I Hated Being a Stay-at-Home Mom

I knew I never should have stayed home. I wasn't cut out for it. Some women aren't, but you're not allowed to say that. You're not allowed to say you don't know if you can do it, you don't know if you'll survive, you're going crazy, you want out. You're not allowed to say it's not in your DNA. You're not allowed to say you're miserable. Even if it's true.

It doesn't mean you don't love your child. But it's the fear of that threat by would-be attackers that keeps mothers silent. It simply means you're human. But mothers are not allowed to be human. Not according to the standards of our society. A mother must be a saint, a martyr, above all human frailties and faults. Which is a tough standard to live up to. Especially for someone who's simultaneously trying to cope with a precarious mental state.

When I first learned I was pregnant, I was already struggling with a severe anxiety disorder. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) to be specific. It worsened afterward, and in the months leading up to my daughter's birth, I struggled just to take care of myself. I worried about how I'd possibly care for another, entirely dependent person.

I medicated and managed and after three months of maternity leave I was more than ready to return to work. Not long afterward, though, my company sold off my division, and one day before my daughter's first birthday I found myself out of a job. With a baby at home, a husband who travelled, limited daycare options, and no employment prospects, I took the only option that seemed available. I became a stay-at-home mom.

At home the anxiety took over. Every morning I woke to the rapid beating of my heart and dread in my stomach thinking of the endless hours ahead and the myriad rituals that awaited me. OCD is a time eater. If you don't fill your time, the illness will, and OCD filled many of those early years for me. Staring down the long, lonely days with a young child and nothing to occupy my mind nor anyone to stop me, I got caught in the perpetual cycle of cleaning, bathing, washing, and avoiding rituals. Often times, I even tried to avoid my own child, fearing she was contaminated. That made it rather difficult to enjoy her company, spending time at home or doing just about anything.

What was supposed to be a joyful period became some of the worst days of my life. For years, I felt like I was suffocating. But I continued in my path because I couldn't see any other way. I was too wrapped up in my obsessions and rituals to manage both work and kids although a schedule and a responsibility outside the home certainly would have helped to keep my mind occupied and my OCD in check.

After my son was born and my daughter started kindergarten, I began to see a crack, a small opening through which I was able to once again view the possibility of different life, one outside the home. I was desperate for work, but as the primary parent responsible for two kids, my options remained limited. So I took the only job I could find that would allow me to juggle both. I got a part-time job in my son's preschool.

This was a strange option for someone with a paralyzing germ phobia, but working in a bacteria-laced building with 40 filthy pre-schoolers was preferable to the lonely isolation and exhausting mental torture I faced at home. A job provided everything that was lacking in domestic life. With work I was occupied and productive. I was a team member contributing to a common goal. I had genuine and sustained adult interaction. I had camaraderie and support. I had what felt like real purpose. For the first time in a long time, I was happy.

Working in a preschool didn't put me on my career path, but it was a step. I took many more steps on the road to find my way, but eventually I got there. I came back to writing to channel my frustration with the hand women (and families) have been dealt. It seems we can have one or the other, career or family, but not both, and there aren't any exceptions even if the option you're compelled to take is an unhealthy or even a detrimental one.

I've been on both sides of the mommy divide, and I could never understand the war. Whichever side you land on, you'll endure wounds and battle scars. You'll face hardships and victories, drawbacks, and advantages either way. They're just different on each side. What's best for each woman and her family is a personal and individual matter, one no one but she can answer.

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