After Maternity Leave

The return to work after maternity leave is not one feeling. It is a cocktail — grief, guilt, anxiety, relief, dread, love, resentment, pride, and a kind of exhaustion that does not have a word — and the cocktail, un-named, is the thing that makes the return harder than it needs to be, because the unnamed feeling is the feeling you cannot work with, and the working-with is the thing the return requires.

This chapter is about naming the cocktail. Not to fix it — the cocktail is not a problem to be solved but an experience to be understood — but to give you the language for what is happening inside you, so that the experience, named, becomes something you can hold rather than something that holds you.

Why the Return Is So Emotionally Complex

The return is emotionally complex because it is not one transition but several, happening at once. You are leaving your baby, and the leaving is a loss, even when the leaving is chosen and wanted. You are re-entering a workplace that has continued without you, and the re-entering is a re-negotiation of a place you used to own. You are becoming a working mother, and the becoming is the taking-on of an identity that the culture praises in theory and punishes in practice. You are no longer the person you were before the leave, and you are not yet the person you will become after the return, and the in-between is the place where the cocktail lives.

The complexity is normal. The mother who feels only excitement, or only dread, or only one clean feeling, is the exception, not the rule. Most mothers feel many things at once, and the many-things-at-once is not a sign that something is wrong. It is a sign that the transition is real, and the realness is the thing that deserves your attention, not your judgment.

Naming the Ingredients

The first step is to name the ingredients of the cocktail, because the naming is the thing that makes the work possible. Here are the most common:

Grief. The grief is the grief of the ending — the ending of the time with your baby, the ending of the pace, the ending of the version of yourself that existed during the leave. The grief is not a sign that you do not want to work. It is a sign that the time you are leaving was real, and the realness is worth grieving.

Guilt. The guilt is the feeling that you are doing something wrong — wrong to your baby, wrong to yourself, wrong to someone whose standards you have internalized. The guilt is almost always present, and the presence is not a sign that you are doing the wrong thing. It is a sign that you care, and the caring, when it turns into the guilt, is the thing this book will help you work with.

Anxiety. The anxiety is the worry about what will happen — will the baby be okay, will you be okay, will the milk supply hold, will the childcare work, will you remember how to do your job. The anxiety is the mind's way of trying to control the uncontrollable, and the naming of it is the first step in letting it be what it is without letting it run the show.

Relief. The relief is the feeling that surprises many mothers — the relief of returning to adult conversation, to the structure, to the part of yourself that is not the feeding and the soothing and the sleep-depriving. The relief is not a sign that you do not love your baby. It is a sign that you are a whole person, and the whole person needs more than one role.

Dread. The dread is the heaviness that comes with the anticipation of the return — the commute, the pump, the leaving, the being-away. The dread is the body's honest response to a hard thing, and the honest response, honored, is easier to carry than the honest response, suppressed.

Love. The love is the love for the baby you are leaving, and the love, present in the leaving, is the thing that makes the leaving hard, and the hardness is the thing that makes the love real.

The Practice of Naming

The practice is simple. Sit down, and write down what you feel. Not what you should feel, not what you are supposed to feel, not what the other mothers on the internet seem to feel. What you actually feel. Write the ingredients. Name them. Let them be on the page without judging them. The naming is not the fixing. The naming is the beginning of the working-with, and the working-with is the thing the rest of this book is for.

The cocktail, named, is a cocktail you can hold. The cocktail, unnamed, is a cocktail that holds you. The naming is the first freedom, and the freedom, taken, is the thing that makes the return yours.

The grief is the ingredient that most mothers are not warned about, and the not-being-warned is the thing that makes the grief harder, because the grief, unexpected, is the grief that feels like a sign that something is wrong, when the grief is, in fact, one of the most normal responses a mother can have to the end of the leave.

This chapter is about the grief — what it is, why it is so often unacknowledged, and how to carry it in a way that honors what it is grieving without letting it become the thing that runs the return.

What the Grief Is Grieving

The grief is grieving the end of a time. The time with your baby — the unstructured days, the feeding, the holding, the slow discovery of who this person is — was a time, and the time is ending, and the ending is a loss, and the loss is real, and the realness is the thing the grief is honoring.

The grief is also grieving a version of yourself. The you-during-the-leave was a person — a person defined by the baby, by the home, by the pace, by the intimacy of the early months. That person is ending, and the ending is a loss, and the loss, unacknowledged, is the thing that surfaces as the heaviness you cannot explain.

The grief is also grieving an illusion — the illusion that you could do both fully, all the time, without cost. The return makes the cost visible, and the visibility is the thing that the grief is processing, and the processing is the work, and the work is the thing this chapter is for.

