You hear a lot about mother’s guilt. Phil teases me that given the opportunity, I will feel guilty about anything..that I like to feel guilty. While the latter is most definitely not true, the former definitely is not far off. And add being a mother to it and the situation becomes far more convoluted.
You see, I always said that even though I did not want children (I’m so glad I changed my mind), if I were to have them, I would stay at home until they were two. And I have. Eden is 3 and although I have worked it has always been from home. Caleb, however, is only 1 and I am desperate to work. This desperation brings with it guilt. As though spending hour after hour, day after day with my children should be enough. And it’s not. Last year was bloody hard, and stripped me of any inner reserve I had. So here I am, a shell of myself, so tired of simply surviving. And somehow work has become a healing place for me. It breathes life back into me, gives my days a sense of purpose. And when I am gone, I look forward to coming home.
But just as I somehow felt looked down upon when I was “just” a mother, I now feel like I am failing by needing to leave them. Caleb is still so small.
So damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
For once I will heed my own advice and recognise that what my children need most is a happy mother. They need me to be the best me I can be, and it will be then that I can offer them the best childhood I can offer them. Staying home all day with a depressed mother isn’t a way to grow into a confident and adventurous young man,