Compatibility of job and family: "I'm getting out again!"

We have chosen you! Congratulation! I actually had it – an online editor job for 25 hours on a permanent basis. Part-time jobs are in short supply in journalism, and getting one is almost like winning the lottery. Since the end of my daughter's second parental leave, I had been working freely. The big plus: flexibility with sick children, freedom to plan vacation and always there when the parcel operator rings. Big minus: uncertain order situation, no office small talk, cut off from career opportunities.

It's all a question of organization

When I was accepted for the position, I cheered: "Yes! It's running!" My daughter looked at me questioningly, and I told her with a pounding heart and with great pride that I would soon be working in an office in Hamburg again. "And who will pick me up from school then?" She wanted to know. "Yes, good question, darling," I thought. My husband and I found the answer in a combination of all-day school care and babysitting for our son (then nine) and our daughter (then six). My husband would come home early on Mondays so that I could work fully in the editorial office one day a week. Everything fine so far.

The first year carried me – carried us – the euphoria. Everything is possible, everything is a question of organization. Great job, great colleagues, finally back in the thick of it. Then it got harder. Our life had secretly turned into a marathon. Our family clocked up, mother, father, children stressed, cranky, exhausted. The first doubts crept in: What am I doing here? I rush through the day, drive the children. Just don't be late, show everyone that mom is doing it all. Quickly fill up a washing machine, otherwise the big guy won't have clean sports gear the day after tomorrow. Always think ahead, plan, organize. No time to cuddle, play, just be there.

"So how's the job going?" Asks my full-time working friend. "Great! Everything is fine," I lie to her. "And how do the children go along with it?" Asks the mother of two happy daycare children. "Quite well," I avoid and keep silent about the fact that our daughter often has stomach aches in the morning when she thinks about after-school care, and our now eleven-year-old son has problems in secondary school. I don't dare to say that I miss my children when I work long hours. I hide the feeling of not being close enough to them, not listening to them enough, because the bus is about to leave or my eyes close when my son talks about his day in the evening. And I hide the fact that I am sad when I find games while cleaning up that we have never played with our children because nobody had the peace of mind to read through the instructions.

Am I now unemancipated?

I don't want to cry out to anyone, I don't want to whine – and I want to keep up appearances. Mothers are multitaskers, they always manage it somehow. The emancipated society expects us to manage it: a cool job, successful children, a model home, equal partnership. Volunteer housewives are ridiculed. The media is full of family managers who get everything under one roof. Is it all just a facade? I ask myself.

Are they talking down to their problems or are they simply better organized, have more support, easier-to-care-for children, grandma and grandpa around the corner, a short way to the office? Or do they and their partners better split the work? I feel under pressure. And I am torn, perplexed, tired, dissatisfied. A remark thrown out suddenly brings clarity: "That will also pass," said a colleague to me when I told her that the care is eating up half of my salary and that we have too little family time.

"Yeah, sure it'll pass," I replied. "At the latest when the children are out of the house." But I don't want childhood to go by as quickly as possible. I realized that it's not about the others. It's about me, my situation, my children, my life. Media, society, friends – I have to choose. It was time to be honest, so I said to myself, "Yeah, I can do it, but the price is too high for me!" I am not lazy, disorganized or not resilient. I like my job, my colleagues, the feeling of being part of something other than family. But after a lot of pros and cons, I realized that a lot of things that are more important to me are falling by the wayside.

This decision takes courage

I would like time to listen to my children when they are sad, to bake cakes with them without their birthday, to jet into the outdoor pool with them when it's hot. You should have space for spontaneous meetings that are not based on my office hours. I wish for holidays for my children, in which mom and dad don't have to give each other a hand and which were planned beforehand according to the general staff. Our family life should look different again. That's why I left after re-entering.

Now I am giving up my permanent position, job security and a regular salary. Risk and addiction, I know. And also a decision that not all families can make. Finally, I can go back to business as a journalist and continue to make my contribution to the family income. And we can handle my husband's earnings. But I also needed courage, and of course my mind often told me something completely different from my heart and stomach. How long had women fought to finally make a career not just in the kitchen? So am I giving up what generations have struggled to achieve? I do not think so.

Living feminism for me is the freedom to be able to decide as a woman how her life should look like between job, children and partnership, as a woman to really have the choice. What is right for one does not have to be right for the other. And now? The first weeks are behind me. And yes, I am calmer and happier. The household no longer grows over our heads, the children enjoy being at home in the afternoons and spontaneously inviting a friend over, the basement is cleared out, I'm going back to sports. And what about the former colleagues? I miss it a lot, but thanks to WhatsApp, I am not out of the world either. Does it all sound trite? Maybe, but for me it finally feels right again.

This article originally appeared on Eltern.de.