Opinion: Why I regret pursuing my career and not being a more present mum

"I blinked and it was gone. I wish I’d recognised its impermanence," writes Jenni Mortimer. Photo / The Moment Catchers

I regret pursuing my career and not being a more present mother.

There’s a lot of shame that comes with that confession, but it’s one that’s sat heavy on my heart for the past few years.

As the mum of a now 5-year-old boy, I have the gift of hindsight, looking back at my time during the “early years” where I felt societal and financial pressures to get back to work and prove that mothers could do it all.

I felt pressure to hustle and stay busy and was fearful, probably to my detriment, that my career would be taken from me if I didn’t get back to work quickly or didn’t want that promotion.

I took on more and more of what life and my career handed me, and I was careful not to drop the ball during periods of genuine turmoil. I didn’t want anyone to think I didn’t take my job seriously or couldn’t do it. I wish I’d dropped the ball and just basked in being his mum for a minute.

Work took priority — partially because it had to — and providing a good life and stable income for me and my son was a non-negotiable, but also because my ego couldn’t handle losing “it”. So I pursued it harder than ever once I was a mother.

Before he was born, I was in a busy job, but a manageable and enjoyable one. By the time he turned 5, I was managing 10 staff and taking on more and more work just to prove I could.

The consequence of that was that I didn’t stop enough and enjoy him, soaking up every moment when he was little. Instead, I picked up phone calls, telling my toddler, “Just a minute, buddy”, but that minute never came.

I blinked, and it was gone. I wish I’d recognised its impermanence. I wish I were more present.

Because the truth is, careers (obviously within reason) will always be there to pursue. The corporate ladder will always be there to climb. But the tiny, dimpled, perfect hands that were reaching out for me are no longer tiny; the dimples are long gone, and they are now semi-permanently stained with marker pens.

And these days, they reach for me less and less.

Someone once told me being a mother to a little boy is like having someone slowly break up with you for seven years. Though he’s not told me, “It’s not you, it’s me” yet, I see him slipping away and his friendships becoming his most important relationships.

While I have my regrets, I do believe I did the best I could and that I didn’t have the power of hindsight ... or the bank account to make another reality possible.

My career has also allowed him to have a beautiful life, a stable home and always have food on the table. I know not every child is that lucky. It’s also given me a sense of pride and life-changing opportunities. For those things, I’m grateful to my workplace and myself for working hard for it.

I also know my love for him was behind every decision I made. I was trying to keep climbing the corporate ladder for both of us, and in the process, I just forgot that he was busy growing up.

'The tiny dimpled perfect hands that were reaching out for me are no longer tiny, the dimples are long gone, and they are now semi-permanently stained with marker pens.' Photo / Jenni Mortimer

Working through the Covid lockdown years, and enduring the ever-changing nature of a career in media, also doesn’t give you time to stop and think about how quickly this time might go and what choice I might make if given one.

So, recently, when an opportunity presented itself to make a new choice, I picked him. I picked stepping back, letting my ego take a hit and letting others perceive it however they wanted. If it meant he could look back on his childhood and remember that his mum was there, that was so much more important.

As I stood on the sidelines of his school fun run recently, we shared an excited wave when we spotted each other, and I watched my now nearly 6-year-old turn to his friends and say, “There she is! That’s my mum!” I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had that sort of fanfare when turning up to a meeting room full of my colleagues.

We get told that being a parent is the most thankless job, that they will never say or show thanks and that you just have to accept it. But I disagree.

Sure, they don’t say the words, but thanks come in their excitement at spotting you on a sideline. It comes in waking up to find they’ve crawled into your bed in the night because you are their safe space – their feet jutted into your ribcage.

Thanks come in being the one they want to play with, because you are their favourite person on the planet for a very short window of time — soon you will never occupy that space in their life again.

Thanks are in who they become, and you being able to be a part of that.

Being a parent isn’t a thankless job at all, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. I only wish I’d known it sooner.

Jenni Mortimer is the New Zealand Herald’s chief lifestyle and entertainment reporter. Jenni started at the Herald in 2017 and has previously worked as lifestyle, entertainment and travel editor.