It Was Always Four: My Journey in Becoming a Stay-At-Home-Mom

It was always four.

After my husband and I met, as I imagine many couples do, we started dreaming of our future together. We had difficult discussions about where we’d live, how to decrease our debts, where we wanted to travel, when to get married, and of course- if and how many children we’d have. Completely naive, and sometimes overwhelmed with the small twelve pound dog we got together, we’d walk the Pacifica, California beaches dreaming of kitchen appliances, and building a large family.

It was always four. 

The number we discussed, the details about the house we’d need to fit all of our children, or the car we’d have to purchase. Each discussion, every day dream, it always led to four. Outside of wanting, for no reason at all, a large family; it was always four. 

Completely unaware of what it really meant to raise and, well, even keep one child alive, let alone four, was far out of our understanding. We were aware that we’d lose some sleep, need a sitter to karaoke, and that daycare was expensive. Everything else, or what any of those things really meant, were beyond our comprehension. From the difficulty of breastfeeding, knowing how to console the kid who sleepwalks, figuring out how to handle endless sibling arguments, the constant and never ending hunt for a sippy cup, the courage to sit back while you know your child will likely fail, and the literal thousand of other realities that now surround us every single day. We just had no idea. We were so incredibly clueless. And, honestly, I am thankful we were. 

Of course, because our children were each born one at a time, rather than in sets of multiples, as our family grew, we got a better idea of how our lives would look if we kept adding to our bunch. Yet, there was never a day, or even one serious moment, where my husband and I looked at each other and said, ya know, I think one more would be too much. It was always four. 

Through sleepless nights, one cross country move, two master’s degrees, endless laundry piles, two miscarriages, career changes, one sleep consultant, potty training and a million other mountains, we never stopped fighting for, or longing for our complete family. It was always four; we were always six. 

Unlike the majority of the mom blogs I read, or the parents of large families I spoke to, our transition from three to four children was incredibly difficult. Early into my title of working mom of four, I had this moment of discovery. This isn’t easy. This isn’t the same. 

I so desperately wanted to be the mom who had it all together, the mom who thought the transition from three to four was easy.  I wanted to be the woman who climbed the ladder, showed up to every soccer game, provided a loving home cooked meal and an animated story every night. The woman who enjoyed and dated her husband, rather than him just being a person I shared parental duties with. I wanted to be superwoman. 

And maybe for a while, I was. At least, kind of. 

I mean, if Superwoman was running on a never ending hamster wheel, then I was definitely her. I was doing it all, ya know- quite literally living the dream.  I was advancing in my career, and raising a large family. Yet, I wasn’t really living, I was merely only existing. In complete transparency, I wasn’t enjoying any particular part of my dreams very often. I didn’t have the time to fully engage and enjoy my career, yet I also didn’t have the time to enjoy my family either. My body was always where my head wasn’t. I was playing a constant game of balance, attempting to be fully present in whatever dream I happened to be physically present in at that moment. In reality, the only consistency between the two, was that both were filled with feelings of guilt, shortcomings, and never ending agenda items. 

Many people would comment about my juggling act. They’d insist that I was incredible. How could I be teaching full time, writing a thesis, attending graduate classes, and managing a marriage and four small children. So often I felt as though I was wearing a badge of honor. I mean- I was doing it, I was living. the. dream. 

Yet, if I was really living it up, why was I so often struggling in silence? I’d cry leaving late night meetings, or during after-school writing sessions. I was worried about letting everyone down, letting people know that doing it all was just too much. I was losing myself in efforts to please the inner dialogue of the person I thought I had to be, the person I believed people expected me to be. While I had moments of satisfaction, they didn’t seem to come very often. 

For each moment of pride and accomplishment, there seemed to be at least two where I felt shame or guilt. I was stressed out, sometimes, for the better parts of most days. I was bitter because my husband had time for his friends, and personal projects, while all of my free time went to some form of work; children or school. Work that yes, I asked for. Children that yes, I adored. Work and children that, separately, I loved. Yet, together, work and family- it was becoming too much. I was losing steam.

I’d tell myself, if I can just make it to this school break, or once this chapter of my thesis was written, or when this kid turns a certain age, then- at that point, our lives would be easier, more enjoyable- that all the running, the juggling, the entire circus act would be worth it. I was always looking ahead, waiting for a moment of relief. But each accomplished milestone, got replaced with another. The to-do list, the needs of our children, and my profession, they just never ended. While there were hundreds of things I did accomplish, there seemed to be thousands that I didn’t. 