Why the Grief Is So Often Unacknowledged

The grief is unacknowledged because the culture does not have a language for it. The culture has a language for the joy of the baby, and a language for the challenge of the sleep, and a language for the logistics of the return, but it does not have a language for the grief of the ending of the leave, and the not-having is the thing that leaves the mother alone with a feeling she cannot name, and the alone is the thing that makes the grief harder.

The grief is also unacknowledged because the return is, in many cases, chosen. The mother who chose to return, or who needs to return, is the mother who is told, implicitly, that she does not get to grieve, because the grief, the culture suggests, is for the things that happen to you, not the things you choose. But the grief does not care about the choosing. The grief is the response to the loss, and the loss is real whether it was chosen or not, and the realness is the thing that earns the grief its place.

How to Carry the Grief

The grief is not carried by being fixed. It is carried by being honored. The honoring is the practice, and the practice is the thing that lets the grief be what it is without letting it become the thing that defines the return.

The first practice is to name the grief, to yourself, honestly. "I am grieving the end of this time." The naming, done honestly, is the thing that gives the grief its legitimacy, and the legitimacy is the thing that lets the grief move, and the moving is the thing that grief does when it is allowed to.

The second practice is to create a small ritual of transition. The ritual does not have to be elaborate. It can be a walk, a letter to your baby, a moment of quiet before the first day back. The ritual is the thing that marks the ending, and the marking is the thing that the grief needs, because the grief is the response to an ending, and the ending, unmarked, is the ending that the grief cannot process.

The third practice is to let the grief coexist with the return. The return does not require the absence of the grief. The return can be done while the grief is present, and the present-grief return is the return that is honest, and the honest return is the return that is sustainable, because the sustainability comes from the honesty, not from the suppression.

The fourth practice is to talk about the grief. With a partner, with a friend, with a clinician, with another mother. The grief, spoken, is the grief that is shared, and the shared grief is the grief that is lighter, and the lighter is the thing that makes the return possible, and the possible is the thing the whole book is working toward.

The grief is not the enemy of the return. The grief is the companion of the return, and the companion, honored, is the thing that makes the return whole, and the whole return is the return that honors both the mother and the baby, and the honoring is the thing the grief was for.

The separation anxiety is the ingredient that most mothers anticipate with dread, and the dread is not wrong — the separation is hard, for you and for the baby, and the hard is the thing that deserves the attention this chapter gives it. But the separation anxiety, understood, is the thing that can be worked with, and the working-with is the thing that makes the separation bearable, and the bearable is the thing that makes the return possible.

This chapter is about the separation anxiety — what it is, why it happens in both you and the baby, and the practical things you can do to ease the transition for both of you.

Your Separation Anxiety

Your separation anxiety is the worry about the baby — is the baby okay, is the caregiver okay, is the baby crying, is the baby being held, is the baby being fed, is the baby being loved the way you love the baby. The worry is the mind's way of staying connected to the baby across the distance, and the staying-connected is the thing the worry is for, even when the worry is the thing that makes the distance harder.

The anxiety is normal. The mother who does not worry about the baby she is leaving is the exception, and the exception is not the standard you are failing to meet. The worry is the sign of the bond, and the bond is the thing the worry is protecting, and the protecting is the thing the worry is for.

The working-with of your anxiety begins with the practical. The practical is the thing that gives the mind something to trust, and the trust is the thing that lets the worry be the worry rather than the panic. The practical includes: a caregiver you trust, a clear plan for the day, a way to check in (a text, a photo, a call at an agreed time), and a backup plan for the things that will go wrong. The practical, in place, is the thing that lets the worry be the worry, and the worry, contained, is the worry that does not run the day.

The Baby's Separation Anxiety

The baby's separation anxiety is the developmental response to the absence of the primary caregiver, and the response is the sign of the healthy attachment, and the healthy attachment is the thing you built, and the building is the thing to be proud of, even when the building is the thing that makes the leaving hard.

The baby's anxiety shows up as the crying at the drop-off, the clinging, the refusal of the caregiver, the distress that breaks your heart on the way out the door. The distress is real, and the realness is the thing that makes the leaving hard, and the hardness is the thing that the practical can ease.

The practical for the baby includes: a consistent caregiver, a consistent routine, a transition object (a worn shirt, a blanket that smells like you), a short and warm goodbye, and the returning, always, at the time you said you would. The consistency is the thing that builds the baby's trust in the new arrangement, and the trust, built over days and weeks, is the thing that makes the drop-off easier, and the easier is the thing that makes the return sustainable for both of you.

