Coming Home

Settle in. Make some tea. I want to tell you something as we step out of the last day of November, as we settle in to the shift of December.

In the July/August 2012 issue of the Atlantic Magazine, an article was written by Anne-Marie Slaughter, Atlantics most read article of that time with over 3 million clicks.

The day I stumbled upon it I was close to 5 months pregnant and was leaving a career I absolutely loved as a 911 dispatcher and headed to a career in the federal government where I aspired to be a leader within the organization…and to eventually land my dream job there. So that title, “Why Women Still Can’t Have It All” just stared at me from its home near the register. I paid cash for it and walked out the double doors scrutinizing every angle of the picture and about to devour her words.

Three weeks later I boarded a plane, flew across the US, attended my first conference for my new gig, and I walked into a foreign world as an entirely unknown name to anyone within the walls- let alone around the globe. A place filled with brilliant humans and tough jobs and a whole lot of paperwork. And the first year was hard. Going from being needed and loved to being unknown and un-needed, all the while harboring a stowaway in my expensive maternity suit jacket.

Every time it got hard I dug in. Every time I wanted to quit, I called a mentor and they would talk me off the ledge. And then came the day the doctor put me on bed rest and suddenly work didn’t matter at all. Only getting a little baby safely into the world mattered. All the priorities shifted. And only briefly did I think; but why can’t I have my cake and eat it too.

So Amelia came into the world. And swallowed me up. I would hold her in the crook of my arm with a text book in the other so I could finish my bachelors degree. I would wake at 5am to nurse her and then walk out the door for work at 7:30am and hand her to my mother. And cry on the way to work that I left my 9 pound human with someone other than myself. And we survived.

The defining moment came when I passed all my boards and boarded a plane to Chicago to see if I could pass an interview for my dream job. I was now 5 months postpartum with Evelyn, sweet baby girl number two. Dream job on the horizon. I boarded the plane with a crisp size 4 gray suit, blue silk blouse, killer heels and a breast pump with freezer bags. I was going to crush that interview and have every single thing I wanted. I left my hotel room at 5am for a run, breakfast, pumping, and at 7am sharp arrived for my interview with 2 freezer bags of milk chilling in the ice bucket of my room. I crushed it. And when the facilitator asked me if I wanted to double check my work since I had finished so quickly, I responded with, nah, I’ve got plans. And I boarded a plane home and already knew what my answer was for if they offered me the job.

I turned it down. Much to the surprise of my husband, the relief of my mother and the shock to my friends. “You’ve wanted that since 8th grade.” I did. But maybe I didn’t. Maybe I wanted the very life I had made, and that was ok too. There is a season for everything.

Turning that down meant yes to so many other things. Turns out, my dream job was waiting for me just two office doors down, minus so much travel plus tucking in babies at night. It all still comes at a cost. And contrary, I do think I have it all, despite the Atlantics bold print font that I couldn’t. I might not have it in bank account numbers, or a fancy house, nor fancy car. But I love my job, even on the worst days. Even with the sacrifices that come with it still. The late nights or the weekend calls. Or the dark things we see. Because I come home to the light. To two little girls with lopsided artwork and dirty faces. To stories and puppets and make believe worlds. To gardens and flowers and family who are all there. To my parents patiently helping with homework or pick up schedules. To a husband that reminds me every time I get in the drivers seat and I ask him, “why don’t you drive?” And he responds with- “because you don’t passenger well.” And I think- truer words have never been spoken. It’s why I know I want- need to stay and work to make more of a difference for our organization. It’s also so that hopefully when my daughters raise to these ranks- it won’t be so hard to have both. That emphasis will be where it should be.

Because the act of selfless and service and caregiving are intertwined. You can’t appreciate the art of caregiving without literally caring for the people. Your people. Only then do you know the vast expense of its wealth.

So when the young girls with rounded bellies or fresh babies come into my office and ask me how to climb the ladder or what it feels like to miss out at home for the hard things we do for our mission- or how to make a roast or how to have that hard conversation or-but how do you do it all? You do all the things, all of them, and sometimes it’s exhausting. Some call it second shift, Anne referred to it as a lead parent. I am both. I am also neither.

I simply say, I don’t. I have a support team. I’m not afraid to ask for help. I want my daughters to know too. They can do big things and small things. But what matters most is finding the magic and joy in it and not taking for granted the value of your people. Women can’t have it all- nor men. Nor anyone really. Not every day. But you can have some of it all the time. Balance is something for gravity, but not a realistic setting for life. Some days home will get all of you, and some days work will demand more. And some days it all will fall apart and other days it comes easy. I spend lunch breaks eating my salad at my desk to save time, and sometimes I volunteer at the school for recess duty so I can see my kids on their turf. Sometimes my 45 minutes is for grocery shopping so I can get home and still do one fun thing before we turn off the lights. It’s more of rhythm and dance- or an adventure, and a gratitude for a willingness to try again tomorrow.

I’ve saved the magazine all these years. It sits in my bedside table. To remind me of the work I’ve done and the choices I make and why I make them- and for whom I make them.