When I took that year off to work for a vet school, my whole identity was shaken. Even though I knew it was a temporary hiatus from the classroom, it was tough knowing that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing. It felt like I had this entire skill set that was going to waste as I spent day after day in front of my computer, editing exam questions and organizing them into our testing software.

Eventually, I found ways to contribute to the work environment in a meaningful way. I used to do “shout-outs” at the school I worked at to acknowledge all the wonderful, collaborative things that were happening. It brought so much joy to my day, getting to watch the positivity being spread throughout our campus.

So I brought it to the vet school. And it made my days more bearable. To share a weekly story through e-mail and to pass along positive, encouraging words from one person to the next.

Even though I wasn’t teaching, I felt like I was still making an impact on the staff there by implementing something like this. 

Earlier this week, we had a women’s circle over Zoom. I found myself being a little critical about my role as a stay-at-home-mama this year. It feels as though I’ve spent a lot of my adult life with this belief that our output in this world is what gives us value. I remember reading Mindy Kaling’s first book and she talked about how confidence isn’t something you’re born with. It’s earned. With every thing you do, with everything you produce and contribute to the world. Your confidence grows as your output grows.
And I think I’ve always tied my “output” to the work I do with my kiddos at schools.

I distinctly remember an evening at my parents’ house back in 2014. I had flown down from northern California and they had had friends over for dinner. One of the women had also worked with children with developmental delays. I spent a good chunk of the evening talking to her. Occasionally, my mom would pop in and listen to our conversation and then give me a quiet smile and exit. At the end of the night, after everyone had spent an hour at the door saying goodbye (a standard Indian farewell means you say you gotta go at 8 and then don’t actually leave until 10pm), my mom looked over at me and said, “Wow! Where did this confidence come from?” 

I looked at her, knowing full well she was referencing my conversation with this Aunty and said, “What do you mean?”

“You speak so well. And so confidently,” she responded, her eyes wide.

I smiled. Feeling all sorts of emotions. For starters, it was rare to come across an Indian aunty who was familiar with special education. I also felt proud that my mama could hear a side of me – my professional side! – that she didn’t get to see when I came home to visit. My mom viewed me (and still views me) as her little baby so the fact that she got to see me speak so confidently about behavior supports and IEPs and all things special education made me feel really, REALLY good.

At that time, I was only 4 years into my teaching journey. But, still, I had a good amount of experience to know what I was doing and feel reassured that, most days, I was a pretty good teacher.

Being a teacher gave me confidence. It was something I knew I was good at. It was something I knew I was meant to do.

But this mom thing?

I knew I always wanted to be a mom. I also knew I’d be good at being a mom.

But for whatever reason, it feels like I’m not “producing.” I’m not “doing.” I’m not creating. Most days, I go on long walks with my kid, I read a shit ton of books, and I listen to Baby Shark 840,403 times.

I’m not attending workshops or sitting in meetings or delivering shout-outs or observing students to help collaborate on a behavior plan. I’m sitting on the floor, reading Llama Llama for the 17th time, counting down the minutes until his next nap.

I can’t hold up a stack of IEPs or psych reports as proof that I did something with my year. There is no evaluation to determine whether my work was valuable and worth something.

And as I sit here and type this, I realize how crazy this is. That if a friend were to say something like this to me, I would tell her she was absolutely bonkers and that she doesn’t need something tangible to prove that she’s worthy. That she can just look at her little baby, smiling and thriving, and that is enough to tell her that her days are worthwhile.

One of my friends shared something very helpful for me. I wanted to keep it here so I can continue to come back to it. “It’s okay to not love everything about this time. One of the things that’s been so good for me as a mom is learning that I can both find the joy and also feel the disconnect in every day. Both can (and have to) be true for us to live authentically! You’re not a bad mom for not loving every minute (that advice is way easier to give than to receive). AND you’ve made a little boy that you’re gonna raise to make a positive impact on the world. Raising boys right now is such important work.”

So, this is a bit of a stream of consciousness post. But it’s been weighing on my mind lately. And typing up my thoughts has always been my favorite form of therapy so, TYVM for my therapy session.

Now that that’s all outta my brain, I’m going to go enjoy these last couple minutes before my little guy wakes up. 

Happy weekend, everyone!