Every one of us needs to show how much we care for each other and, in the process, care for ourselves.
~Princess Diana

I tossed another graded paper onto the growing stack and, blinking away heavy fatigue, gazed out at the brick courtyard from my office window. Spindly vines that just months ago were green and supple now hung on for dear life as the blustery November winds bore down. A successful first term in my new position as a nursing instructor was ending. A magical holiday season shared with our four little boys neared. But, instead of reveling in the excitement, I sat alone waging a private battle against the winds of change.

Was it really just six months ago that I had received that most unexpected call? Breathless, I’d hung up the phone and squealed my delight as the twins, bottles dangling from their mouths and eyes as round as beach balls, watched in awe as their mother pranced.

“Guess what?” I chirped as my husband came home for what he thought would be a quiet lunch. But, by then, all four boys had joined in the dance. “The school of nursing has offered me a permanent position!”

Surprise gave way to relief. “That’s wonderful news!”

“And it’s not just any job.”

Erik’s eyes brightened.

“I’ll be teaching nursing while providing healthcare to infants, children and teens. Not only that, but it’s part-time. I’ll be working twenty hours a week with summers and holidays off.”

I’d finally landed my dream job. After years of juggling graduate studies, temporary jobs, childcare, and the ever-changing needs of our growing family, the work-life balance that had eluded us was finally within reach. Or so I thought.

I swiveled the chair around and got back to work grading papers. I’d been carrying a knot in my stomach for months now. “It’s just nerves,” I reasoned. “It’ll pass.” But I knew better.

“Do you have to go, Mommy?” Sam had asked early one morning. He padded down the stairs in his footed sleeper and followed me to the door.

“I’ll be home when you wake up from your nap,” I reassured him, although I could never be sure. I watched Erik and Sam, hand in hand, fade from view in the rearview mirror and, like a compass guiding my way, the knot that’d taken up residence in my stomach inched closer to my heart.

There was no denying it: The heartache of leaving my children was tearing me apart. When I was at work, I was thinking of the boys. When I was home, I was thinking about work. My children needed me. Erik deserved more of me. My students relied on me. My clients depended on me. Meetings were scheduled on my days off. Childcare was a constant worry.

There wasn’t enough of me to go around. Something had to give.

Erik was settling the boys down for the night when I bustled into the house and kicked off my snow-caked shoes. An emergency at the clinic coupled with a snowstorm had delayed my return by hours.

“Mommy’s home,” they all squealed as I sat down in the living room. The boys shuffled toward me in their flannel PJs, dragging their blankets behind them. They looked like a small herd of cuddly, long-tailed creatures.

I gathered their warm bodies around me and inhaled their sweet smell. Then I said goodnight and tucked them into bed, trusting my love would envelop them while they slept.

“I’m lucky I made it through before they closed the pass,” I told Erik later between bites of meatloaf. “The road was a sheet of ice.”

The lines on his face softened, but his eyes were somber. “I just wanted you home safe.”

We looked at each other. My dream job was turning out to be anything but. I was miserable. And, though he didn’t say it, Erik knew it, too.

“This just isn’t working, is it?” I finally admitted.

Erik shrugged. “This is your career, your choice. Whatever you decide, we’ll make it work.”

His words crashed over me. I had worked years, surrounded by caring, devoted colleagues at the pinnacle of their careers, to reach this goal. But my career aspirations were frozen in time. They were a reflection of who I once was and not who I’d become. Our four little boys had changed me.

The wind howled outside my office window as I recalled the conversation I’d had days earlier with the department chair. I’d submitted my resignation — in the middle of the academic year, no less. There was no going back now. After that meeting, I buried my face in my arms and wept.

Releasing old dreams to make room for new ones hurts. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was taking the easy way out or, worse, that I’d failed.

As I reached for the very last term paper I’d ever grade, I heard a gentle tap-tap-tap on the office window.

I looked up to find my colleague standing in the doorway. Tall and slender, her graying blond hair gathered into a French knot, she could’ve graced the cover of Vogue.

She started talking before I could invite her in. “I just learned that you resigned,” she said, her voice a whisper.

My stomach flipped. So, the word had gotten out. I took a deep breath and braced myself for a torrent of criticism.

She leaned in, pulling the door tight against her.

“I wish…” Her voice cracked. “I wish I had resigned my position when my four were young.”

The room grew quiet. For a split second, our eyes met. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, each one worth a thousand words.

She wasn’t here to belittle me or question my decision. In spite of her pain, she was here to support and encourage me.

My distress gave way to calm.

Before I could thank her, she was gone.

With four little boys waiting, I switched off the lights and closed the office door, eager to head home to the life I chose.

— Mary T. Post —