Beep, beep, beep. My son, Jake, stumbled out of bed, groggy and half-tripping over his superhero pajamas as he followed the sound. “Breakfast!” he exclaimed, rubbing his sleepy eyes as his tousled brown curls bobbed. He sat quietly at the table, devouring his instant oatmeal while I cradled his baby sister, Emily, on my hip, jotting down my to-do list.
In a flurry, my husband rushed through the kitchen, searching for his elusive briefcase that always seemed to vanish around 8 AM. Kisses exchanged, keys found, and he dashed off to his world of adults and intellect while his pajama-clad family waved goodbye.
A close-up would have captured a scene reminiscent of 1950s domestic bliss (minus the microwave meal). However, stepping back revealed a different truth. Out of sight lay a woman attempting to maintain an image of domesticity, all while yesterday’s dirty dishes filled the sink and an ever-growing laundry pile loomed like a mountain.
I hadn’t intended to leave my career and embrace stay-at-home motherhood, but life had its surprises. I reluctantly stepped away from my job, and feelings of inadequacy nagged at me. I loved being a mom, yet I often daydreamed about returning to the workforce.
My greatest concern was that my role as a stay-at-home mom might set a poor example. How could girls learn to value education and careers when their primary role model was folding laundry and driving carpools? And how could boys develop respect for women if they saw me as merely an assistant to the family? I feared my children would grow up trapped in outdated stereotypes.
As Jake polished off his oatmeal, I watched him toss aside his superhero attire for a dinosaur T-shirt and shorts. We hopped into the car, and I turned on the kids’ favorite music as we headed to the play gym for some fun.
Driving, I couldn’t help but glance at the other moms on the road. At this hour, most of them were like me, yet I found myself wondering if they were engaged in something more fulfilling. Perhaps the woman in the blue sedan was running a successful business from home, or the blonde in the SUV was en route to an important meeting. My mind spiraled with endless what-ifs.
Jake bolted through the play gym entrance, his excitement infectious. “Where’s Connor?” he asked. “He’s not here today because his mommy is at work,” I replied. His small face scrunched in confusion. “Huh? Mommies don’t work. Daddies go to work, and mommies stay home and cook breakfast.”
It felt as if he had kicked me in the gut. Suddenly, I couldn’t focus on helping him tumble; all I could think about was the sinking feeling of worthlessness. My pride in being a mom evaporated in an instant. I was inadvertently teaching my child that women were inferior. The pressure to model a different reality weighed heavily on me, and I felt like I was failing.
Determined not to let my kids perceive me as insignificant, I took up freelance work, explaining its importance whenever I sat down at the computer—just like Daddy at his office. My children, however, treated my efforts with indifference, but from a place of fear, I pushed the message of feminism onto them.
I often felt conflicted. How could I advocate for women’s careers while baking cookies? It felt hypocritical. Despite my efforts, our everyday life became a lesson in “do as I say, not as I do.”
Years have passed since that day at the play gym. The infant and sleepy toddler were now a teenager, a tween, and a budding tween. They often ignore me, yet subtle hints suggest that my past speeches didn’t fall on deaf ears.
When Career Day rolled around, I anticipated that my daughter, Lily, would request to dress as a princess like she had in previous years. Instead, I was thrilled when she asked for doctor’s scrubs, declaring, “I want to dress as a surgeon.”
Then came the ultimate validation from my son, now a teenager. During one of my many empowering talks, he interrupted me, exasperated. “I get it, I get it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You could work anywhere you want to, Mom. We know.”
That moment freed me from my worries about how my domestic role might skew their understanding of gender roles. Perhaps my efforts had made a difference, or maybe I just needed that reassurance of my own worth. I don’t think my kids ever doubted me.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s journey as a stay-at-home mom, grappling with feelings of inadequacy and concerns about setting a good example for her children. Over time, she learns to embrace her role, realizing that her efforts to instill values of equality and independence in her children have not gone unnoticed. Ultimately, she finds reassurance in their recognition of her worth, freeing herself from the worry about how they perceive her choices.