Behind the Scenes of a Career-Driven Mom doing the real work

The alarm goes off at 5:45. She rolls over and makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a dying animal. She reaches for the clock and turns off the alarm before it wakes up her children. It’s hard to wake up this early… but she knows the quiet in the morning, before the house turns into chaos, is imperative for her. In the kitchen, she makes a cup of strong black coffee and sits down.

Quiet. Stillness. Peacefulness.

She breathes. It lasts about four and a half minutes. Until the little voice from the room down the hall calls out, “Mommy!” And the day begins.

The morning routine is, well, unruly. Half the breakfast ends up on the floor (thank goodness for the dog). Her 3-year-old daughter insists on wearing clothes that are too small for her and refuses to brush her hair (this requires a ton of deep breathing and limitless internal reminders that sound like: “What if this isn’t a problem?”).

Everything seems to be taking a million times longer than it should (oops… there’s that word again), and for the fourth day in a row they’ll be late to preschool (and there’s that reframe again: what if this isn’t a problem?). No time to put the dishes away or tidy up before getting everyone out the door.

Her 3-year-old is not wearing a coat (“Your choice,” she says as she tucks the puffy jacket into her daughter’s bag for later). Her baby is still in pajamas (“Doesn’t have to be a problem,” she reminds herself again). Finally at school, her 3-year-old won’t get out of the car. Without thinking, she snaps at her daughter. Yells, actually. Her own sharp voice wakes her up from her internal chaos. She goes over to open the door for her now tearful child. She kneels down and looks her in the eyes.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, love bug. I just yelled, didn’t I? That probably didn’t feel very good. Mommy forgot to take a deep breath. I’m sorry, and I love you.”

She and her daughter hug. She reminds her snot-nosed kiddo that she’ll be thinking about her all day and can’t wait to hear about story time later (her daughter’s favorite part of school by far). She kisses her daughter’s palm, a tradition they’ve had since she was a baby and she returned to work.

Three-year-old dropped off at school, baby dropped off with the nanny, and now she’s off to work. Which she loves, by the way. She’s passionate about what she does. Loves the creativity of it. Loves the way she feels when she makes things happen. Loves the freedom to expand and explore and achieve.

It takes a few minutes to soothe the pit in her stomach. It’s an old, familiar, critical thought-feeling that pops in when she isn’t being mindful:

“You’re being selfish. You should want to stay home with your kids.”

When she catches it, she breathes a breath where her exhale is longer than her inhale. She knows this is just an old story. She taps back into the facts of it all: she loves her kids with every cell in her body. She knows that living a full and complete life outside of being a mom is part of what makes her a good one. Her biggest gift to her children is taking compassionate and deep care of herself. And her career is a part of that.

Work is a blur of busyness. The list goes on and on, emails, client meetings, program creation. Mistakes. Repairs. Celebrations. Misses. Wins. Opportunities. She steps outside for 15 minutes during lunch. Walks around the block. Notices the trees. She calls her husband before heading home. “I’m at about 60 percent this evening. Can you please be in charge of dinner?”

In the car, she plays her favorite dance-party mix. Lets her hair blow in the wind through the open window. It’s cold, but it reminds her of freedom. Before walking inside, she pauses. Breathes. Shakes her arms above her head like a crazy person so she can dispel any stress and tension that settled in during the workday. She hears the patter of feet before the door even opens.

“Mommyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!”

Chaos. But sweet chaos. Dinner is takeout. But her family sits around her, all talking at once. Food on the floor. Uncertainty and unpredictability splattered across every moment like paint. Her husband reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. She feels a deep steadiness within herself. One that allows her to be present without needing to fix or problem-solve. One that makes space for joy and laughter and true, deep presence.

While Dad does bath time, she goes for a fast-paced walk. Just enough to get her blood moving. Returning in time for bedtime tuck-in.

“One more book!” her daughter demands.

“I love you too much to read one more book,” she replies. “It’s bedtime, and both you and Mama need sleep.”

She kisses her daughter on the forehead.

“I love you more than the sun and the moon,” she says.

“I love you more than the sun and the moon too,” her daughter responds. “Even though you got mad at me today.”

She smiles as she turns off the light and closes the door.

“I’m doing it,” she says to herself.