Return to Work

People, the elusive they of the world, assume that the ‘difficult’ return to work for mothers has to do with the guilt of leaving their offspring in the care of others.  And while parental guilt is a real thing that’s so much bigger than I ever thought it could be, it wasn’t the killer for this First Time Mum’s return to work. 

Being a mum has taken over my identity, my every waking and sleeping hour as well as my instagram. There is little else left in the day that doesn’t revolve around her.  It’s tiring and exhausting for me and often for those that love me. She has been the centre of my only universe for the last year and a bit through necessity.  It has needed to be that way so we could survive.  

But with massive milestones and time, Abbie is gaining her independence and that means I can too. It’s time to go back to work.  We’ve been practicing at daycare.  She’s as settled as she’ll ever be and the guilt of leaving her has reduced to a dull simmer which has left my focus on returning to work. 

Work was a huge part of my life. For seventeen years it formed the basis of my social circle, my daily interactions and was the predominant way I spent most of time.  I worked hard.  I knew my job and I loved it.  It was the one consistent thing in my life that I knew that I was good at.   

For sixteen months I have not participated, interacted or practiced the skills I took for granted pre-baby and now I am going back to work to be the same and do the same job that I did before. But my world is different and the fear is real and nothing is the same. 

I am not the same person I was. I don’t see the world the same way anymore and I have no idea if the skills I had still exist.  The people at work are still there but we’ve been absent from each other’s lives for over a year.  The ‘difficult’ in the return to work is not about the parental guilt, self doubt is the real killer.  

As a solo mum my support networks are made up of other people.  They aren’t the ones that live in my house, they are my friends and family that have their own families.  Some of those I met in the workplace and transitioned with me through this tsunami called parenthood, but most of my work people are just that, work people so I haven’t seen them either and the changes on both sides are lost in the Bermuda Triangle.   

I am scared. I am petrified about going back to work.   

I am scared that I won’t remember how to do my job. 

I am scared that I won’t have a place there. 

I am scared that when I get back there, nothing will be the same.  

The real crutch in the undies is that it won’t be.  It won’t be the same because I am not the same.  I will have to remember old things as well as learn new things. I will have to work out where I fit, where I belong in a job that has been mine for years.  It feels like I’m starting again without the eager to please beaverness that flew like sparks from my armpits. The fresh feels this time, don’t feel so fresh. 

Through the tears shed in the car park and the promise of being able to pee without a kid on my lap, I’ve managed to attend five days of work.  Today, on day five, there were no tears.  My undies went on the same way they always have and I knew enough, remembered enough to fumble through my day. With a diet coke and a freddo frog, the day ended and the tears didn’t come.   

I still don’t feel like I have a place, and I don’t know where I fit in this grand new scheme of work but I will work hard to remember why I am there three days a week when I get to wee all by myself.