The Goodbye

The goodbye is the moment that most mothers get wrong, and the wrong is not the mother's fault — the wrong is the thing the culture teaches, and the teaching is the thing that makes the goodbye harder than it needs to be. The culture teaches two wrong goodbyes: the sneaking-out, and the prolonged-goodbye. Both are wrong, and the wrongness is the thing that makes the separation harder for the baby.

The sneaking-out is the goodbye where the mother leaves while the baby is distracted, to avoid the crying. The sneaking-out is wrong because it breaks the baby's trust — the baby, turning around and finding the mother gone, is the baby who learns that the mother can disappear without warning, and the learning is the thing that makes the next drop-off harder, because the baby, who has learned the mother can vanish, is the baby who clings harder the next time.

The prolonged-goodbye is the goodbye where the mother, unable to leave, extends the goodbye, comforting the baby, re-explaining, staying longer, and the staying-longer is the thing that extends the distress, because the baby, reading the mother's ambivalence, is the baby who feels the leaving as the hard thing the mother also feels it as, and the feeling, shared, is the thing that makes the leaving harder for both.

The right goodbye is the short, warm, consistent goodbye. A hug, a word — "Mommy will be back after your nap" — and the leaving, done with confidence, even when the confidence is performed. The baby, receiving the consistent goodbye, is the baby who learns the rhythm — the goodbye, the day, the return — and the learning, over days, is the thing that makes the goodbye easier, and the easier is the thing that makes the return work.

The Return at the End of the Day

The return at the end of the day is the other half of the separation, and the return is the thing that completes the circle. The return is the moment the baby has been waiting for, and the waiting, honored by a warm, present return, is the thing that repairs the separation and builds the trust that makes the next separation easier.

The return is the practice of being fully present for the first few minutes — the hug, the eye contact, the reconnection before the phone and the dinner and the evening routine. The present return is the thing that tells the baby, in the language the baby understands, that the leaving was temporary and the coming-back was real, and the realness, experienced over and over, is the thing that builds the secure attachment that the separation, done well, does not break but strengthens.

The guilt is the ingredient that most mothers carry through the return, and the carrying is the thing that makes the return heavier than it needs to be. The guilt is not a sign that you are doing the wrong thing. It is a sign that you are a person who cares, living in a culture that has made the caring into a weapon, and the weapon is the thing this chapter is about.

This chapter is about the guilt — where it comes from, why it is so relentless, and the practical ways to work with it so that it stops running the return and becomes, instead, the information it actually is.

Where the Guilt Comes From

The guilt comes from several places, and the naming of the places is the first step in loosening the grip.

The first place is the internalized standards — the rules you absorbed about what a good mother does, and the rules, absorbed, are the rules that tell you that the good mother is the mother who is always there, always available, always putting the baby first, and the rules, applied to the working mother, are the rules that produce the guilt, because the working mother cannot meet the rules, and the not-meeting is the thing the guilt punishes.

The second place is the comparison — the other mothers, real or imagined, who seem to be doing it better, doing it all, doing it without the guilt, and the comparison is the thing that makes your experience feel like a failure, even when the other mothers' experience is, in truth, as complicated as yours.

The third place is the cultural contradiction — the culture that says, on one hand, that mothers should work, and, on the other hand, that mothers should be home, and the contradiction is the thing that makes the working mother wrong no matter what she does, and the wrongness is the thing the guilt feeds on.

Why the Guilt Is So Relentless

The guilt is relentless because it is not one feeling but a system, and the system is the thing that keeps the guilt running. The system is the impossible math — the math that says you should give 100% to the baby and 100% to the work and 100% to the partner and 100% to yourself, and the math, which adds up to 400%, is the math that no one can meet, and the not-meeting is the thing the guilt punishes, and the punishment is the thing that makes the guilt relentless.

The impossible math is not your fault. It is the culture's math, and the culture's math is the math that sets you up to fail, and the failing is the thing the guilt feeds on. The work of this chapter is to refuse the math — to name it as impossible, to replace it with a math that adds up, and to live by the new math, and the living-by is the thing that loosens the guilt.

A Math That Adds Up

The math that adds up is the math that accepts the trade-offs. The trade-offs are the things you give up to do the things you do, and the giving-up is not a failure. It is the nature of a finite life, and the finite life is the life that makes choices, and the choices, made honestly, are the things that let you be present for what you are doing rather than guilty for what you are not.

The new math says: you cannot give 100% to everything. You can give your full attention to the thing you are doing, in the moment you are doing it, and the full-attention-in-the-moment is the thing that is enough, and the enough is the thing that lets the guilt be the information rather than the punishment.

