG must have happened to get me to the point of leaving my job. And big it was. Let's recall that "my best year ever" included a hospital stay in early March. I won't get into the details because the experience deserves a post on its own, but it was a big enough, and eye-opening enough, that I finally took a good look at myself and like Cute Coworker, wondered if it all was too much.
It was.
I don't think it matters if someone is a parent or not. I believe that for most people, it is difficult to admit to others when we are weak. And even if we're not, we worry that our actions may somehow convey that we might be seen as any version of the following: incapable, incompetent, depressed, crazy, and/or stressed. We see shame in admitting when we're tired, guilt over saying the word NO. We overexert no matter what bloated, zitty, rashy challenge faces us. (A sneak preview to my hospital stay post! You're excited, right?) To honestly explain my stay-at-home decision to others, I'd have to say, "I've struggled finding a balance and my family has suffered." Or, "I've been a little cuckoo and my children aren't getting the care they deserve." Or the most cringe-worthy, "I can't handle the stress of my job and guess what? I don't like it!" I struggled admitting my limitations to my supermom self, let alone a tipsy coworker. It was exhausting covering up my concerns toward full time motherhood, and I only truly admitted my uncertainty to my husband and to God. To both I begged, "Please tell me this will work out."
I haven't seen my bar crew since leaving my job, but should we meet up for happy hour, I look forward to talking with them about my new stay-at-home life. I look forward to telling them how much fun it is, and how good I am at it. And no need to embellish... so far it's the truth.
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