Cosa Nostra

Losing self in motherhood

This was the kind of job you just get. Knowing the right person at the right time and boom — there you were. Some wait their whole lives for this gig, but for others, it’s the fast food teenage job you get stuck in. When you do quit, everyone feels they have the right to judge your departure; some even feel they can shame you into staying.

It’s not the Mafia. It’s just motherhood.

There were a few reasons I put in my notice. One, the new secretary who replaced me didn’t even last a day, but she shattered my confidence. Two, my boss was demanding, needy, self-absorbed — and expected me to work 24 hours a day. Three, as unpopular as this might sound, the work was not satisfying: besides carrying on the species, it lacked any nobility. It was much more like being on the front line in a fog of mustard gas waiting for that moment of inevitable death across no man’s land. Unlike Hemingway, this was not romantic, not what I signed up for.

Here I was raising three daughters, and all I could think about was leaving. Also nagging at me was this idea that, had I been a man seeking my fortune, it would have been perfectly acceptable for me to pause fatherhood and go full Siddhartha. What kind of message was that for three girls? — that because some alien creature passed through your canal your life ended. What kind of equality was that?

I did the math. I had homeschooled the girls until they were in middle school. I put in more hours of one-on-one time than most parents do…