To the world, I am unemployed. 

It’s odd though—ironic even—because I have never felt richer or more fulfilled.

I love being a mom. It’s precious, exhausting, sweet, and hard. Despite the sleep deprivation, I wake up each day feeling purposeful, like a calling has been fulfilled. 

I love being completely present for every one of my daughter’s milestones—and all the micromoments in between. Seeing her curious eyes explore the world around her. Watching her learn each of the muscles in her face and explore new expressions. Hearing the wildly odd coos and screeches as she finds her voice. 

I made a choice before my daughter was born: I wanted to show up fully and be the best version of myself for her—and to do that, I needed to be free from distractions or competing priorities. I chose to quit my job so I could be home to raise her full-time. The decision was clear and the right one for me and my family. 

But I’d be lying if I said it was easy or that I didn’t struggle.

For 14 years, I identified myself by my career. Who was I? Easy. A journalist. A marketer. A manager. A corporate career woman. I worked tirelessly for more responsibility, industry recognition, and promotions, keeping the next rung in the career ladder in sight. I always needed more. And I needed to prove myself—my worth. On paper, I was an award-winning, accomplished, seasoned, senior-level leader.

But, behind the curtain was a tired and unfulfilled soul stuck in the 70-plus-hours-a-week work grind. The old me donned suit jackets and uncomfortable pencil skirts and blistered ankles from heels I thought I needed to wear. She drowned her mental exhaustion in a glass (or three) of wine and repeatedly sacrificed her health and happiness. She was making six figures—she should be happy, right? Wrong. 

When I thought about the kind of mother I wanted to be, the kind of person I wanted to become for my future child, I knew I needed to leave this toxic version of me behind. In my newborn cocoon with my daughter, I felt proud and confident I made the right call. It was outside of that cocoon that I faced doubt, fear, insecurity, and shame.  

Something as simple and routine as a credit card income verification sent me into a negative spiral. It was the first time I was forced to call myself unemployed. Ugh. The label felt like failure, and it filled me with dread and shame. It was hard to not contribute financially to my household. 

Hell, I didn’t feel unemployed. In fact, I felt I had never worked harder in my life. Or felt like the work I was doing had greater value for myself, my family, and society. And yet, I felt shame and dread announcing my career break to my colleagues on Linkedin. 

They were moving forward in their careers, and I was at a standstill, moving backward even. Fear crept in: Would I be judged? Would I fall too far behind in my career, unable to go back? While your colleagues are receiving promotions and advancing their careers, you’re cleaning up baby spit up. [Insert golf clap].

While I didn’t come to this conclusion overnight, some soul searching, coaching, and deep reflection helped me understand that I was brainwashed to believe my worth was tied to a job title and a paycheck. I spent my entire career seeking external validation, but how did I actually feel about how I was truly living? I fell into the trap of a patriarchal, capitalist society that praises busyness, money, and success measured in materialism. One that undermines the value that mothers inherently bring (NBD, just raising the next generation). 

At a young age, we’re told to answer the question, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” We’re expected to go to school. Pick a major. Get a job. Climb the career ladder. Anything else is perceived as failure. Well, if there’s anything I want my daughter to learn from me it’s that I choose to live my life on my terms. The question I want to challenge her to answer instead is, how do you want to live?

Because when I ask myself that now, I know I’ve never felt fuller.

Originally appeared in Golden Gate Mothers Group Magazine.