Mommy Finger, Baby Finger

There’s one question I really can’t stand—especially when meeting someone for the first time— the question of, “So, what do you do?” Barf. Why do I hate that question so much? Because I’ve realized how so many of us identify ourselves with our work, truly believing that our work and our title is our identity. Think about it—if I asked you who you are, what would you say? I recently listened to a message by Pastor Rick Warren on YouTube and he described this as “misplaced identity.” This concept of “misplaced identity” is the belief that self-worth is measured by productivity. 

I remember falling into this trap myself. When my daughter was born, I rarely got to hold her. It was a sacrifice I had to make to get through get college. I was so committed to finishing my education and to “make something of myself.” I really felt the pressure to finish school and have a meaningful career not just from those closest to me, but from society. When I announced my pregnancy I heard some very mean things like “well, you messed up your life” and “there goes another statistic.” So, I became mad woman, and out of that madness grew fire and determination. I was all in and I was going to prove everyone else wrong. That dedication got me through college, grad school and into pretty damn good internships including The New York Times, Make-A-Wish America and Johnson & Johnson. But, that dedication also required time away from my little one, distance and putting my self-care last. 

When I worked as a reporter, I was ready to respond to every assignment even if it meant working longer hours and canceling family plans. I can recall a time when the editor asked me specifically to cover an event and after I mentioned I had family plans that night he stared at me discontented adding, “Please.” And, I did. 

But then, I started having health issues. There was a day when I couldn’t bear the pain in my stomach anymore while I was sitting at my desk writing a story. At first, the doctor said I had developed IBS (Irritable bowel syndrome— also referred to as spastic or nervous colon, and spastic bowel). Then, my heart started showing a rhythm disorder. You know what else I learned? Both of these things are triggered by mental stress and negative emotions. Surprised much? It was until I showed up to work with that heart monitor attached to my body that reality sunk in. I was literally killing myself.

I remembered a day when I showed up to my internship at a major global corporation and I opened up an email—someone had died. I thought that maybe the people in the office would grieve a little bit, but instead, almost immediately, they went on to look for that person’s replacement. I was tired, overworked and completely burnt out. I dreaded going into the office. I prayed and often cried in the middle of my praying on my way to work. Finally, I left, and I entered a whole new crisis—an existential crisis. Who was I if I was not a reporter? Would I lose friends? Would I be looked down on in my family, community, dating life? In my mind, I was now, “the girl without a job.”

Rick Warren said it best when he posed the question: “Why do we spend the first half of our life sacrificing our health to get it back during the second half of our lives?” He reasoned: 

1. Envy of what other people have.
2. They place success over relationships. 
3. Insecurity; the fear of never having enough. 

Looking back now, those six months of unemployment—while not easy—were a breakthrough moment for me. For the first time, I was a stay-at-home mom looking beyond her job title and digging deep into myself and who I was in God. Today, I work part-time from home and my health is a priority. I still have a huge amount of responsibilities as a single mom, but we make time for fun. Being aware that I am not my job has actually made my life much more enjoyable. It has also made my relationships with colleagues and friends more authentic. Your job/title should not be everything that defines you. As a parent, my child is valuable to me simply because she is mine. That’s how God sees you and me.

I let go of my job title. Now, it’s your turn.