It's 3pm on a Wednesday. I'm prepping client deliverables, sales pitch decks, pinging back and forth with my manager on how we're going to deliver the news that we went $300k over budget...again. I can hear my daughter giggling with the nanny in the other room. I know that in two hours, I will need to arrange dinner, give her a bath, put her to bed, clean up the house and prep to wake up at 7am for a client call and do the whole day over again. When do I get time to do the things I enjoy? What even is it that I enjoy again? Fortunately, mother nature designed the "mom brain" to love the mundane tasks of raising children. But certainly there was more that I wanted to accomplish before I had kids. Didn't I have hobbies? It feels like a distant memory.
My house is a mess and needs a deep clean. That DIY renovation I said would be simple is still in demolition stage a year later. When is the last time I went to the gym? My fridge is empty and I need to do a grocery store run at some point today-- hopefully no one schedules a meeting over lunch. I forgot to prepare a show-and-tell for my daughter again. I don't know the last time I cleaned up the dog poop outside. Speaking of, the dogs need a bath. The daily tasks are endless. Sometimes I envy the stay-at-home moms that have everything in perfect order and still have time for themselves.
Where did that career woman spirit go? I loved my career. I had ambitions of taking the corporate ladder up to the top. To be someone powerful and impactful where I had the ability to drive major decisions or implement revolutionary ideas. I intentionally joined a company with a woman CEO, a company that valued their women employees equally to the men, where my technical background was respected and my functional skills were rewarded. I've always been a high performer in my jobs. I cared about the work and I'm a perfectionist when it comes to the deliverables. I have made great career decisions up to this point, reaching the top 1% of earners at my age. I always measured myself by the salary, but I was concerned with the titles more. I wanted to be in executive management, and I'm positioned comfortably to get there. But I don't care about that anymore. The impending promotion is dull, especially considering the next level promotion won't happen for another five years. The ambition has withered. The priorities have shifted.
There are only so many hours in the day and being a parent never stops. I can take a two week vacation from my job, but I can't take a break from my kids. Something has to give, and sadistically, the only part of my life where I can scrape time is the one that pays the bills. If I had a rich husband I could just... quit... How dare I say that! I have been a feminist my whole life; no plans for a husband or a family and totally career-driven. I idolize the women at the top of their career game like Lorie Greiner, Oprah Winfrey, or Sarah Blakey to name a few. Since college, I have always been competing in male-dominated environments. I held myself to high standards of independence and self-sufficiency; I couldn't imagine living as someone's wife. Yet here I am at my desk with my camera turned off during a Teams Sync while listening to my men colleagues ramble on about use cases and value metrics, daydreaming about that homemaker life. I wish I could close my laptop, go to the farmer's market for some vegetables and work on perfecting a Borscht recipe all afternoon to serve my family at dinner. Maybe the next day I would lunch with my friends, then we'd go do yoga together and I'd tell my husband all the girly gossip when he got back from work. I'd finally have time to catch up on my pile of books collecting dust on my nightstand. Of course I would need something meaningful to stay busy, so I would join a volunteer organization. Animal rights? Child hunger? Who knows, there's probably time for many. One thing I know for certain is I wouldn't be tied to my manager's orders or mundane corporate responsibilities.
I'd still be able to make a big impact, but on a much smaller scale than the CEO of a large corporation. My time would be dedicated towards improving the lives of the ones I love most, including myself. If I was a housewife, I could maintain a garden. I could grow the food for my family to eat without the industrial chemicals we get from the grocery stores. I could keep a hormone-free chicken flock for fresh eggs which my daughter loves to cook on Saturday mornings. Potentially, I'd even learn how to make our own household items from animal byproducts. The ability to supply my children with the healthiest foods and products is priceless in an age where nearly every week there's a class action lawsuit against the monopolized food industry for poisoning us. I could even have more children without the fear of losing my job or sending my infant into daycare because the United States only provides 12 weeks of family leave. The fantasy of this beautiful, organic homestead lifestyle raising my kids and looking after my family is irrisistable, and yet I gave it up four years ago.
Four years ago I was dating a billionaire, Z, who could provide me with everything I'd ever want. He lived on a massive private lot with an impressive mansion in Tennessee. He had a large garden and an entirely separate farm with thousands of acres. At one point, we had chickens together. At the time of my pregnancy, Z insisted I quit my job to be a stay-at-home mom. The prideful feminist in me wouldn't allow it. I refused to be completely reliant on a man no matter how much money he had. I didn't even want to get married because I denounced the religious and patriarchal motives behind marriage. What was I thinking? I wanted to be empowered, I wanted to keep my social life and my identity, I wanted to have my own accomplishments, and I didn't want to let go of my life before meeting Z and becoming pregnant. Why didn't anyone tell me how foolish I was being? I was 24 years old, which is typical to have those delusions of grandiosity and a limitless future. But I was four years too early. I know much more now. I know that sparkle in your eye quickly fades, especially for women who have an undeniable biological clock when it comes to having children and growing a family. The realities of life hit shortly into your career when you find it is a slow grind to your goals, no matter how much effort and speed you put into it. However, there is a shortcut for the lucky few, and that is marrying a rich man. I'm not saying it's a jackpot. All that glitters is not gold, and my time with Z certainly had some dark corners. Although in hindsight, the ability to make those daydreams a reality without the burden of monetary worry, just may have convinced me to bring a flashlight and stay. I know my fellow feminists are disappointed in me right now, but women empowerment comes in many forms. And women furnished with an all-inclusive paid vacation for the rest of their lives to do whatever they want at the expense of their husbands sounds very empowering to me right about now.