I didn’t read enough with my children, play enough tag on the playground, attend enough meetings, read enough about how to effectively increase student attendance, or how to better serve my LBGTQ students. I forgot to send a thank you note to that night’s speaker, or remember to set up birthday parties. I would attempt to be fully present in graduate class, as I was missing yet another soccer game. I was snappy, and spent the majority of time talking with my husband about schedules, engaging in endless discussions assigning who would pick up which kid at the appropriate time. 

We were handling it all, but like everything else- it came at a price. I felt as though my family, the thing I’d dreamt most about having, was slowly slipping through my fingers. The expectations I had for myself as a mother were falling short. I wasn’t being the mom I so desperately knew my children deserved. 

Yet- I loved working. I wanted to help children, all children. I want to be a part of the team that  supports every inch of the school. Yet week after week, I kept falling short. My career, and my own schooling had deadlines and due dates, something my family never asked of me. And while I met every deadline, it was often at the expense of losing my personal time, and the irreplaceable precious moments with our family.

It was always four painted a mental image of family vacations, buddy systems and late night sleepovers. Four children meant life-long Sunday night dinners, small talks about big things, large cheering sections during a baseball game, birthday parties and genetic best friends. Four children meant a full house, an entire airplane row, and promised at least one person to always be available to pick up the phone. 

Yet, as I was living our first year with four- the year we fought for through miscarriages, difficult pregnancies and marriage growing pains, it felt as though my life was crashing down around me. I was struggling to breathe, to really catch a breath of fresh air. I was desperate to be actually enjoying either of the titles that I so desperately wanted. When I was working, or studying- I was thinking about my children. When I was with my children, I was wondering what work I should be doing. I was doing all of the things, but I wasn’t really doing any of them particularly well, at least not in my head, or to my standards.

I had to make a choice. 

Do I continue to chase my professional dreams? Do I fight the feelings of failure, and dedicate myself to our children? Or do I just ignore my inner turmoil and continue with what I’m doing? 

My gut knew my decision, even through the eight weeks my husband and I discussed the option. My heart knew I needed to be home with our children, yet my mind told me to fight for the career I also really wanted. I was, and kind of still am, completely torn.  

It was always four; we were always six. 

I dreamt of, and fought for this family. I had proven that I couldn’t do it all. So, I decided to choose one thing, the one thing that meant the most to me, the one thing that brought me the most joy, and really commit myself to them. 

I cried, actual ugly tears, when I told my principal I wouldn’t be returning the next year. For a while, I kept my decision secret, embarrassed other teachers, or even family members would be disappointed that only a few weeks after finishing my thesis, I would be leaving my career. It would be several additional months, and a late summer application, interview and hard rejection for the leadership position I’d dreamt and fought two years for, before I finally accepted that I was, in fact, officially a stay-at-home-mom. 

I still struggle with being enough. All of my life I’ve chased positions, and climbed ladders. I finish one to-do list, only to immediately begin another. I think four steps ahead, and work constantly at doing the next thing. I have, and will always be, a person who feels my best while actively working towards a goal. 

When we dreamed of four children, we only dreamed of the great life a large family would bring. We never discussed how we’d get all of our kids to the appropriate places, or who’d stay home when someone had a fever for the eleventh day in a row. We didn’t talk about the never ending household chores, the constant early mornings, the back seat fighting, the amount of Lego’s we’d step on, or how much dirt is actually too much for our kids to eat. I never considered that the amount of work it took to actually raise four children would make it difficult to crash glass ceilings. 

I never thought I’d walk away from my career. But I did. 

I finished the school year amidst the pandemic, and was given special permission to enter our school building to clear my classroom. I was paralyzed with tears and overwhelming fear, as I wondered if I made the wrong decision. Through hazy eyes, I watched my badge be shredded. I was not confident of my decision then, and honestly, I’m still not sure I did the right thing. I committed career suicide, all in hopes of finding balance and peace in my biggest dream. The dream of four. 

Nearly six months into my leap of faith, I am beginning to find myself, my passions and who I am outside of meeting deadlines and chasing career goals. While my journey is far from over, I am beginning to trust my gut, and be honest, mostly with myself, about where I go from here.

I am without a doubt uncertain when, or if I’ll return to a classroom. I have no idea if I’ll use the educational leadership certificate and degree that I worked and sacrificed so much for. I am without a doubt completely living in career limbo. Yet, I have given myself permission to be all in with my family. I am allowing myself to feel all of the feelings, and explore the creative inspirations that come with my new title. I am allowing myself to go against my own preconceived notions regarding personal expectations, the ones I unfairly created before I knew what life was actually like as a mother of four. 

I am, unapologetically, living for the one thing I have always wanted the most.

It was always four; we were always six.