My 8-year-old called me out—and it changed how I work forever
On the first morning of my daughters’ winter break from elementary school, sunshine streaming through the home office windows, I sat at my laptop finishing up a video call. In my work life, the photographer on the other end of my computer screen would help me actualize a new brand I was launching to support the publication of my first book, Flex Mom: The Secrets of Happy Stay-at-Home Moms. In my home life, I’d bought and wrapped gifts that were now nestled under the tree, my in-laws had arrived for the holidays, and we were heading out to the Nutcracker that evening. I was rocking it!
When the meeting ended, I dove into searches for my photoshoot outfits and double checked that the book launch party plans were progressing as I’d hoped. Suddenly, I saw a tiny brown-haired human staring through my glass office doors. I peeked at the clock. How was it 3pm already? My 8-year-old poked her head in and said, “If you’re supposed to be a flex mom… isn’t the whole point that you’re with us when we’re home?”
Her honesty landed like a punch—it was a truth I’d been avoiding.
Sure, I’d decided I wanted to be the primary caregiver for my kids—that I’d work during the school day, during the school year so I could be with them when they were around. But I was also so fulfilled when I could spend time on projects I love, instead of just being a professional snack-fetcher and calendar-coordinator. My computer said I was winning, but my daughter’s face said I was failing.
I closed my laptop and, pasting a huge smile on my face, walked into the living room where the whole family was playing Uno, hockey streaming on TV. A few hours later, donned in festive attire and in line to order three Shirley Temples at the theater, I felt my phone buzz. Surely checking it wouldn’t hurt?
But kids are astute. “Oh, there’s the flex mom again,” piped up my little one, as I quickly shoved my phone back in my pocket.
My face flushed. Why was I not able to stay present—was I doing something wrong? I was grateful I got to focus on motherhood in the years after they were born. Yet the envy I felt when reading glowing reviews of my peers in the speaking and writing world was undeniable. Nobody praised me for making sure the toilets were cleaned, or for the extra flourish on the lunchbox love notes.
I knew I had more to offer beyond the four walls of my home. But I didn’t know how to get past the guilt that I wasn’t being present enough for my family.
The next morning, I grabbed my journal. My hand cramped as I streamed my subconscious onto paper: What role model did I want to be for my kids? How did I want them to remember me, and our relationship? Who was I more authentically proud of being: a mother or a professional?
Then I remembered an idea from bestselling business author and leadership thinker Jim Collins that my mentor, Tal Ben-Shahar, cited often: that rather than succumbing to the “tyranny of the OR” we can embrace the “genius of the AND.”
I’d been looking at it too tightly. It wasn’t that I had to be a stay-at-home mom or a working mom. Of course, I knew this in theory, given I’d outlined a whole third way of being a flex mom. But in practice, that also meant I could be primarily present for my kids and sometimes work when they were around. The guilt and embarrassment and envy were simply signs that my own needs weren’t being met; I needed to clarify what those were, and communicate better with the family.
What I loved about working was the money, sure, but also that I’d get regular feedback. I was craving connection, a shared understanding, and respect. I started small by prompting the family at dinner to share their wins (my kids love sharing the “popsicles” and “poopscicles” of their days, and as they get older, they’ll talk about the best, worst, and funniest stories from their day, or even something they’re proud of doing). After a week of hearing us adults respond with follow-up questions or acknowledgement, they started doing the same for our stories. Finally, I started feeling seen as a whole person again, able to share with my family what I’d worked on that day.
It was a step, but I also started being more up front with my girls about why I was choosing work when I did. If I had to take a call or reply to an email after the girls were home from school, I would simply explain what I was doing and why it was important, and they’d honor the space I needed. And I demonstrated through my actions and boundaries that I would show up for them when it mattered, too: I didn’t miss more than one dinner in a row unless I was traveling, I picked them up from school most days, and made time to chat one-on-one with each of them every day. Soon, not only did I trust myself to gauge what was work that could be put aside and what needed to be prioritized, my kids trusted me more too.
Nowadays, as I finish the manuscript for my third book, my now-teenage girls ask over dinner how my writing is going, and offer high fives or verbal cheers for each chapter we submit. They make me posterboards—“Go Mom, you got this!”—when I have big work moments. Bringing them onto my hype girl squad meant they stopped competing with my work and started witnessing it.
They don’t see a flex mom disappearing behind a screen anymore. They see a woman who closes her laptop when it matters—and opens it when it matters too.
source https://www.mother.ly/uncategorized/flex-mom/
Comments
Post a Comment