I was told recently by a career coach that this effort here is a bunch of bullshit, and that if I care about my child, motherhood is all I really can expect to manage until my child leaves home. It was definitely a really weird conversation. That I should just figure out over the next five years how to “rearrange my life” (give up professional career) so I can be home with my child at the age he starts worrying about social problems and decimal math.

I knew this person was eccentric going into the conversation, but even so, I think she gave me some terrible advice. I do not agree that the effort of trying to understand one’s mind and one’s life is ever bullshit. Sharing the growth-effort with others, however small, is a good thing to do. I mean, duh.

What the actual

So even though the advice was terrible and actually pretty abusive, I’m still intrigued by the sentiment. She was telling me to focus, and that it’s hard to live the big life you are told you can live when you’re a little girl. She was telling me to hole up, to batten down the hatches, to get fierce and execute my main job (of being a mom)(or whatever my main deal is) instead of acting like a time-wasting dummy who wants to yank open a big, heavy cellar door and deal with what happens when light and air gets on the underground parts. It was rough talk, but there’s truth the idea of focus and that’s also part of the consderation of growth.

But I don’t wanna give up on the dream. Self-knowledge can be hard to come by when you have a job and a kid and a spouse, and patriarchal, capitalist society is up in your lady business at all moments of the day. Picking extra-curriculars worth the investment never feels easy. Honoring all eleventy-thousand agreements while still trying to find time to explore whatever wisdom can be found in one’s path can be so elusive.

Who am I, anyway?


Just a human ladyperson.

I’m the usual eleventy-thousand modern things: mother, married lady, worker lady, dog lover, designer, writer, painter, digital tinkerer, person who tries to think a little about what makes a good life. Gardener, lapsed cook. I swear a lot, have a shorter temper than some, longer than others. Pretty sure I’m dominant function Ne, auxiliary function Fi.

Also, apparently capable of further social talents such as being cold, aloof, arrogant, a snob, negative, a terrible person. I suppose it’s all true occasionally. I guess that makes me well-rounded. And maybe misunderstood sometimes, too. I daresay I’m fun, warm, a good conversationalist, considerate, full of ideas, smart, conscientious as well. Are you getting all this? I’m tall. I have a bunch of fillings. I could go on. But instead, you know what I’m thinking? I was born, same as everybody else. I have a right to be here. I should be here.

So here I am, starting small.