_ I’ve always been the kind of person who has a lot going on at any one time. Sitting still has never been on my agenda, and this hasn’t changed with motherhood. The only difference now is the type of activities I participate in.

Since my son was born, I’ve juggled a variety of “jobs” including, writer, therapist, marketing gal and Mom.

This past week, my MFT Supervisor and I were sitting in our weekly meeting and she asked me if I intended to continue working with the agency beyond my contract. It was one of those moments in life where you are torn between what you think you should say, and what you really feel.

Unfortunately, she caught me on a day where I’d seen eight very emotional clients, and thus I was feeling more than I was thinking, because I’d spent the whole day turning off emotions and “thinking” for everyone else. So, without much of a pause I just honestly told her, that I didn’t think I would be. And then I started crying.

Fortunately, she’s been a therapist for fifteen years, so tears on the job are a common occurrence. But those tears caught me off guard. Where had they originated? I couldn’t even blame it on my period.

And on the drive home, I got a text from my husband telling me he’d put Tuck to bed, and to drive safe and that he loved me. I envisioned the way the two of them tear up the house when I work late, snacks and toys strewn about. And, I felt a sad twinge that on nights like that night I didn’t get to cuddle my tiny bug and kiss his soft forehead and squeeze his little fat thighs.

But for all of those amazing moments, there are days where “working” for/with the baby has been so draining, that I wish I’d gone away to work, where I could have taken a lunch break, or if it gets too hectic, I could just have left for the afternoon claiming a vacation day.

This has long been a dilemma, to be a “go to work” Mom, or be a “stay at home” Mom. And I felt like I established a very good balance…but each day that Tuck gets a little bigger I start to feel a sense of impending doom. Doom that looms over saying, “He’s only going to be this small and this innocent for a short while…you better not blink.” Doom that says even working one a day a week means I’m missing something. And doom that makes you feel guilty for enjoying having a sense of self, freedom to blast the music in the car, and the adult conversation. Because although you can convince yourself that he needs a few hours a week with his grandparents, or the social interaction at Creative Preschool, it still is not the same as him having his Mom.

Up until now, I’ve managed a writing career as a freelance journalist, toting smiley-Tuck along on interviews. I’ve managed a few hours here and there working for my husband, bringing Tuck along to see Daddy work. And I’ve been working as a therapist.

My therapy days are both emotionally challenging and incredibly draining. There’s no such thing as leaving your work at the office, when your work involves someone who is relying on you to somehow help them through their burdens. Inevitably you carry these burdens as well.

And of course, there’s the topic of countertransference. The clients who have something in their lives which so closely aligns with your own (past, present or future) that you feel as if you already intertwined in their destiny, maybe already lived it.

But next to being Matt’s wife, and Tuck’s Mom, my therapy work is the most rewarding thing I do. Every day I know I’m implementing positive change, even if ever so miniscule.

Many women would argue that I should just be thankful that I have a husband that makes enough that I have the choice. But I still struggle with the balance, of me-mom-wife.

My Mother-In-Law said something to be not too long ago that has really stuck with me through my journey into motherhood. She said, “Go to work Mom, or stay at home Mom. Every Mom is a ‘working’ Mom.” She continued on to say that though she stayed at home with all three of her children, there’s not a single day it wasn’t work. And I know exactly what she means.

Someone once told me they judge all decisions in life by asking themselves, “In twenty years, what will I forget, and what will I remember?”

In twenty years, I believe, either way, I will remember that I was the best Mom I knew how to be, and sometimes that meant I didn’t always make the best choices.