Going back to work should feel like progress.
Sending my children back into full-time education should feel like relief.
But instead, it came with guilt.
Loud guilt. Quiet guilt. The kind that sits in your chest and whispers that you haven’t done enough — no matter how hard you’ve tried.
And the worst part?
I don’t look like someone who struggles.
I’m funny. I’m helpful. I’m busy. I’m the mom who chats to anyone, laughs loudly, gets things done. On the outside, I look confident and capable.
But those things only apply in my safe spaces.
What people don’t see is the internal meltdown that happens before I leave the house. The planning in my head. The exits I imagine. The excuses I prepare. I don’t tell my children about plans in advance because, realistically, seven times out of ten I’ll find a way to cancel.
It’s not because I don’t want to go.
It’s because my body panics before my brain can catch up.
The thought of being invited out doesn’t give me FOMO. I promise you — I’m genuinely okay not being invited. The idea of getting ready, travelling there, being there… my skin itches just thinking about it.
And yes, sometimes I wonder if this is ruining my life.
But more than that, I worry about the version of mom my children are seeing.
“Sometimes I don’t need to know how long I’ll stay — I just need to know where the exit is.”
Where I Think It Comes From
I think I’ve always been this way.
Growing up, my mom was frightened of the world. She kept me safe by keeping me close. I wasn’t allowed out much. Socialising felt dangerous. The outside world felt like something to be wary of.
And without realising it, I learned that too.
I learned to worry.
I learned to overthink.
I learned that staying in was safer than going out.
Somehow, that turned into me worrying about everyone and everything — especially my children.
It’s strange really, because once I’m somewhere, I’m fine. I’ll talk to anyone. I’ll laugh. I’ll cope.
It’s the getting there that breaks me.
The Guilt of Going Back to Work
Going back to work hit harder than I expected.
Sending my children back into full-time education made me question everything.
Have I done enough for them?
Am I choosing work over them?
Will they remember me being tired more than they remember me being present?
Anxiety is cruel like that. It rewrites the narrative even when you’re doing your best.
And some days, the guilt is heavy.
If you’re reading this and nodding quietly — you’re not alone.
Save this. Share it. Or just sit with it for a minute.
How I’m Trying to Change It (Gently)
I didn’t wake up one day magically “fixed”. I still struggle. I still cancel plans. I still overthink.
But I’ve started doing a few small things that help — and maybe they’ll help you too.
I stop forcing myself to be the version of mom I think I should be.
I focus on being the version my children actually need.
I plan less.
I allow myself to change my mind without guilt.
I tell myself that showing up imperfectly still counts.
I talk to my children honestly — in age-appropriate ways — about feeling nervous and overwhelmed, so they learn that feelings aren’t something to hide.
I do things scared.
Not all the time.
Just sometimes.
And when I can’t, I remind myself that safety, love, consistency, and showing up every day matter more than how many places we go.
This is part of why I started rebuilding GoodMoms — a space reminding moms that bad days don’t make you a bad mom.
What I Want Other Moms to Know
Having anxiety doesn’t make you a bad mom.
Going back to work doesn’t mean you’ve failed your children.
Struggling quietly doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you’re human.
My kids don’t need a fearless mom.
They need a real one.
And maybe — just maybe — watching me try, even when it’s hard, is enough.
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