I’m 37 years old and never had a “career” in the traditional sense. I graduated college with a degree in English Literature and uncertain ambitions, except writing a bestselling book one day. In the years between college and graduate school, I did write a book. It sold much better than I expected, so I considered that a success. It never reached New York Times bestseller status, though, which also made it a failure in my eyes.
So I went on to write more books. I had a traditional publisher for one of them, where I also worked as an editor, until the business closed. Self-publishing was my primary platform, allowing me the freedom to write whatever I wanted. Occasionally I could buy a tank of gas for my car with royalties. Hollywood never came knocking to ask for filming rights.
Grad school didn’t fare much better for my prospects. I moved from Ohio to Colorado for seminary, first to pursue a Master’s of Divinity, but that required proficiency in Hebrew that I just couldn’t reach. So then I switched to counseling, thinking “Chaplain Caplin” was a cool title. But for a myriad of reasons, that didn’t pan out either, and I dropped out after three semesters.
I didn’t learn my lesson from that failure and tried grad school again a few years later, for an MA in creative writing. That degree I did complete, and I thought I’d use it to work for a publishing house: one that would stay open this time.
That didn’t happen right away, so I worked as a barista for a while. I made decent lattes but had no people skills. When my husband lost his job, I took a job as a proposal editor for a construction company, but nearly quit over panic attacks about answering the phone, even though 90% of those calls ended up getting transferred to a different line.
I had terrible depression in those years (still do, just better managed). I was not a “team player,” and therefore unfit for the corporate world with their open cubicles, ice breaker games, and mandatory happy hours. So I turned to freelance writing and editing, which I could do remotely.
This was my most successful endeavor to date. For a while, my writing paid the mortgage, keeping us afloat (along with our savings) as Josh continued applying for jobs. But when the pandemic hit, I lost clients and contracts. Businesses whose websites I worked on shut down completely.
I was also on my way to a fairly successful career of sorts in blogging for a progressive Christian audience, with book endorsements from some prominent names in that sphere. I had a decent list of paying subscribers. But eventually I returned to orthodoxy, and those opportunities dwindled.
Josh eventually found a well-paying job. After we had children, my paid productivity dwindled to a few freelance clients a month. That work pays for groceries, but not much else.
Two years later, my paid work still has not recovered. My ability to stay home with my kids is possible because I have no career to return to (that, and my husband’s income in medicine: a huge blessing). It’s not what I pictured, but I finally feel like I have some purpose to my days at home.
So what did I give up to be a stay-at-home mom? Practically speaking, not much.
Sometimes I get jealous hearing other women talk about their careers. I sympathize with their struggle to manage that work/life balance, but I look at them sometimes and think, What’s it like to actually be useful? “Useful” in the sense that they contribute financially to their households. Because that’s how I defined success for a long time.
I still dream of being a successful writer, but I have no energy to write full-length books. The social media algorithms seem to work against me, so being any kind of “influencer” (I hate that word) isn’t possible, either.
My most pervasive, lifelong struggle has been craving recognition while God calls me to be humble. Wanting to have purpose, but never being certain of what that purpose actually is. I tried on so many hats over the years, including a stint at farmer’s markets selling handmade jewelry, and have been mediocre in all of them.
And so I keep coming back to the same questions, whose answers should solve this dilemma: Who does God say that I am? What is the real purpose of my life?
I think most people want to be useful in some sense. But the daily tasks of managing a home can feel mundane and unglamorous.
The big picture is in the little things.
I will make more of a difference in the lives of people I interact with daily, be it personally or professionally, than with anyone I “meet” on the internet. When I heard my toddler point to the Eucharist in one of her plush books about the mass and say “Jesus,” it started to click. This is the work I was meant to do.
Photo by Chris Montgomery on Unsplash
