I Hate You Because You Work

When I was 35, I finally became a mom. I wanted, desperately, to be a SAHM but the financial realties weren't aligned. 

So I did the next best thing.

I had my company station me at home. Everyone oohed and ahhed and told me how that was the best of all worlds. And maybe it is, but it sure as hell wasn't easy.

Especially when you have to peel a child of your leg and close a door in their face as they scream for you. Which is what I had to do day after day as I tried to teach my toddling son AND his babysitter the concept of boundaries.

I had to use the lock on the door, because he liked to  try the knob and see if he could get in whenever his babysitter was in the bathroom.  People said he'd grow out of that.

He never did.

One day when he was about 4, he pounded on that door as I was giving a teleconference to some very important European clients about a multi-million dollar overrun. Finally he shouted with all his might; "I hate you because you work!"

They heard him all the way in France. Literally.

I curled up under my desk that twilight afternoon and cried so hard from that guilty feeling that I was failing everyone that I was almost made myself sick.

Always choosing the lesser of two evils became such a constant pulse in my life that I finally exploded and sought therapy. "Follow your bliss..." she told me.

So I quit my job one day.

And despite every cost-saving measure, it ruined us. Although I was now free to spend my days making his meals and homeschooling him and taking long walks with our dog to explore the world...

My nights were spent hustling freelance work, exhausted circles under my eyes.

The housing market makes selling out house a losing proposition but we may lose it anyway. The job market makes finding work almost impossible, and everyone is paying less.

One morning, my son got in my face and demanded I play with him. "I can't, I HAVE to work," I told him.

His face became a thundercloud, but he's older now. Wiser. Instead of shouting, he turned on his heel and marched away. Alone, to his room.

"Honey," my friend told me as I complained how miserable it all feels. "Here's the thing, we all hurt."

"How can that be? Isn't there anyone out there who has the right answer?"

"Sure," she laughed. "But as soon as they do, the question changes. Face it, even if you won the lottery - your imperfections as a person would still make you an imperfect mom. Or did you think money absolves you from the guilt?"

Oh.

Oh.

Well, damn.