- I traveled a lot for work and was connected to celebrities and influencers.
- Close friends were worried I would get bored by staying home with my kids.
When I told friends and family I was considering leaving my job to care for my son full time, they responded with obvious concern and subtle disappointment.
"Won't you be bored?" one well-intended friend asked. But in her heart, I think she meant, "I'm worried you will become boring."
As a director at an ad agency and then a successful startup, I frequently traveled — sometimes even in a corporate jet — and forged connections with celebrities and influencers. To an outsider, I seemed to be evolving as a leader. By contrast, it felt like everyone in my circle believed the path of stay-at-home motherhood would diminish my professional stature and ability to stay interested and interesting.
I am privileged to have been able to decide whether or not to work for pay when my kids were young. Seven years into primary parenthood — in which I've focused on raising two kids and used my fringe hours to launch a passion project called Mother Untitled — it's clear that my choice enabled me to evolve as a person far more quickly than I did in a decade at the office.
Primary parenthood is a growth experience for most people, and it's time for the world to respect parents leaning into family life not only for their contribution to the home but also for their evolution as individuals.
I learned to trust my instincts
As a young person striving to move up in a corporate environment, I knew that likability was a critical piece of the promotion puzzle. I knew how to speak up for the "right reasons," like fresh approaches to client work, not pointing out flaws in internal systems or my managers' views. Back then, I considered this corporate dance a business skill: compromising.
Full-time motherhood has also had moments of compromise, but it mainly required me to unlearn the habit. As I took ownership of all the details of our lives, I learned how to hear other people's opinions and check in with myself on whether those opinions were valuable.
I gave my son formula with confidence. I declined invitations to playdates that might mess up our schedule, even when those invitations came from irritated extended-family members. I learned that other people's judgments reflected their own experiences and had little to do with what worked for my children or me.
I mastered the art of ruthless prioritization and recalibration
At work, I lived by Outlook notifications that told me where to be and when. Similarly, my company's billable-hour system showed me which projects to prioritize. Between those two constructs, I operated on close to autopilot.
By contrast, my kids arrived with no set calendar or priority labels. Like many primary parents staring down unscripted weeks, I taught myself to build a schedule that brought out the best in my family. Only in parenthood did I realize that I can — and should — structure my day to fit natural surges and dips in our energy.
I took intentional steps like taking a few minutes each evening to set up an art project or loose materials for the morning. Mornings can feel the longest with toddlers; building our routine around a hands-on activity gave my kids and me a sense of predictability and accomplishment — and made the time pass quicker.
My kids are now school-age, and I'm unfazed by changing our routines to meet new seasons and developmental milestones. In motherhood, I've discovered a combination of flexibility and intentionality.
I finally saw my strengths and weaknesses clearly and took action to change
I never "took my whole self to work" as a marketing director. Instead, I confined my work problems to the office, and none affected me deeply, making it easy to keep my cool. But when I became a full-time mother, and my workplace and home merged, the internal boundaries disappeared. When I felt overwhelmed, the composure that came so naturally in the office began to escape me.
After weeks of raising my voice and worrying about how it would influence my kids, I decided to take action. I picked out books to read, listened to podcasts about women and anger, signed on for cognitive-behavioral therapy, and slowly began understanding the roots of a lifelong struggle with reactivity in my most profound relationships. Slowly but surely, my yelling has stopped, but the work continues: The drive to be a better person is ever present.
These days, three books sit on my nightstand: "The Four Agreements" by Don Miguel Ruiz, which is a guide to reclaiming personal power; "Essentialism" by Greg McKeown, which teaches you how to focus on what matters; and "Anger" by Thich Nhat Hanh, full of teachings on calming emotions. I've leaned on these books as I've worked to handle peoples' critiques, improve my prioritization, and face my anger.
Before I had kids, I wouldn't have even browsed the self-development aisle. Now I keep these books at my bedside as a daily reminder that the naysayers from years ago were wrong.
I have grown more than anyone — myself included — could have imagined.