This Is What Five Years of Motherhood Does to a Career Girl

This Is What Five Years of Motherhood Does to a Career Girl. Today I'm chatting all things motherhood // career identity. Something I deep dive into quite reguarily as a mom. So NYTIMES // motherhood opinion piece of me.

Here’s my truth about going back to work when you have kids: It is different for everyone. There is no one right fit. And you have to go through it before you can figure it all out.

Let me start at the beginning.. I didn’t quit my job right after I had a baby.

But I didn’t jump back in, either.

I just… floated for a while. Unsure. In survival mode. Baby on my hip, hair in a messy bun. Jamming toast into my mouth at 5am, waiting for the sun to rise so I could officially brew some coffee.

Career: it's on the burner. Not sure which one. Not sure if it's on or off. Check back if the smoke alarm goes off.

And I think a lot of moms kinda feel like that. Even if they are going back to work as usual - or totally definitely NOT. We still have side pockets of our hearts and brains that need expression and growth. Paycheck or not.

Career Motivation Phase: Pregnant Worker Bee

When I was pregnant, like nine months pregnant, big belly, nesting energy surging. I was on fire. I was writing blog posts almost daily. This falafel recipe was made, photographed, written the day I was induced at the hospital! I posted it a few weeks later, ha!

Pregnant pandemic me? I was inspired, planning, creating, prepping for the baby like it was my full-time gig. Because it was. Pandemic pregnancy at home? I was productive. Focused. I was doing it all from my little corner of the world and it worked… until it didn’t.

Then I gave birth.

And everything slowed way down.

It’s not that I didn’t want to work — it’s that I literally couldn’t. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Breastfeeding around the clock, sleeping in two-hour shifts, running on hormonal fumes, and trying to be present for every magical, grueling moment. I was happy. Tired. I was overwhelmed in that weird postpartum haze where you feel like a goddess one minute and a ghost the next.

So I thought: Okay, maybe creative work isn’t realistic right now. Let me do something practical... And in a postpartum fog of “I need to still be a person,” I enrolled in a virtual grad program in nutrition.

Because… sure?

Spoiler: I quit two months in.

Motherhood career identity attempt: fail.

Let's Go Back to School in the Newborn Phase! Whoops

It wasn’t the right fit. And it wasn’t joyful. It wasn’t even functional.

I was sitting in my car at night just to get quiet study time, trying to pass weirdly surveilled online tests and convince myself I cared about course credits. When I didn't. Society did. Whatever that negative, critical voice in my head that I've been battling since childhood - she cared.

Me? I cared about not disappearing.

Really, I was just trying to prove I still mattered.

Eventually I stopped the program, stayed home full-time with my daughter, and tried to find little pockets of creative joy when I could. But for that first year, I felt like I was watching my career flatline in real time. And I’ll admit it — I panicked.

I remember one Mother’s Day, my husband gave me a necklace that said “Mom.”

And I cried.

Not the cute, sentimental kind of cry. The who-am-I-now kind of cry.

Because I wasn’t just grieving my pre-baby freedom or my ability to sleep in — I was grieving the version of myself who felt impressive. Who had her name on a book cover. Felt like she knew who she was. And who didn’t feel the need to over-explain her job title at preschool drop-off.

And I think that’s where a lot of us land for a while.

In this motherhood career identity struggle.

Go Get a Job Title: Part Time Jobs + Motherhood

One way to boost your career identity in motherhood? Get a job title. Any job title. Ha!

Spoiler alert again: I did not do this.

I considered taking a random part-time job when preschool started. Just a few hours a day. Something to feel structured. Worthy. Something to instantly take away the lonely void of coming home to a quiet, empty house in the middle of the morning. Andomething to answer people with when they asked, “What do you do?” in that tone. You know the one.

But I kept coming back to this feeling:

I don’t want that job. I want my work to feel like mine.

And even if it’s slower, less linear, and doesn’t come with a 401(k), I’m okay with that right now.

The truth is, I was working — I am working. I’m writing, creating, podcasting, building things. But when you work from home and your job doesn’t come with a timecard, sometimes it’s hard to see it. Harder to explain. Harder to feel legit.

But now that my daughter is almost five, I can say this clearly:

I’m glad I didn’t take a job just to feel less weird.

And I’m glad I didn’t cave to the pressure to make my life look more acceptable.

I’m glad I waited.

Because now, my creativity is back. My momentum is back.

And so is my sense of self — not the one I had before, but the new one I’ve grown into.

Let’s Talk Privilege — Because We Have To

Here’s the truth: Even having a choice in this conversation is a privilege.

Priv: motherhood career identity...

Two-income households aren’t just common — they’re often essential. Especially if you live in a city like Los Angeles, New York, or anywhere else where a carton of strawberries costs seven dollars and preschool tuition looks like a car payment.

Of course I’d love to be making the kind of income I made ten years ago.

But we’ve made trade-offs to give me this freedom.

We’ve sacrificed things — like a bigger house, our dream neighborhood, walking distance to our school — all so we can stretch a single income and still live a full, loving life.

Not everyone can do that.

And even for us, it’s not guaranteed. Life happens. Plans change. Jobs shift. Health issues arise. And if I need to go back to a predictable income someday? I will. That door’s not locked.

We only have one child. If we had two or three? This would probably be a very different story.

So no — I’m not skipping through this phase pretending I manifested a dreamy stay-at-home creative career just by vibing hard enough. I’m here because of privilege, sacrifice, support, and a lot of intentional choices.

At the End of the Day…

All of this — the money, the job title, the schedule — it’s bookkeeping.

The real goal?

A safe, happy, emotionally secure home.

A house where your kids feel seen and heard and loved.

A space where laughter and meltdowns and dance parties and conflict resolution all live side by side.

Where your family feels like a living, breathing ecosystem — like a little rainforest you’re tending every day.

With butterflies and muddy footprints. Sunlight and storms.

With joy and struggle and glitter in the rug.

Some people get more resources to tend that ecosystem. More time. Money. More support.

And some are out here building joy out of scraps and Cheerios.

But either way — we all want the same thing.

A home where our kids feel safe.

A life where we feel seen.

And a rhythm that doesn’t leave us behind.

So Back to the Career Part

I think around age five, something shifts.

You’re not in survival mode anymore. You’re not just reacting to life — you’re responding with intention.

And whether you feel ready to re-enter the workforce full throttle or lean even further into home life, you probably feel different than you did in year one.

For me, the pressure to prove something has faded.

But the desire to work, to create, to build something — that’s grown.

Which is funny, because when I had no energy, I wanted to prove everything.

And now that I finally feel inspired again, I don’t need to.

So maybe you’re feeling that too.

Maybe you’re right in the middle of your own identity recalibration.

You’ve found your rhythm.

Maybe you haven’t.

Either way — just know, you’re not behind.

You’re in it.

You’re doing it.

And if you need a reminder?

You’re not just a mom.

Geez, you’re not just anything.

You’re a whole, multi-layered, emotionally intelligent rainforest of a human being.

And Frozen is playing in the background, and your coffee is cold, and your kid just asked you how many hearts a jellyfish has.

And it’s beautiful. Chaotic. And yours.