It is Monday morning, the regular time for our Seven Stones staff meeting, and I am not on the phone. Instead I am preparing for a walk with a baby wrapped around my body. In this baby carrier, I look like I am still pregnant, and I may as well be. It’s the fourth trimester, the time when the baby makes its long transition from living in water in a human body, to breathing air and getting to know the edges of its own.
This baby came more than two weeks early, and though physically and emotionally ready to receive her, I had not settled my business. I guess* I never intended to. (*note ambivalence) Every day during that last week before, I repeatedly confirmed to any one who would listen,’I have to stop working.’ ‘I can barely string two sentences together.’ I started making mistakes. I was wiped out. But I didn’t stop. I sent an email off to a client as my water was breaking.
I was on our staff meeting five days later and met with a vendor the next day. It was not business as usual, but I was working. Checking and responding to emails (partly out of my neurosis of having a clear inbox). I had the commitment to be available for clients, but nothing else, except that all that other nothing else was creeping in.
See, I didn’t want to stop working. I like working. I like my organization and my colleagues and what we do. I don’t have ambivalence here. And I probably had some ambivalence about being a mom a second time over, because hey, let’s face it, she intruded on my happy life.
By week two though, as the high wore off and exhaustion set in and any ambivalence faded about mothering my new child, working got harder. I wanted to stop now. And my colleagues had concerns too. The lack of clarity about who was accountable for what and how to go about day to day business was getting hairy. At least one opportunity was lost. My hopes of taking it week by week were dashed. I had to decide. I could not be all, so it would have to be nothing.
I suppose by that point I was ready to admit my limitation and my priority, my choice. Before that, it was crushing. I could not let go of all that working provides for me: identity, community, sense of purpose and competency, joy and love. I had to let go so I could do good by my colleagues and by my family.
How else does ambivalence affect us and the people and systems around us? At a recent client retreat, we engaged with a participant who was upset because she was not able to stay for the whole time but felt unacknowledged for doing her best to be there at all. It occurred to the group – and to us – that in some cases, all or nothing is the best the option. Partial participation can be distracting, and confusing to the system. Is she here? Is she not? What can I count on? Who do I go to? In some cases, clarity is better for the system than loyalty.
At the end of this period of “nothing” I will face another decision: how much do I return and when? How willing am I to hand over my child to another adult so that I can partake in my work accountabilities? This is not a simple question for almost any working mother I have ever met, it is some amount grueling to work through the layers and layers of ambivalence we have for our various roles. In my case, I’d like to do both full time. And that is just my way of not accepting my humanity, and expressing my ambivalence.
How do we unwind ourselves from this trap? See next week’s post.