A colorful stack of forms sits on my kitchen counter, patiently waiting for my attention. With only a couple of weeks to fill them out, I can’t help but feel the pressure—if I don’t wrap this up in 24 hours, I’ll be surprised. My youngest is heading off to kindergarten. He’s the baby of our four boys, and I have to admit, I was initially dreading this big milestone. The thought of an empty nest, with all my little ones off doing their own thing, has taken some getting used to. But as I dive into this paperwork, I can’t help but daydream about the opportunities ahead.
I’m not alone in realizing this new chapter is unfolding. The question, “What are you going to do with yourself?” has become my new mantra, uttered by friends, family, and even random acquaintances. At that moment, I often find myself squirming, scrambling to articulate a response. I’ll throw out ideas about volunteering more at school or maybe even taking a test to become a substitute teacher—flexible part-time work sounds appealing, right? “I’m sure I’ll find something,” I mumble, unsure of my own words.
As I navigate these conversations, I notice nods of approval, as if everyone expects me to step into a role that involves following my kids, planning playdates, or crafting Pinterest-worthy classroom parties. While those endeavors are noble and important, I must confess—I don’t plan on doing them regularly. Sure, I’ll volunteer at school a bit more often—twice a month is a solid start, but becoming a substitute? Not really on my radar.
Truth be told, I have my sights set on a charming little coffee shop just a stone’s throw from the school where I can spread my wings and pursue my dreams. Yet, I hesitate to share this ambition with those who ask about my plans now that my kids are in school.
Part of my reluctance stems from the fear of failure. If my writing aspirations don’t pan out, I’d rather it not be a public spectacle in front of the PTA or my extended family. But there’s more to it than that. I feel an unspoken expectation that, having had the privilege to stay home with the kids for the past decade, my role should still revolve around sacrifice. The narrative often suggests that once we become mothers, our paths are pretty much set: nurture the kids or find a job that fits into family life seamlessly. But pursuing personal dreams? That’s often labeled as selfish or immature.
For the last ten years, I’ve been in the thick of motherhood—pregnant, nursing, chasing little ones, and managing special needs therapies. It’s been a beautiful privilege, but also an incredibly demanding time. I’ve managed to carve out bits of time to write, but my original aspiration was never to be a part-time writer—it was to write full-time. With all my kids now in school, this is the first real opportunity I have to chase that goal, and I intend to embrace it.
I deeply admire those who find their fulfillment through school involvement and supporting our amazing educators. Their contributions enrich my children’s experiences, and I’m grateful for their generosity. But I also believe that turning these choices into unspoken expectations can lead to feelings of guilt and shame. It sends the message that women’s ambitions and dreams are secondary to motherhood—a narrative that many of us reject.
I’m teaching my sons a different story—one that celebrates ambition and dreams. It goes something like this: Yes, women can be ambitious. Yes, women have dreams. Watch me.
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In summary, as I prepare for this new chapter in my life, I’m excited about the possibilities ahead. I’m ready to embrace my ambitions and show my sons that pursuing dreams doesn’t take away from being a mother—it adds to it.