As a Mother and Writer, This Question Broke My Confidence Repeatedly

“Do your kids play on a team?” another mother asked as we stood beside the basketball court, our children shooting hoops nearby. We’d already exhausted the typical small talk including what grade are your kids in? and which neighborhood do you live in? I knew what was coming—there’s no avoiding it. It’s the question capable of breaking my confidence in one fell swoop: What do you do?

(How I Stopped Sabotaging My Writing Goals.)

Neighbors ask. Friends of friends inquire. For reasons I have yet to determine, healthcare providers want to know what I do for a living, too. Reactions to my answer are shaped by a society obsessed with status. I once answered with confidence: I’m a speech-language pathologist (SLP). But since having children 12 years ago, my once solid response has lost its stability.

From the moment my older son was born, I was a stay-at-home mother by choice. I took my kids to their checkups, story time at the library, and play dates at the homes of other parents who were surviving the same absurd sleep schedule. I wanted to be the one they saw last as they dozed off at nap time, the one they opened their eyes to in the late afternoon, and the one to witness their every advancement. If they needed to be rocked as they fought off a cold, I wanted to be the one holding them.

“Why would she waste her degree?” a friend admitted a colleague had asked when I gave my notice of resignation. I’ll never forget those words and how they stole my motherly excitement, morphing it into self-pity. The judgement began the day I left my real job.

Everyone wanted to know when I’d return to work. “I’ll go back when my kids are in school full day,” I’d respond repeatedly to a question that felt like an invasion of my privacy. That was the plan, after all. But deep down, I was unsure if that’s what I wanted or if it was the right answer for our family. I haven’t gone back—at least not to that job.

I’ve always been a writer. No matter where life took me, words were flowing from my brain to paper naturally—writing was a faucet unable to be turned off. I stumbled into speech-language pathology as I searched for an acceptable career path as a 17-year-old child. “Writing can be your hobby,” I was told by many. “It’s not going to pay the bills.” Everyone seemed to agree. And they weren’t completely wrong.

I liked being an SLP. I even earned a free ride to graduate school—this career was meant to be, I told myself. But writing was always there, behind the scenes of my reality, pushing its way through until it sprouted my surface again. It was a hobby. But it was much more than just that. Writing was always going to win.

In 2016, the Houstonian News remarked that society must quit looking down on careers in the arts. A pamphlet from Wells Fargo reading, “An actor yesterday. A botanist today. Let’s get them ready for tomorrow,” and a line of T-shirts from Old Navy with the phrase, “Young aspiring artist,” with the word artist crossed out and replaced with astronaut or president were two examples supporting the need for change. But little has changed in the last eight years.

In 2021, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences noted that while 81% of Americans believe arts are a “positive experience in a troubled world,” many do not place value on those who create that art. Only 22% of Americans believe artists—among a number of other professions—contribute a lot to the general good of society.

In an article from 2020, Kaitlyn McQuin perfectly stated my thoughts: “For those of us who are creatives pursing our creative paths, our life choices have definitely been put into question. We’ve been advised against pursing our dreams by family and strangers alike. We’ve been viewed as irresponsible. And we’ve been scrutinized.”

Living with multiple sclerosis (MS), I’ve learned that making choices that bring happiness lighten the impact of this disease on my nervous system. The have-it-all lifestyle we’re taught to aim for isn’t healthy for my body. Struggling to walk for years, then finding a medicine that has renewed some of my physical capabilities makes me appreciate every moment I can spend with my family that much more. I see now that there’s more to life than having an impressive answer to what do you do? Besides, impressive is a relative term.

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As a mother, I want the flexibility of being able to stay home with my kids when they’re sick, to volunteer in their classrooms, and to bring them home from school each afternoon. It became increasingly important that my work fit around the edges of my children’s lives and within the boundaries my disease has set for me.

Being a writer perfectly meshed with the available space in my life, but it’s also something I look forward to each morning. I made a conscious decision to earn less and accept job instability over tenure in the public school system—and I wholly appreciate my ability to be able to do so through the stability of my husband’s career.

I’ve struggled with this decision but mostly because society has tried to convince me I’ve made the wrong choice: I’ve chosen to pursue a career in the arts.

I’ve been asked everything from why don’t you go back to your real job? to do you actually get paid for that? to what do you do all day? The preconceived notion that writing is a hobby has been planted in our brains by society’s definition of success. Being a writer isn’t considered successful unless your name appears on book covers and emerges from an author search on the Barnes and Noble website. But we disregard the time and effort it takes to get there.

My words have been published digitally in magazines that once arrived weekly—in print—to the mailbox of my childhood home. I’ve watched my byline go live in publications I never dreamt would place my name at the top of an article. My success has come only after rejection that writers know all too well. I’m buried deeply in the arduous process of searching for an agent as a picture book author—writing isn’t a career for everyone. But when it’s right, there’s no denying it.

Recently, when asked what do you do, I’ve responded, “I’m an SLP. But I’ve been writing the last few years.” The first part is a buffer for the truth I reveal in the end. It gives the impression that writing is a tangent, and my real career is waiting nearby for my return. Answering this way seems to blunt the edges of the impending judgement.

But I’ve found a way to use my expertise in combination with my newfound career—writing about speech and language development to help parents help their children is the best of both worlds. I’m where I’m meant to be, but I’m no longer a professional in the eyes of many. For every writer, for every person working in a creative field, and for every parent that has altered their career goals to fit their personal and familial needs, this judgement must change.

“Well, at least you’re doing something,” a friend responded after asking how my writing was going. “It’s going well. I’m really enjoying it,” I’d said. We’ve come to accept that enjoyment and work don’t belong in the same sentence. But there’s no better combination than that.

“I’m not just doing something. I’m doing what I love,” I explained. I wish I could answer what do you do? without being met with judgement. I wish the degree I earned wasn’t seen as more prestigious than the accomplishments I’ve paved from nothing as a writer. For the sake of our youth, I wish following a passion—especially those in the arts—was considered distinguished and needed. Because it is.

I’ve let this question break me long enough. I turned towards the other mother as we stood beside the basketball court and the words that should have been spoken for years rolled off my tongue with ease: “I’m a writer.”

Writing was always going to win.