Rethinking my career aspirations was tougher than birthing my son

“What did you do with that degree?””I worked for three leading lifestyle publications across a decade.” “And what do you do now?” she asks. “I’m raising my 21-month-old, and I write… occasionally.” I stuttered the last part of the sentence, and said a hurried goodbye. I’d run into an old college professor from my Mass Media undergrad degree, and I left the interaction feeling a little down on my post-motherhood ambitions. My professor wasn’t judging me, she was just curious. It was my own brain that was playing tricks on me, yearning for validation.

This wasn’t the first time either. Every time the Internet reminds me of an ex-colleague’s professional milestone or that a once-contemporary is currently achieving what’s still on my wish list, envy rears its ugly head.

I was always an achiever—aiming for and accomplishing big goals. Academic success through school and college (general proficiency medals, firsts in class), editorship for my master’s course magazine, a journalism job just three months post graduation. And followed by a decade-long career dotted with highs—from profiling public figures like Olympians, movie stars and medical stalwarts, to co-authoring two children’s books.

I never imagined motherhood would change my professional ambitions. Boy, was I wrong.

Why I hit the brakes

Perhaps I should have seen it coming. There were signs. In 2021, long before any baby plans, I transitioned from full-timer to freelance hamster because my sense of who I was had become too enmeshed with what I did for a living, and I needed to start afresh. I was able to rebuild into a self-paced, fairly successful freelance career, and when I found out I was going to have a baby, I felt confident about being able to balance my ambitions and motherhood over time.

Ambitious as ever—and maybe a little afraid of losing my identity to motherhood—I was determined to ace being a mum, as well as to avoid becoming a statistic (According to a study titled Predicament of Returning Mothers, 73% of women in India leave their jobs after giving birth and fail to return). Before I knew it, I was back at a breakneck pace.

I worked into my eighth month of pregnancy and resumed when my son turned six months old. I was proud of being a full-time mom (we had no nanny but my husband works from home, which helps), and working on my terms. But as baby V went from spud to sapien, my 5am wakeups which had helped me make my writing deadlines, now also made me cranky and impatient with him. I didn’t see it then, but I’d jumped back on the hamster wheel, only this time with a baby hamster strapped on.

Then life gave me pause. Both my grandfathers and an old friend passed away, and my father and I were struggling with health challenges.

When a friend asked if I’d sat down with my grief, I shuddered. I hadn’t paused for a breath since my baby was six months old. So desperate to go back to the old me—the fit, do-it-all, worker bee—I’d never stopped to think, was I even still the old me?

I finally sat with my sadness, exhaustion, and aspirations. When people tell you that you’re going to meet a new person when you give birth, I believe that person is you.

I had changed. My jagged edges had turned to soft curves, both physically and emotionally; my hyper-activity into focused productivity, my relentless need for work validation, into wanting work satisfaction. I didn’t want to spend early mornings and nap times in frenzied, preoccupied work mode. I didn’t want to text on my phone while I was kind of watching my baby. I wanted to see my baby grow. I wanted to be at the pick-ups and drops-offs, and bum cleanings. I wanted to be a full-time mum, and sometime writer.

It was only when I stopped trying to be who I used to be, that I could see who I’d become.

From the hamster wheel to The Wheels on the Bus

I am in awe of stay-at-home moms (my mother is my hero). But when I first realised I wanted to do less work, I judged myself more harshly than a faceless troll on Instagram. While some need double-incomes, or to help out in joint families, I had the privilege of choice—and family, friends, and my husband all supported my decision (the latter, financially too).

The thorn in my side? Me.

Raise your hand if as a part-time working mum, your inside thoughts look like: “I’m a bad mum, what example am I setting for my kid if I’m not financially independent? I’m barely making money with my part-time gig, why am I even doing this? Does this even count as a career?” I wondered when I had become one of those women who frivolously gave up what women’s rights movements had fought for.

Reframing my ambitions and accepting that I am no longer motivated solely by professional milestones and financial success, has and still takes effort. I have to remind myself often that for me, full-time motherhood is all the chaos and frenzy I can take right now. My work needs to be joy-inducing, and self-paced, most of which isn’t possible with a full-time job. And that being a feminist means being whoever you want to be.

What does that look like for me on the daily? Definitely not the painless 6am wakeups, perfectly-met deadlines or idyllic nap-and-play-filled days with my cub I’d earlier envisioned. Now a good day could mean gratitude for a hard-worked-on byline, extra squishes with a now-nearly-22-month-old V, and the occasional lazy nap. And bad days—yes, they still persist but are getting easier to bounce back from—are when former colleagues’ professional updates send me into a tizzy only the Anxiety emotion in Inside Out could relate to. They’re days when I resent my husband and child. Days when I wish I wasn’t breaking another FD just so I won’t have to ask my husband for money.

Stephanie Ghoston Paul, a boundaries coach and culture transformation facilitator says, “Parenting is inherently ambitious.” I agree, and I remind myself of this on those difficult days. I am still ambitious. I’m ambitious about having a happy, balanced life. About being a great parent, one who works on what gives her joy. One who’s comfortable on the see-saw of personal and professional ambition, knowing that this is all a WIP — my ambitions will be constantly evolving, and I just have to go along for the ride.

And look, you’re reading what I wrote.