Last week, I met my friend Mia for lunch at the park. Our carefree playdates are dwindling; her youngest is set to begin kindergarten this fall, and she’s currently navigating a series of job interviews. “I’m feeling really anxious,” she confided.
“I can only imagine,” I replied, feeling a wave of sympathy. “Interviews can be so stressful.”
“No, it’s not the interviews,” she clarified. “I’m worried they’ll actually offer me a position. That’s when it becomes real. Until now, it’s just been a whimsical thought of ‘someday I’ll return to work.’ But now they’re discussing salary and travel, and I’m starting to panic.”
My stomach churned for her, and I discreetly wiped my clammy hands on my sweatpants, which were already speckled with jelly stains. I, too, had been living in my “someday I’ll find a job” daydream. Reality hit me hard—she’s truly stepping back into the workforce. She’ll need to wear real pants. What will happen to her?
Six years ago, I made the choice to leave my job to care for my eldest child. The transition was jarring; going from a bustling office to total silence felt like whiplash. My doctor termed it an “adjustment period,” handing me tissues and writing a prescription. I felt like I had landed on a different planet—one where stress didn’t arise from deadlines or meetings, but from the knowledge that a fall down the stairs at 8 a.m. could go unnoticed until 6 p.m. And even then, my husband might not check on me until he was hungry.
Initially, I struggled to adapt, but after two more children, I settled into my routine. Gradually, my corporate knowledge was replaced by playdate schedules and a mental list of the best playgrounds. In six years, I’ve learned to move at a slower pace and eat quickly. I only buy pants that can also serve as pajamas, and I visit multiple grocery stores just to make one salad.
People often ask what my plans are once all my kids are in school. I used to jokingly say I’d lounge around collecting cobwebs—enjoying the fruits of my labor. In those early baby days, when I was mentally drained, it felt like a dream. But now, I struggle to say those words without tearing up because it conjures images of me chatting with the toilet brush. Nowadays, I’m pushing myself forward at a speed that my sanity can handle; if I go any slower, I might drift into oblivion. They say idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and in my house, the devil enjoys snacking while eavesdropping on the neighbors. I refuse to become that person.
In a year and a half, I’ll be donning my professional attire and stepping out the door. And it’s frightening. Breaking free from my cozy cocoon into the unknown feels like jumping into the fast lane.
“Does my brain even still function?” I wonder as I discover a mini Snickers tucked between the couch cushions, brushing it off and popping it into my mouth. What if I have to work late? What if my kids fall ill? What about summer? What if I have to gasp juggle multiple tasks?
Even animals are given a transition period before being returned to the wild—retrained in survival skills and exposed to various scenarios in a controlled setting. They have handlers to ensure they don’t make dangerous mistakes. Diving headfirst into an unfamiliar environment without guidance could lead to disaster.
I glanced across the picnic table at Mia, taking a hearty bite of my salad. We might be in over our heads.
I reminisced about my old job—it feels like a distant memory. I struggle to recall what it’s like to go more than a few minutes without asking someone if they need to use the bathroom. I wonder if I’ll just blurt it out in a meeting.
Then I remember the helpful colleagues who brewed coffee and stocked the snack drawer, along with the ones who took out the trash and cleaned the office nightly.
“Hey, at least if you fall down the stairs, someone will call for help right away,” I reassured her. She nodded, and perhaps that’s the bright side we should focus on for now.
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Summary:
This article explores the emotional journey of a stay-at-home mom contemplating a return to work as her youngest child enters kindergarten. It captures the anxiety of job interviews, the challenges of re-entering the workforce, and the humorous realities of motherhood. Through relatable anecdotes and reflections, it highlights the transformation from a corporate career to the complexities of parenting.