Giving Myself Flowers

Way back in 2016, when I made the decision to be a stay-at-home Mom, you would not believe the responses I got.

The doubt.

The confusion.

And while I want to believe most of it was rooted in genuine concern. I know a fair bit of it was jealousy. Why did I get to stay home with my child, and eventually children, while they had to work?

How could I afford to do it?

I don’t come from kept women. In fact, I come from a long line of matriarchs that had to work. Which is the case for most Black women I know. So, when I said, I can’t be the kind of mother I want to be while working, what many heard was, I am going to be a better mother than them.

They heard judgement.

They felt scrutinized.

But I was right. The way working a regular-time, full-time job has been throttling my ass… lemme tell you, I was right.

And there is something hella empowering about knowing what you can’t do when the world is telling you that you can, you should, you must do it all. Being a mother has taken me places I didn’t think existed. It has required me to shift and shrink. It has forced me to the brink of delirium and exhaustion. It has made me question life, love and the pursuit of happiness while being nap trapped for the 500th day in row. If you were around in the early days, you know how deep I was in the abyss, and it was a beautiful sacrifice.

Because even when the weight of raising humans felt like it was breaking me, I was healing parts of me I didn’t even know were broken. I loved my inner child through caring for them, and she needed it.

I took my job at home seriously. Very. I had objectives. I kept a schedule. So much so that when the pandemic closed the world for most, ours barely changed. We kept our cooking class on Mondays and painting on Wednesdays. Park hours turned into backyard hours, turned into a whole ass garden, turned into the place neighborhood kids played, even though they were years older than my Littles.

None of that would have been possible if I had been responsible for anything I am responsible for now.

Forreal.

None of that would have been possible while managing the feelings of the people I am responsible for now.

Forreal. Why are there such big feelings at work?!

All of this is to say, despite all the voices questioning, I knew me, and I knew what I wanted. That’s how well you gotta know yourself. Identifying my capacity and my priorities made the decision easy even if the execution wasn’t. And it was not easy. It was harder, in fact, than any job I’ve ever had.

I was reminiscing over those days, because Google photos is notorious for a throwback collage, sentimental music included, and I am in awe of myself. Not just because I poured into my Littles so much, I can see the best parts of myself overflowing in them. Not because I did it in a screen-lite, no tech home, but big flex. Not because I am regularly told by parents and teachers alike how well behaved and kind they are. And not because I proved everyone watching my posts and pockets waiting for me to fail, with their hating asses, wrong.

It’s because I bet on myself. I believed in my ability to see it through. I trusted my instincts.

That is a big deal for me. This was a big deal for me. And in a lifetime of terrible choices, missteps and mistakes, it feels damn good to say… I was right.

So even though I didn’t get the much needed, and damn well deserved, planned break afterward, I still consider this year my victory lap. I have such a hard time admitting I’m now a working Mom. Over the years, being a stay-at-home Mom has become ingrained into my identity. It was a badge of honor and bravery. It was the defining pillar of my perspective, and I have had to slowly recognize their life has continued without me being the main character. It ain’t easy. I may overcompensate through homemade lunches and core memory activities. The guilt is heavy some days when I realize I have not thought about them for a few hours while I am plugged into the meeting industrial complex at work. I am learning what it looks like for so many mothers and I don’t love it. I miss them being my only focus. I mourn for the days I felt burdened by. But I knew it was temporary.

I knew they would fly; I built their wings.

Now I have to build my own.

I couldn’t do what I did, doing what I am doing now. And that’s okay. I miss the life I made, with them in the center, and that’s okay. I feel lost and overwhelmed most days, and that’s okay. I’m a working Mom, and one day, just not today, I will be okay with that too.

Hats off to all the Mommas who have done it from the start… cause whew chiiiiiile… I didn’t have it in me.