Virginia Woolf once wrote, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." The moment I left work to raise my girls is the moment I was financially uncomfortable. My mother worked, and I never intended on being a kept woman. While I'm so very grateful for the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom, and I'm very aware it's a luxury not afforded to all, I knew it was time to re-enter the work force.
Initially my plan was to take an extra year to work on house projects and volunteer at the school but I found myself asking for applications at stores I really liked (and wouldn't mind having a discount at) and casually bringing up the topic with working mothers I know and trust. My ego really took a beating as I was interviewed by people younger than me, less experienced than me, telling me I wasn't a good fit. People in the retail places I tried were friendly to me when I walked through the door and then icy when I asked for an application, "I don't think we are hiring" was the comment swiftly handed out along with the form.
The most insidious thing on that piece of paper was this, the spot asking for work experience but only in the last 10 years. All I had was volunteer work- even though I have successfully held down a steady paying job since I was 14.
It was hard not to feel like the sum of my life was the meager, pathetic things I managed to put on those applications. There was no section for how I handled Ireland's many asthma hospitalizations, or being alone and pregnant with 3 kids- one of whom was only 6 months old. There wasn't a section for how many loads of laundry I roll through a week or the discounts I find while shopping or my superb organizational skills. All they cared about was if I had worked. And I had worked, but not in a way that counted.
Finally I found a sympathetic soul at one of the temp agencies. Initially I was going for just a part-time gig, just 15-20 hours a week. Imagine my surprise when she found me a full-time position at a bank. One phone interview later and bada bing I had a job- albeit temporarily. After two months, (and some salary negotiation), I was hired permanently.
I love working. I love the feeling of the cogs turning in my head again. I love paying my own credit card. I love contributing to my family's financial success, even if it's in a very, very small way. I love that my girls see me working.
This may not be forever- if I'm needed at home again I'd walk away in a heartbeat. But even if this is a brief season of life to be back at work, for now I'm really happy.
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