The new math says: the time at work is not the time stolen from the baby. It is the time that provides, and the providing is a form of care, and the care, given through the work, is the care that the guilt does not see but that is real. The working mother is the mother who is caring for the baby through the work, and the caring-through-the-work is the thing that the guilt, with its impossible math, refuses to count.

Working With the Guilt

The working-with is not the eliminating. The guilt will not be eliminated, and the trying-to-eliminate is the thing that makes the guilt stronger, because the trying is the thing that treats the guilt as the enemy, and the enemy, fought, is the enemy that fights back. The working-with is the thing that treats the guilt as the information, and the information, listened to, is the information that loses its power.

The first practice is to notice the guilt, without judging it. "I am feeling guilty." The noticing is the thing that creates the space between you and the guilt, and the space is the thing that lets you choose the response rather than react to the feeling.

The second practice is to ask the guilt what it is protecting. The guilt is always protecting something — the baby, the standard, the version of yourself you think you should be. The asking is the thing that reveals the protection, and the revealing is the thing that lets you decide whether the protection is the one you want to live by.

The third practice is to replace the impossible math with the honest math. The honest math says: I am doing what I can, with what I have, and the doing is enough, and the enough is the thing I choose to live by. The honest math, repeated, is the thing that loosens the guilt, and the loosening is the thing that makes the return lighter.

The fourth practice is to give yourself the compassion you would give a friend. The friend who came to you with this guilt — what would you say? You would not say she is failing. You would say she is doing a hard thing, and the doing is enough, and the enough is the thing you would mean. The compassion, given to yourself, is the thing that the guilt cannot survive, and the not-surviving is the thing that makes the guilt the information rather than the sentence.

The return to work is not a return to the person you were. It is the beginning of a new professional identity — the identity of the working mother — and the beginning is the thing that most mothers are not prepared for, because the culture treats the return as a resumption, when the return is, in truth, a becoming.

This chapter is about the professional identity — what it is, why the return changes it, and the practical ways to rebuild it in a way that honors both the professional and the mother, and the honoring is the thing that makes the return sustainable.

Why the Return Changes the Identity

The return changes the identity because you are not the same person you were before the leave. The leave changed you — the baby changed you, the intimacy of the early months changed you, the sleep deprivation changed you, the love changed you. The person who returns to work is the person who has been reshaped by the motherhood, and the reshaping is the thing that makes the old professional identity not quite fit, and the not-quite-fitting is the thing that most mothers feel but few name.

The old identity was the identity of the person without the baby. The old identity could give 100% to the work, could stay late, could be the first one in and the last one out, could define itself by the productivity. The new identity — the identity of the working mother — cannot give 100% to the work in the same way, because the baby has the other part, and the other part is the part that does not go away when you are at the office.

The change is not a diminishment. It is a re-orientation, and the re-orientation is the thing that, done well, makes you a better professional, not a worse one — more efficient, more focused, more clear about what matters, more skilled at the boundaries that prevent the burnout. The re-orientation is the thing this chapter is for.

The Practice of Rebuilding

The rebuilding is the practice, and the practice, done consistently, is the thing that builds the new identity over time. The practices are simple, and they require the willingness to let the old identity go, and the letting-go is the thing that is often hard.

The first practice is to acknowledge the change. The change, acknowledged, is the change you can work with. The change, denied, is the change that works you over. The acknowledgment is the thing that lets you grieve the old identity and begin to build the new one, and the grieving and the building are the things that happen at the same time.

The second practice is to redefine the success. The old success was the success of the person without the baby. The new success is the success of the working mother — the success that includes the being-present-for-the-baby and the being-present-for-the-work, and the success, redefined, is the success that is achievable, and the achievable is the thing that makes the return sustainable.

The third practice is to set the boundaries that protect the new identity. The boundaries are the things that prevent the work from taking the time that belongs to the baby and the baby from taking the time that belongs to the work. The boundaries are the thing that lets you be fully present for each, in its time, and the full-presence is the thing that makes the new identity work.

The fourth practice is to find the models. The models are the other working mothers who have done this before you, and the finding of them is the thing that shows you the new identity is possible, and the possibility is the thing that makes the building less lonely. The models, found, are the people who can tell you: the guilt lessens, the baby thrives, the identity settles, and the settling is the thing that comes, and the coming is the thing you can trust.

The New Identity

The new identity is the identity of the working mother, and the identity is not a compromise. It is a synthesis — the bringing-together of the professional and the mother into a whole that is more than either alone. The synthesis is the thing that takes time, and the time is the thing that the patience is for, and the patience is the thing that lets the identity settle, and the settling is the thing that makes the return not just bearable but, in time, meaningful.

