After we left the hospital with our first daughter in our arms and the temporary adoption custody signed, the guilt didn’t take long to show up. From the beginning, I had always planned to continue working full time. But quietly, almost without realizing it, the doubts began to creep in. Mostly my own doubts, caught me in a crossroads between what I wanted to do and what I thought I had to do. And of course, there were always people’s comments…
When you're a mom, people have opinions about everything, from diapers, routines, how you feed your baby, and so on. But I took the comments about my choice to be both a mom and a working woman much more to heart. Maybe because it had taken me so much to become a mom, some people assumed it was only natural for me to stay home with the baby. And then I would hear comments like:
"You have to enjoy this stage." "Doesn’t it bother you to leave her when she’s so little?" "Work can wait... the baby can’t."
I would smile politely, but deep down, those words unsettled me. They made me doubt myself. Because yes, I wanted to be with my daughter all day. But I also wanted to keep working. I wanted to fulfill my professional dreams, without letting go of my biggest dream: to be her mom.
The Flexible Schedule… That Wasn’t So Flexible
We were lucky enough to arrange a split schedule: half a day in the office, half a day at home. Since I’m a morning person, I took the morning shift. I’d wake up at 5:30 a.m., give her the 6:00 a.m. bottle, and rush out to work. At noon, we’d switch.
In theory, it all seemed to work. But in practice... I never felt 100% present in either role.
Yes, I was with my baby, but also with my laptop on top of me. Trying to answer emails with one hand while feeding her with the other. And when she napped, instead of resting like the books say, I’d use that time to squeeze in more work. I thought it made me more productive. But deep down… it was draining me, exhausting me, filling me with guilt.
I remember one night in particular. I got up to give her a bottle, and as I held her in my arms, I broke down inside. I cried silently while she slept. I wanted to stay like that all night, clinging to her, never letting go. I felt so guilty about having to leave. I knew that in just a few hours, I’d have to get dressed, go to the office, put on my professional face, and continue with the day.
I didn’t want to miss anything, not a smile, not a sigh, not a milestone. I was terrified that, by trying to do it all, I was missing the most important part.
Wanting to Be Everything… All at Once
And then came the comparisons: my mom, my grandmother...
My mom, with three kids, seemed like she could do it all. I remember watching her work, watching her succeed, going to her office and dreaming of being like her. And my grandmother, an impeccable homemaker who raised four kids, always well put together, with lunch ready when my grandfather got home, with time for her friends and her hobbies.
I wanted to be a mix of both. The brilliant professional. The devoted mom, wife. The good friend. And the woman who also had time for herself.
I thought I could do it all at once. But reality hit: I couldn’t. It took me time to realize that my mom and grandmother had help, housekeepers, tutors, people who supported them so they could be more present for their kids, their husbands, and their lives.
I didn’t have that. I didn’t allow it. I didn’t like asking for help. I felt embarrassed accepting favors. But still, I demanded from myself a level of perfection that just wasn’t possible. I wanted to be a present mom, an efficient professional, a loving wife, keep the house in order… and also find a little time for myself.
I expected myself to be available for everything and everyone. To be everything. To have everything. With no breaks. No help. No complaints.
The Superwoman Trap
With my desire to be “superwoman,” I kept telling myself: “I can handle this and more.”
And I think that’s why it took me so long to give myself permission. Permission to ask for help, to pause, to be vulnerable, to be present… without guilt.
I didn’t give myself the chance to admit that while I gave my all as a mom, professional, and wife, there were parts of me that were exhausted, overwhelmed, a bit forgotten. But those parts also deserved space.
Even after my second child arrived, I kept the same mindset. I remember the social worker asked me during an interview how I planned to handle having two kids. And I thought the question was so pointless... “What’s the difference?” I thought. “If I can do everything with one, then two is the same…” A little stubborn, I know.
Today, with more experience, after asking for help, after letting myself make mistakes… the guilt still lingers. It still shows up unannounced. I’m not sure if it ever fully goes away. Maybe it’s just part of being a mom in these times.
But I’ve learned there’s no such thing as the perfect way to mother. And that guilt softens when we stop comparing ourselves. When we stop trying to be like our moms, our friends, the moms we see online. And we start embracing who we actually are with the good, the hard, the imperfect. That’s when we begin to find our own rhythm in motherhood.
100% Mom or Working Mom?
It seems like there are only two ways to mother: You either stay home and dedicate yourself fully, Or you keep working and balance it all.
I don’t have the perfect formula. Not even close to all the answers. Honestly, some days I want to be one. Other days, the other. But what I do have is more compassion for myself. I give myself more permission to just be me, without so much judgment. Trying to find balance, rather than trying to be the perfect mom.
So if you’re feeling the same… If you’re feeling torn, tired, or guilty… I see you. You’re not alone. Being a mom, working, being a partner, being a woman, it’s all possible. It’s not about doing it all at once. It’s about letting yourself feel, letting go, being present, and finding what works for you. Finding your rhythm. Becoming the best version of yourself, whatever role you’re in at the moment.
Grateful to have you here, heart to heart.
Melli
