Written By: Lauren Howard
I paced my kitchen holding a screaming baby.
She was almost 8 weeks old but we weren’t even at her due date yet.
Every step was like a coin flip.
I can’t go back. I need to go back. There is no way I can go back. Of course, you have to work. What else will you do?
Did I mention that her only decibel was a shriek?
The pacing continued over and over without reprieve.
I hadn’t told anyone what was going on. Of course, they knew that she had been 8 weeks early and we all spent several weeks in the NICU. They didn’t know that I hadn’t slept in months. Even before her early arrival, I woke up nightly with panic attacks—a fun byproduct of pregnancy that I had no idea would be a thing.
By the time she was two months old, I don’t even know how long it had been since I had gotten a full night’s sleep. Before I could blink, it was time to go back and I just wasn’t sure I physically could.
Scratch that. I couldn’t. Not like this.
I couldn’t tell you how much I cried that day or any day. I was just kind of in a constant state of weepiness that begged to know if this would ever end.
I was in the middle of the ritual while I tried to steel myself to open my computer and get organized. Maybe if I just sat down and tried it, it would all come back to me.
Instead, my phone rang. It was my boss. We had only talked one time during my leave except for a few pictures sent for him to share with the team.
I tried to put on my business voice. I failed.
He saw through it in a second.
“How are you doing?”
I muttered something back about surviving, but I didn’t even have it in me to put on the show of joyful new motherhood. This just was what it was.
His voice changed.
“Yeah. None of this has been enough. You need more time. Are you even at your due date yet? Doesn’t matter. I’ll put in for more time because this all just went too fast. Come back when you’re ready. We’re good over here.”
I just stammered. I felt like I was supposed to decline it. The superwoman show meant that I should have been back to work with perfect hair and color-coded files after a few days, right? Wasn’t I failing?
I wasn’t failing. I was human. Having a boss who saw me as that without having to say a word was life changing.
I didn’t resign that day like I thought I would have to. In fact, I stayed for three more years because of a three-minute phone call.
Culture is actionable empathy. Act on it.
This ain’t your father’s professionalism. We’re redefining it at elletwo dot com.
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