When someone innocently asks, “So, what do you do?”, it ignites within me a nervous self-awareness that usually results in some flip response like, “I occasionally drink up the last of my husband’s favorite coffee out of spite”. I know that it is completely irrational to be flustered by a getting-to-know you type of question. The problem is that the question of “What do I do?” represents an ongoing struggle for me to define myself as a woman and mother.
I was a stay-at-home mom for more than three years and I wore my at-home mommy badge with pride. I never struggled with the decision to stay home, and when my first born came along I basked in the routine of motherhood. My husband and I were in grad school and we shared primary parenting duties while we both worked on our dissertations. Really, I was a mom with benefits; a few breaks a week for research and writing, and the rest of the time spent snuggling my chunk-a-chunk of baby love. I was content with myself and my life.
Everything changed when we moved here and the real world intruded. My husband had a real J-O-B that required really long hours. I was no longer a mommy pursuing a doctorate; instead, I was a PhD dropout with a 9 month old baby and another baby on the way. Though I loved all of my time with my little guy, I felt a tiny bit adrift. Then, when my youngest was born, the realities of life with a 16 month old and a new born (coupled with my inability to commit to enough consistent childcare to get the job done) made my dwindling dreams of a doctorate drown in a puddle of spit-up and poop.
All I remember, of the first three months of my littlest man’s life, is that these two little boys were totally mine, and though it was exhausting (hello, two babies 16 months apart), at least big chunks of every day were pretty amazing. However, as time moved on, I kept feeling this nagging need to DO something, anything really, that wasn’t centered on upping my milk supply, changing diapers, and preventing my toddler from injury-laden shenanigans.
I was lucky enough that I had several, similarly struggling mom friends who led me to a women’s volunteer organization. It was through this organization, that the long-silent driven part of me, began to get quite feisty with her claims on my time. I didn’t just join; I jumped right in and looked at every opportunity as an outlet for all that pent-up need to be something more. And there it was, the realization that I needed to be something more. That was the day the guilt train rolled into town.
How could I want something more than being a mom to my boys? The reality was that I loved being home with my boys and I didn’t want to work full-time. Yet, I knew that I needed something else that would make me feel more at-peace with myself. When my neighbor/fairy-godmother offered me a 10 hour a week research job, I nearly wept in gratitude. I dusted off my nerd-cap and dove into quantitative research; it proved to be my salvation. It you ask my husband, he will tell you that my work has changed me for the better, and he is right. I realize that I am at my best when I am fulfilled, and that is better for everyone.
I have come a long way in my attempts to define who I am as a woman and balance my sense of guilt with my sense of need. These days, when someone asks me, “What do you do?” I tell them I am a part-time research goddess, and a full-time wonder mom; yet, I still feel the need to justify my work with the addendum, “but I only work when my kids are in school”. I may still have a ways to go.