The new identity is the identity that your baby will see, and the seeing is the thing that teaches the baby something important — that a person can be more than one thing, that the caring and the working can coexist, that the mother who leaves and comes back is the mother who is whole, and the whole is the thing the baby will grow up to become.

The return is not meant to be done alone. The alone is the thing the culture pushes — the myth of the mother who does it all, without help, without complaint, without the breaking — and the myth is the thing that makes the return harder, because the alone is not how the return works, and the not-how is the thing that the support system and the self-compassion are meant to address.

This chapter is about the two things that make the return sustainable: the support system — the people and the structures that hold the practical — and the self-compassion — the inner practice that holds the emotional. The two, together, are the things that make the return not just survivable but livable, and the livable is the thing the whole book has been working toward.

The Support System

The support system is the network of people and structures that make the return possible, and the building of it is the thing that most mothers under-prioritize, because the building feels like the admitting that you cannot do it alone, and the admitting is the thing the impossible-math guilt has taught you to avoid. But the building is not the admitting of a failure. It is the building of the thing that makes the return work, and the working is the thing that the support is for.

The support system includes: the partner, if there is one, and the honest conversation about the division of the labor — not the division you fell into, but the division you choose, and the choosing is the thing that prevents the resentment that builds when the division is unfair and unspoken. The support system includes: the caregiver, and the trust in the caregiver, and the communication with the caregiver, and the communication is the thing that makes the trust real. The support system includes: the other working mothers, and the sharing with them, and the sharing is the thing that makes the return less lonely, because the loneliness is the thing the alone produces, and the alone is the thing the sharing addresses. The support system includes: the workplace, and the honest conversation with the workplace about what you need — the flexibility, the pump breaks, the boundaries — and the conversation is the thing that makes the workplace a place you can return to, rather than a place you return to at the cost of yourself.

The building of the support system is the practice, and the practice is the thing that takes time, and the time is the thing that the patience is for. The support system, built, is the thing that holds the practical, and the practical, held, is the thing that frees you to do the emotional work the return requires.

The Self-Compassion

The self-compassion is the inner practice that holds the emotional, and the practice is the thing that most mothers find the hardest, because the self-compassion is the thing the impossible-math guilt has taught you to withhold, and the withholding is the thing that makes the return harder.

The self-compassion is not the self-indulgence. It is the self-honesty — the honesty that says: this is hard, and the hard is not a sign that I am failing, and the failing is not the thing that is happening, and the not-happening is the thing I need to tell myself, because the telling is the thing that lets me do the hard thing without the punishment.

The self-compassion is the practice of treating yourself the way you would treat a friend, and the treating is the thing that most mothers find unnatural, because the mothers are the people who give the compassion to everyone else and withhold it from themselves. The practice is to reverse the direction — to give yourself the compassion you give the baby, the partner, the friend — and the giving is the thing that makes the return livable.

The Practice of Self-Compassion

The first practice is to notice the self-talk. The self-talk is the voice in your head that says the things you would never say to a friend — "you are failing, you are not enough, the baby is suffering, you should be doing more." The noticing is the thing that creates the space, and the space is the thing that lets you choose a different voice.

The second practice is to ask, of the self-talk: would I say this to a friend? If the answer is no, the self-talk is the thing to replace, and the replacing is the thing that the self-compassion does. The replacement is the voice you would use with a friend — "this is hard, and you are doing it, and the doing is enough" — and the replacement, repeated, is the thing that becomes the new self-talk, and the new self-talk is the thing that makes the return lighter.

The third practice is to give yourself the grace of the imperfect. The imperfect is the thing that the impossible-math guilt refuses, and the refusing is the thing that makes the return a performance rather than a life. The grace of the imperfect is the thing that lets the return be the messy, real, good-enough thing it is, and the good-enough is the thing that the baby needs, and the good-enough is the thing that you are.

The Return That Is Yours

The return, done with the support system and the self-compassion, is the return that is yours — not the return the culture prescribes, not the return the guilt demands, not the return the impossible-math requires. The return that is yours is the return that honors the mother and the professional and the person, and the honoring is the thing that makes the return sustainable, and the sustainable is the thing that lets you do the return not just for a day but for the years, and the years are the thing the return is for.

You did not choose the cocktail of emotions. You can choose, in the moment you begin the return, to do the work the return requires — the naming, the grieving, the working-with, the rebuilding, the supporting, the self-compassion. The practices are here. The work is clear. The return, done with the practices, is the return that is waiting, and the waiting is the thing this book has been honoring, and the honoring is the thing the book is, and the book is now yours, and the return is now yours, and the doing, done, is the thing that makes it so.

— Dr. David K. Lubega, LICSW, LCSW-C