I Only Work One Day a Week

Do you ever get an idea in your head, and you just can’t get it out?

Lately, my head keeps telling me, “You don’t deserve to feel this way.”

I’ve just gone back to work for the first time in three years. I went on maternity leave when I had my son, and decided not to go back to work straight away.

I’ve been blessed to have had almost three years at home, spending time making beautiful memories with my boy. During that time, I also started writing, and I’ve really loved discovering that side of myself.

This year, I started looking for work, and I finally found a job where I only had to work one day a week. It sounded perfect; my son was at daycare two days a week, so I could work one of those days and save the other day to do some writing.

But I didn’t realise how much going back to work would impact my mental health. After not working for three years, I’ve found it a real struggle having work responsibilities again. I know it’s only one day. Having said that, I can get a text from my boss on any day of the week that will change my workload around and that always throws me into a spiral. I like to be organised, and I like structure.

My work involves going into people’s backyards… trust me, you don’t want to know. One minute my day could be running smoothly; the next, I’m standing at a broken garage door fending off two chickens and a dog with a rake.

And then there’s the constant pressure that, due to staffing issues, if I call in sick, the business will suffer. Unfortunately, we have a toddler in daycare, and our family will get sick.

But it’s only one day a week, so why do I let it take over my life so much?

Why can’t I just go to work, do my job, come home and forget about it?

Maybe I could do that if I only had one thing to think about. But really, who out there only has one thing to think about?

My son is two years old, and I’ve recently discovered that the “terrible twos” are very real. We’ve had some long days at home together where, no matter what I do, nothing suits his two-year-old needs.

He will ask for something.

I’ll give it to him.

Then he’ll immediately not want the thing I just gave him.

I’ll take it back.

Then he’ll desperately want the thing I just took back.

And repeat.

Then there are times when he’s found a new game, and he’s playing happily. Until suddenly, he’s not happy anymore, and the game he was playing is now wrong even though nothing has changed. I try my best, but no matter what I do, I can’t fix the apparently broken issue.

He’s just started a third day a week at daycare. I get a break three days a week now; some parents look after their children full time. Why do I still feel burnt out sometimes?

On that note, do you know how many outfits you need washed for three days at daycare? They need so many spare changes of clothes for whatever disaster might strike while they’re there. And then every second day is a dress-up day, and we have to run out and buy a costume. There’s also the chance he’ll wake up on the day and not want to wear the costume he was excited about two days ago.

On the days he’s at home, I have to keep coming up with new snack ideas for his ever-changing food choices.

One week he loves bananas.

The next week they’re “a bit yucky.”

Nobody warned me that so much of parenting would be about finally thinking you’ve got it all figured out, only to be proved completely wrong again in an instant.

Maybe that’s just life in general.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get the balance right.

The dream is to earn enough to live off, while still being happy, finding space for writing, and after all that, still having time to build cubby houses with my son… even if they eventually make him angry.

At the end of the day, we’re all running our own race. What looks like a giant hurdle to me might look like a tiny stepping stone to someone else.

Maybe I’m allowed to be stressed simply because life can be stressful.