
As a kid, I always liked to win.
Whether it was my weekly tennis pennant or a maths quiz at school, a make-believe adventure with my sister or a round-the-dining table game of Monopoly with my cousins – I wanted to come out on top.
In the various contests of childhood I rarely possessed the natural talent that would make me the best. So to feed my need for victory, I instead relied on excessive enthusiasm and a healthy dose of determination. Consecutive school reports remarked on my competitive streak and unwavering belief that I was always right.
Once you reach adulthood, being obsessed with winning is metamophasised by management speak. You attract new labels, like ‘ambitious’, ‘driven’ and ‘goal-oriented’. The very traits that annoy childhood peers the most become workplace attributes; qualities headhunters and interviewers consider desirable.
Each year I set a series of targets for the 12 months ahead. I would achieve this, reach that; climbing rung after rung on the illusionary career jungle gym in my mind. Pressure and pace were my mantras. I place the highest possible expectations for myself and tried to reach them as quickly as possible. Goal, plan, work, achieve. Repeat.
But now, after almost a decade, I’ve decided to stop.
I’ve resigned from my secure, salaried, prestigious management job to pursue freelance work. Why? Because I want to be around more while my baby is, well, still a baby.
I gave birth to my first child seven months ago and if you’d told me then that this was my future, I would have checked your head for signs of concussion. It’s not a direction I ever expected to take. Nor is it a choice that every mother can or wants to make. But I think it’s the right thing for him and for me, at this moment in time.
It’s an eerie feeling beginning the new year without a checklist. While I was all confidence and bravado about my decision back in December, the harsh light of January weakened my resolve a little. After defining myself by work and career for so long, it’s incredibly confronting when it all goes away. I can’t help but wonder if the 8-year-old version of me would be disappointed. Can you ‘win’ at being a mum?