Worry with a dash of guilt
Worry. With added worry. And a side of pride. And a dash of guilt.
When I became a mum 23 years ago, I naively thought the worry would fade as the nappies turned to GCSEs and the car seats disappeared from the back of the car.
I thought once the nursery run ended, and I wasn’t juggling meetings with sports days and last-minute hideous World Book Day outfits (my proudest outfit was definitely Captain Underpants for the boy) that this parenting business would get easier.
It doesn’t. It just shape-shifts.
No one tells you how much you’ll ache for the days their little hand automatically reached for yours for comfort, protection, security. How you’ll long for the chaos of after-school logistics once the house is suddenly quiet and they’ve buggered off to uni or flown off on a lads holiday without even packing sun cream.
No one warns you that the worry doesn’t leave - it evolves. It moves in with you. Quietly. Constantly. Even while you’re delivering a workshop, running a board meeting, hitting a deadline or leading a team.
Because that’s the duality of being a working mum.
You’re always carrying two loads. The one the world sees - the business, the brilliance, the back-to-back schedule. And the one no one sees – the emotional load, the mental tabs open with all their names on.
This morning I dropped the 19-year-old off at the airport. Him and his brilliant mates, buzzing for Barcelona. Half of Salford en route to sun, sea and suspect decisions. (sorry Barcelona).
And I’m blinking thrilled for him. The excitement in the car was palpable. But I’m also ten days deep in ‘what ifs’ and imagining him surviving on Fanta Lemon and crisps. How many times can you tell a group of 19yos to apply suncream and drink water?
That’s the job, though, isn’t it?
Giving them roots to grow and raising them with wings to fly, while quietly bracing for take-off every time they go.
You love them so hard it hurts. You cheer them on. And you keep leading, building, showing up - with a full heart and sometimes an even fuller head.
Here’s to all of us doing both.
(Picture of me with my not so smalls in Cornwall a couple of weeks ago, loving and cherishing the privilege of being a mum of kidults. With worry as a side dish.)
