January 2025
Dear M,
Today, I am learning to eat my words and to let go—two things I don’t particularly enjoy, though both come calling for me on the regular. I am still looking for a full-time job. And while this by no means sets me apart from a good chunk of humans between 18 and 60, it does, at this point, feel like something at which I am failing.
When I had my son, Ivan, I had every intention of going back to work after completing the 12-month parental leave we Canadians enjoy. Ivan, however, had other plans. He was what the kids now call a ‘velcro baby,’ firmly and contentedly affixed to me. And the thing was, I was affixed to him, too.
My experience being home with him for the first year of his life was so different to the one with my daughter three years earlier. Noelle was and is a force—a wide-eyed adventurer longing for experiences and the freedom to explore on her terms. She rejected my penchant for slow days at home with the occasional walk and mommy meetups. It was never enough. We were entwined in love as mother and daughter, while also pulled apart by competing sensibilities of how life should be lived.
But Ivan, like me, is a Cancer—content in his shell with a small group of chosen people (his parents and sister), places (home, the park and the library) and things (toy cars and cheese strings). We understood each other, and one year was not enough time to live this symbiotic life of ours. And so, one month into going back to work, I made the decision to quit my high-paying, secure job in cardiac research to be a full-time mom. My husband, at the time, was not on board. We were already stretched thin and could not survive on his salary alone.
This, however, is where mothers, and women in general, get creative. If it’s about someone we love, we’re in. We will survive, babes in arms. We will make it through. And we did.
Four years later, I was working multiple part-time jobs and going through a divorce. Money was still tight, but rent and bills were paid. I always pulled it off, even when it looked like all was lost. And hey, I received child support and the Canada Child Benefit. But it was mostly me: making do, stretching meals, all the things mothers have been doing since the dawn of time.
I never returned to work at a ‘real’ full-time job. Instead, I prioritized flexibility in order to be home for my kids each day. I was their constant, their anchor. And they, in a way, were mine. This went on until two and a half years ago, when, after marrying Rob and having my daughter move in with her dad to be closer to her high school, I realized my reasons for working multiple jobs no longer existed as they once did. I *could* work outside the home now. I *could* narrow my obligations, simplify my finances, and put my energy in one direction instead of seven.
Of course, at this point, I’d been out of the mainstream job market for 13 years. Turns out, this matters! My resumé looks like a mishmash of spontaneous endeavours amounting to this: I know a little about a lot of things. Streamlining this to sell myself as a “Communications Specialist” has taken time and patience. As it happens, good marketing includes oneself. I knew this, and yet, somehow, I convinced myself it didn’t apply to me. I was special. People would see my single mom plight and nod their heads while exclaiming, “Of course! It all makes sense. We see you.” Needless to say, that never happened.
And so, here I am, waiting on yet another email about a possible final interview—a process with which I am all too familiar by now. Last night, I had a wee bit of a whinge and decided that Rob was not as helpful as he should have been. How dare he not know the exact right words to say? What he was calling me to do was breathe, stay grounded and trust that if it’s right, it will happen.
What an asshole.
Except, as God would have it, I found myself saying these exact sentiments to a client who is in the job hunt as well. And she is struggling.
“Your desire for control is understandable, and yet it’s the very thing making you so sad right now,” I told her in earnest as if my feelings about this were well-earned and far behind me, while they were, in fact, breathing down my neck. “You will have to let this go. You will have to accept that so much of this is beyond your reach and that something much gentler and wiser is at the helm.”
Nice, Danielle. Insightful AF.
And so, I write this letter as I eat my words and let go of imaginary control when there is still no word on the job. Knowing that no matter what, I will be okay.
I braved years of financial insecurity on my own while wiping noses, banishing nightmares, and trying, in my desperation, to be a mom who listens, who gives good advice, and who understands. I failed SO. MANY. TIMES. But I succeeded so much more.
May the goddess within who saw me through those years have mercy on the woman I am becoming.
And may I become increasingly willing to see that goddess is me.
Love,
D
