It's been four years since I've kept a blog, which is four years too many. Putting my thoughts down on "paper" for those two years was beneficial in a number of ways: It helped me hone my writing skills (I love to write but don't do it enough on a personal basis); I met a couple of cool bloggers whom I've yet to meet in person but who I feel like I already know; and I got to participate in an exchange of ideas about a number of topics.
So you think that I'd have kept it up. But I've got a good excuse: I became a mom two years ago, and my, has life changed. My time and my brain no longer belong solely to me and my every whim. It's taken this long to have the energy and time just to sit and create a new blog template, for crying out loud. But I'm glad I did. A few weeks ago, I logged onto my old blog and, much to my surprise, didn't cringe the way I used to when reading my own writing. I liked how I sounded...clear, concise, and not as snarky as I recall feeling when I wrote some of those posts chronicling my life as a single woman living in New York City. I realized how much I miss the creative outlet blogging provided, and the conversations I had with my blog's readers. Facebook may be The Online Communication Medium, but much as I've been known to waste hours trolling its pages, I would prefer that it not have the market on everything. So here I am.
The last two years have been the most challenging of my life. That might sound harsh for a new mom to admit. But one thing I've learned is that it's entirely possible to love your child with every fiber of your being while also feeling exhausted, depleted, anxious, isolated, and even terrified and depressed at the challenges new motherhood can dole out. I still and perhaps always will look back on the first year of my son's life with a mixture of guilt and regret -- not because of
him but because of my inability to enjoy new motherhood. I have to remind myself, though, that my circumstances have been neither expected nor typical. For one, as many of my friends here know, I chose single motherhood when, around age 40, it seemed clear that Mr. Right For Me wasn't planning to reveal himself anytime soon. I had a clear plan: I was working on a doctorate, which surely would increase my earning potential, and I'd just landed a dream-job of sorts: helping implement a new education initiative in Chicago Public Schools' (CPS) central office. Financially and professionally, things were only looking up, or so I thought.
But right before my son was born, things began to unravel on the professional front. I had left my job with CPS (where the ground shifted every hour, not to mention every day, and where my smart, talented colleagues and I were largely under-utilized) for what seemed like a saner workplace environment. But after another year, unexpected circumstances led me and that organization to part ways -- a move that I later regretted but have recently forgiven myself for. Along the way, I'd found myself missing my former job as a high school teacher. But here I was, working on a doctorate in education policy. I was conflicted; would I regret leaving all of that on the table to resume a teaching career? Was I taking a step backward? After a lot of soul-searching, I knew my heart was somewhere closer to the classroom. Ultimately, I hoped to work with teachers in a leadership (but not administrative) capacity, either by helping new teachers in the classroom or leading teachers to become policy advocates. And to get there, I had to get back in the classroom myself. It was settled. I had some money set aside, four solid years of teaching experience under my belt, and I knew a lot of people in the Chicago school system. I figured I'd slide right back in, no problem.
Little did I know that the State of Illinois was bankrupt, and that one of the trickle-down effects on public school systems across the state would be massive teacher layoffs. A month after H was born, Governor Quinn announced that the state was broke. Soon, CPS and other Illinois school districts were slashing teachers left and right. I sat on the couch, day after day, breastfeeding my beautiful boy and trying to revel in his gorgeousness, but I was getting scared. By August 2010, when H was 7 months old, I'd had only two interviews and one job offer from a charter school, which I'd turned down because the salary was far less than we could live on and would never cover childcare costs. Throw in a baby whose nap habits were sporadic at best and nonexistent at worst (leaving me no time to
think, much less job hunt) creeping anxiety and dwindling funds, and I was a complete emotional mess by September. HOW was it possible that I couldn't find work? I'd done everything I was "supposed" to do: Pursued advanced degrees. Gave my all to the classroom for four years. I had other valuable work experience. I had tons of contacts in the teaching world. It didn't make sense.
I spent those first months of my precious son's life flogging myself for leaving my old job and, sometimes, for thinking I could handle single motherhood. It was emotionally uncomfortable, to say the least: I never regretted having Henry, but at the same time, I was miserable. Things were not going according to plan.
It took nearly two more years before I learned that I have little control over my life. Wait...what do you mean, BrunetteChicagoGal? Are you being fatalistic? Do you believe that our lives are predestined, and we're mere puppets on a stage? Not exactly. I still believe it's essential to have goals and a framework for getting from point A to point B. But the minute you think things are set in stone, you're setting yourself up for a lot of stress. Because things will change. Plans will fall apart. Circumstances beyond your control will creep in. And, just like when you're stuck in traffic, there are only a few choices: Cuss. Scream. Honk the horn (which only irritates everyone around you). Or take a deep breath and wait. Distract yourself. Enjoy the solitude and the chance to simply "be."
That last part is the hardest, but it's where I find myself right now, in the middle of my third consecutive summer of unemployment. I've spent the last two school years filling maternity- and disability-leave positions in a couple of CPS high schools, but when the teachers re-claimed their positions, I was once again back on the unemployment line. (Technically speaking, I'm guaranteed a position as a cadre substitute, which means I'll be offered work every day and get to keep medical benefits. Not a way to make a sustainable living, but it's better than nothing.) But this time, I'm calm. Maybe it's because I've been through this before, and each time, I found myself being scooped up by a safety net just in the nick of time. Or maybe it's because I've realized that banging on the horn and screaming and cussing isn't going to change things. Instead, I'm using my networks to find out what opportunities are out there and throwing my hat in every ring possible. The remainder of the time, I'm having a blast with my babe. We're doing all the things that make Chicago fun in the summer: beach, swim lessons, outdoor concerts, the park, the museums...I'm enjoying this time, dammit. Which is much more pleasant than the alternative.
