Working Hard or Hardly Working?

Taking an extra year off work as extended parental leave was the best decision I ever made. I’ve had time with my daughter I’ll never get back. I’ve grown into and embraced my new role as “Mum”. I rediscovered who I was outside of my horrid work persona. I started a hobby for the first time, which turned out to be what I want to do as a career. Life is good.

But all good things must come to an end. It’s coming up to decision time on whether or not to go back to my paid job.

According to a study by UN Women, stay at home parents work the equivalent of 2.5 full-time jobs. Before I was a parent, I would’ve scoffed at that suggestion. These stay at home parents don’t work from home in any paid capacity either; they are strictly raising kids and keeping the household running.

When I broke down my average week, it turns out it’s a completely fair call.

My day typically starts between 6 and 7 am and *finishes* between 7 and 8 pm. By finished, I mean, I get maybe 3 hours before the first wake up of the night, on a good night. My daughter still wakes and feeds anywhere between 2 and 5 times a night, depending on what is happening in her little world. So you could consider me to be “on” anywhere between 16 and 18 hours a day.

During the day, I play, read, sing, dance, prepare meals, run errands, attend playdates and activities, clean, clean some more, and when I find a moment, I write. I also write in the evening after my daughter goes to bed. And somewhere in there, try to have a conversation with my husband, who also works long, hard days 40 minutes from home.

On a good week, I write at least one thing a day, be it an article, listicle, poem, short story or chapter for an extended piece of work. On a bad week, I try to write at least every other day and try to write more than one thing on those days to make up the difference. It might not sound like much, but I’m a bit of a slave to the stats, so I get a kick out of my weekly Grammarly insight emails. On an average week, that little online tool checks between 10k and 15k words. Considering the limited time I commit to writing, that output is high.

Arguably, much higher than any output I’ve achieved in a single week in my paid job.

My goal when it comes to writing is a simple one—Practice, learn, improve, grow, be patient and maybe, one day, make a little money. I’m under no illusion when it comes to being a writer. I know it’s a long game, and the likelihood of earning a living is low. But, I’m fortunate enough to be in a position to play the long game, and at this point, I can strive for pocket money over a living (Thank you, Husband).

I do not doubt that I have the capacity to produce a lot of content in a short period; admittedly, there’s still work to do on the quality side of things. But I’m working furiously to build a portfolio and reach a point where what I produce is considered at worst technically good, and at best engaging, enjoyable content.

I’ve gauged while writing online that, even if you are making peanuts, if you want to be a writer, you need to treat it like a job and prioritise it, even if the financial reward isn’t there. With “Mum” being my primary “job”, writing is already in the realm of the side gig. Going back to my paid job would put writing into the realm of an untouched hobby. Certainly not something I could commit the time needed to build a foundation for a future career.

So, what’s the problem?

I just stated that financially we are in the position to allow me to chase the pipedream. On paper, there’s ample evidence that I am anything but lazy. So why, then, do I feel so guilty about it?

Because I’m not contributing.

And this is the problem with society. My husband called the bank a few months ago to see about consolidating some debt. Although I’m technically still employed, I’m officially classed as his dependant because my parental leave is unpaid. A burden. A financial risk. A giant roadblock that says, “Sorry sir, we can’t lend you that money.” Even though my husband’s income is more than viable for any family to live off.

Never mind that I’m the one that manages our finances, makes sure the bills get paid, maintains the house, spends the bulk of the time with our daughter, makes sure everyone is fed, washed and clothed. That I spend all my spare time developing my skills to ensure that I’m not always in the “unpaid” category and that I have industry experience, knowledge and qualifications that make me extremely employable should the tables ever turn, and my husband finds himself out of work.

No, I’m a dependant.

I’m working harder than I ever have in my life, I’m mentally and physically exhausted one hundred percent of the time, I absolutely love my 'job', yet I feel like a leech.

I’ve never been happy in my day job. The thought of going back makes me feel physically sick. It’s not what I’m meant to do with my life, of that I’m certain.

It should be a no brainer.

It should be a decision that is easy to make and encouraged and supported as a societal norm.

It should be acknowledged that work doesn’t need to be paid to count as work and to appreciate the impact people have in life outside of a paycheck.

I’m 99% sure I will follow my gut and do what feels right over what is expected. I need to write this article as a reminder and to strengthen my ever-wavering resolve. Maybe one day, there’ll be a time when being a stay at home parent or an aspiring artist won’t be viewed by society as a permanent vacation or an excuse for laziness. It will be acknowledged for the grind that it is and respected as such.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep working my guts out and dreaming about the day I can say with unbridled confidence, “I’m a stay at home Mum…. and I am a writer” when responding to that dreaded question, “So, what do you do?”.