I feel bad for loving it as much as I do: working outside the home, away from my children.
I am so happy to come home at the end of the day, scoop them up in my arms and reconnect, but the time away is so good for me. But then I worry whether it’s good for them. I don’t want to be selfish; I don’t want to have regrets about how I spent their childhood. I don’t want to miss what really matters.
I always thought I would thrive as a stay-at-home mother. That I would do crafts and bake cupcakes and live out the dream I saw so many before me walking through. But, while I love my kids with a depth that is unparalleled, I kind of sucked at staying home with them. The tv was on too much, I was always clawing at something else to satisfy my dreams, and I yelled a lot.
So, here I am. Working. Juggling it all. And feeling pretty good, but also kind of guilty for feeling that way.
Ever been there?