On a sunny Tuesday afternoon last month, I found myself hauling cupcakes, party hats, and juice boxes to my daughter Lily’s classroom for her sixth birthday. Lacking a second car, I made the trek with all of her party supplies loaded into a worn-out Radio Flyer wagon. Out of breath and grappling with the wagon’s stubborn wheels over every bump, I cursed the missing screw in the handle. As I walked Lily home after school, blissfully unaware of the pink frosting smeared across my shirt, I asked her how her birthday was. “It was the best birthday ever, Mama! Because you were there!” she exclaimed, reaching for my hand.
Seeing her radiant smile made my heart swell. In that moment, I felt cherished and recognized for the daily efforts of motherhood, which eased the doubts I’ve wrestled with nearly a year after transitioning from my role as an academic dean to freelance writing and spending time at home with my daughters. Previously, I had struggled to balance, or rather juggle, the increasing demands of my career with the kind of parent I aspired to be; something had to give. Now, my days are filled with precious moments of connection and the warm touches of little hands, yet working from home introduces tensions I hadn’t anticipated. I’ve gradually embraced this new role, discovering a newfound resilience and adaptability within myself.
The journey hasn’t always been straightforward. Initially, I grappled with finding my footing at home. The absence of external acknowledgment of my time and contributions struck at my self-esteem, which had long been tied to my professional identity. In my twenties, I envisioned a life inspired by Simone de Beauvoir, not one filled with games of Simon Says. I left my job hoping to be more present for my loved ones, yet found it challenging to let go of the need to fill every moment with tasks that could be checked off a list. The constant reassessment of our family finances, coupled with disputes over minor expenses, led me to rethink issues of worth and power in our marriage, as well as the very meaning of independence.
Days spent writing and applying for jobs I didn’t truly want left me feeling as irritable and disoriented as before. My 2-year-old daughter played at my feet, but my attention remained glued to my laptop, filled with anxiety about what “real” work I ought to be doing. My fixation on productivity had warped my perception of achievement; busyness became synonymous with value. Nearly a year after leaving my job, I realized I was still not fully engaged at home. My frustration often overshadowed the fact that I could actually enjoy watching my girls build with blocks or climb trees, that I could be there to greet them off the school bus and hear their daily stories first. I had the power to embrace the changes I had long desired.
For many years, I mistakenly believed that my mid-30s would be a time of clarity, a period when life would offer a defined path free from chaos. I thought that stability would equate to maturity. However, I’ve gradually found peace in accepting that my path is winding and often undefined. Maturity has come to mean allowing myself to evolve, to adapt as life unfolds. Rather than racing down a straight path, I find myself constantly rewriting my journey, situated in the midst of responsibilities and emotions I couldn’t comprehend a decade ago: young children, aging family members, loans, shifting career aspirations, and the realization that marriage is both a source of strength and a challenge.
Life is unpredictable; it can suddenly shift the narrative you thought you were experiencing, altering the expected conclusion. My story is being rewritten daily, asking for the time and space to be reimagined, but it continues to move. Through small victories and quiet moments, I’m learning to accept reality as it is rather than how I envisioned it.
In this chapter of my life, I am embracing the path that has chosen me. I am letting go of “could have,” “should have,” and “would have,” instead focusing on nurturing the relationships I cherish and the family legacy I wish to create by simply existing in the moment. I make a concerted effort to connect with my ailing grandmother more often, remembering the gift of undivided time she bestowed upon me as a child. In my mid-30s, I’m also rediscovering my relationship with my mother, choosing to stand with her rather than in opposition. I reach out to friends, write letters, and watch Lily bounce in her seat during her school field trips, grateful that I can be present for these precious moments. With my husband, I engage in open conversations about what our evolving circumstances mean for us as a couple. It’s okay to reinvent ourselves to accommodate others.
This path may continue to shift, as it always does. For now, though, I indulge in stolen moments to write and craft a narrative of the world swirling in my mind, enriched by my time with my children. I navigate the bumps and curves with the Radio Flyer, savoring these fleeting instances when their hands are small and their hugs are warm, reminding myself that like everything else, this too shall pass.
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Summary
Julia Harper reflects on her journey through her mid-30s, embracing the challenges and joys of motherhood while navigating the complexities of personal and professional life. She learns to appreciate the present moment, redefine her path, and focus on nurturing relationships over productivity.