TAKE ME BACK
The day is almost here, and I’m just going through the motions in a deep state of denial.
I’d always wanted to believe people when they said things like “you’ll feel differently after a year at home” and “it’ll be nice to get back into it”, but I knew that would never be me. I was raised by an all-in kind of mother; the extraordinary kind. All I ever knew was a love that had no other job but to love me back, and so that’s all I’ve ever wanted to give to my own children. I remember hearing about my friends being picked up from school by grandparents or having to go to an after school program because both of their parents worked. Even as a child, without any real depth to my understanding of the circumstance, I pitied them. That’s not to say there is a single thing wrong with a working mother; I admire and have the highest respect for their ability to balance their own wants and needs, across families and careers. It’s just that I prefer being consumed by motherhood, and I know that’s not for everyone.
When my older sister gave birth to my nephew, I remember saying to her that it was going to be awful when she would have to return to work. What a heartbreaking day. Then I became a mother, and as soon as I gave birth, a clock started in my head. I’ve often said that it was the weeks and days before I gave birth that I was most at peace with time, because it was almost like that clock hadn’t started yet. In a big way, I attribute that ticking reminder to making me the mother that I am today. I live each day intimately aware, sometimes to a fault, that these days go by too fast. That these are the days we’ll always want to go back to. I want to make them memorable, and more than anything I want to make them last.
So I’ve known all along, I was never going to be okay with it.
I saw a TikTok, of all things, that had a mother roleplaying her return to work. A coworker is saying the typical niceties, and asks the mother how she’s doing. At first, it shows her thinking all of her honest feelings and answers; how she’s sad and burnt out, how she feels guilty and exhausted. Then it snaps back to reality and instead of saying how she really feels, she gives the appropriate social response of “I’m fine”. But she wasn’t fine, not even close to it… and neither am I.
The build-up to it has been amplified by the pandemic. We were all so encouraged to lean in to our home lives. For me, one maternity leave, led to a year working from home, which led to another maternity leave. It’s been three and a half years. No daycare, no nights away, no days off. Three and a half years of just being Mama. Now it feels like a culture shock; like I’m being ripped away from the job I have so dutifully fulfilled and thrown back into the reality of a past life that I barely recognize.
It’s all very conflicting; I feel like I’m walking on an emotional tightrope. Coworkers and friends have reached out, and they’ve all said the right things. They’ve said the things they’re supposed to say. We can’t wait to have you back! So excited! Looking forward to it! It’s all kind, and considerate, and supportive… but I’m sure they’re in for some disappointment. The person they think they’re getting back is long gone, she’s evolved into a mother and her heart doesn’t exist in that space like it used to.
Because my truth, is that I hate this day. I do not want to be there. I’m not excited, or happy, or ready. I want to be at home, in my space, and with my babies. I want slow mornings, and days of doing nothing together. I want messy hair, coffee from a mug, and lullabies. I want to be there to kiss their boo-boos, I want to hold them when they need to be comforted, I want to rock them to sleep in the middle of the day. I want to keep being the mother I’ve given every ounce of my energy and heart into being. The all-in type.
Outwardly, I’m saying that it’s worth a shot. I’ll never know if I don’t try, I’ll give it six months, maybe it won’t be so bad after a while. But inwardly, I know better. My heart is all-in on motherhood, and nothing can sway it otherwise. It will always be what I’d rather be doing. My sweet little family just means too much to me.
And the hardest part of it all, is that nothing can make it better. I don’t want words of optimism or to be to be convinced otherwise, because I don’t believe my mind needs changing. There is no study, no evidence or proof, that taking an active, loving and attached parent away from their children is at all beneficial. A mother’s attachment to her children is instinctual, we just exist in a detached society.
So all I can really feel is sad. Heartbroken that the page on this incredible chapter of my life is turning. Sure, we’ll have weekends, and holidays, and summers… but it will never be quite like this. Their worlds will grow beyond our little nest, and time will only move quicker. I will always long for these days and if I could, I would go right back to that very first night… and happily, do it all over again.
