By Carmen Garcia-Shushtari
@shugarloveblog

I work at a large, prestigious, public university, and I have invested in countless hours at my work and several years pursuing my education to maintain the job I currently have. My full-time position can consume me entirely if I let it—there is always another email to answer, the needs from students can be endless, and expectations from leadership to do more with less is standard. Yet, the work itself can be inspiring, rewarding, and fulfilling so, in many ways, it numbs me from focusing on the stressors of the job. Ultimately, my experience as a working mother can be described as empowering, grueling, and relentless. Because of this, for many years, I just focused on surviving while holding these dual roles. 

I had a plan, though.  

After office hours, I would dedicate time to re-imagining my blog and returning to my first love—writing, which I also put on pause because it turned out working full-time and mothering two beautiful boys proved to saturate my whole life and left time for nothing else. 

I never forgot my first love. I am still that same little girl with pigtails who opened up any notebook within reach so she could write her stories and channel her unique ideas. I would now make time for writing once again because I could no longer suppress that part of me. Regardless of my career in higher education, in my heart, I am a writer.

My plan began to reveal itself when I achieved the holy grail in parenthood—both boys were in school full-time and both were sleeping through the night. The only other thing that can top that is when both kids are potty-trained. I began to feel more like myself every day. I loved the work I was doing in my full-time job and I felt newly inspired to invest in my own professional development to become a manager and serve in a leadership role at a university. And from the moment the morning light would reach my room and wake me and nearly every hour thereafter, I would be filled with inspiration on topics I would want to write. I would annotate my writing in the notes section of my phone using the voice to text feature.  Nothing had changed. That little girl was still here.

I work to give my babies a house filled with their favorite snacks—a smorgasbord of organic chocolate chip cookies and Cheez-its with extra cheese. I hardly take sick days to provide them full health insurance and regular doctor visits with their favorite doctor who likes to wear plush wild animals around his stethoscope. I work full-time to have enough money to take them on fun, family-friendly vacations where my sons can explore a city by going on and off the metro so they can see the doors automatically open and shut. They are my world, and for them I would sacrifice it all, even my own hopes and dreams.

But my heart always reminds me that I am destined to write.

I have patiently waited all these years for when it would be my turn once again. The hope has always been alive in me that one day I could put myself back on my own priority list in permanent marker, even if it means at the bottom of my own list.

My plan began with redesigning my blog and writing out all the ideas that had been swirling in my head all these years. Then, the pandemic happened. And, well, we all know what kind of tangent that put us on.

I cringed at the phrase, “We are in this together” in reference to life in quarantine because I didn’t find that to be true. I felt very alone and helpless during the pandemic. I had to re-imagine my entire job on Zoom while managing my staff’s expectations of remote work. I juggled these new responsibilities while reluctantly serving as a teacher’s assistant to my oldest child as he navigated his Zoom education. At the same time, I took on the additional responsibility of teaching my youngest child the sounds of the alphabet and the correct way to hold a pencil. Even though I had a supportive partner in the trenches with me daily, inevitably much of the load of motherhood fell on me. On any given moment through my pandemic day, I would be feeding my child with one hand while typing an email with another. The dirty dishes seemed to multiply with no end in sight, meal prepping took chunks out of my day, and my Slack notifications were constant.

We were drowning.

I went on administrative leave to dedicate myself as my children’s teacher 100% of the time. It was either that or not sleeping at all. I chose my family and my mental health. And, in some ways, my career and my aspirations as a writer, once again, paid the price. But, I was familiar with making these types of sacrifices and, at that point, I accepted them.

Then, I got upsetting medical news. I was told I needed to have surgery as soon as possible. 

That’s about the time I hit rock bottom.  My plan had completely unraveled. That ugly fear monster crept in and took over. 

Later that day, I took a shower and broke down. It was the only place in the house where my children couldn’t see my pain. I sat on the cold tile shower floor as the water continued to stream down my body. I couldn’t differentiate between the shower water coming down my face and my own tears streaming down. It was a waterfall of emotions.  My anxiety, anger, and fears were finally free to envelop me. What if I contracted Covid while in the hospital? What if I never woke up from surgery? Who would teach the children in the fall if I had an adverse reaction to the surgery? The questions went on and on. They kept me up at night and haunted me.

Indeed, my plan had disintegrated, but there were tangents—like shards of glass shimmering light if I dared to look—and I couldn’t help but look, and embrace them.

My parents and husband supported me as I faced my fear and went through with the surgery and recovering phase. When I was on the hospital bed prepping for surgery, I was staring at pictures of my boys while the nurse administered my IV. She noticed what I was doing and made a sweet comment about my children. Before I entered the operation room, I squeezed my husband’s hand and told him I loved him. I looked adoringly at the pictures of my beautiful boys and told myself I am doing this to hug them once again.

These tangents are my life: a series of unplanned events which make me stronger and teach me about the gifts I have. These tangents are the seeds to my creative writing voice. These tangents are the legacy to my boys. For when it rains on them, I hope they will remember me and my struggles and recall how I picked myself up again and again—sometimes while crying and sometimes stumbling. But I got up and never gave up on my dreams so that I can empower them to do the same.

John Lennon knew this long ago when he said, “Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.”

As I write this now on the other side of sadness, I feel reinvigorated to step into another tangent and embrace it. I know tangents give me more determination to achieve my goals. No matter where life may take me, this plan remains the same. I will never stop believing in myself. 

Guest essay written by Carmen Garcia-Shushtari. Carmen is a seasoned educational professional with over 20 years working as a teacher, university administrator, and manager. However, her true love has always been writing as evidenced by the short stories she would write in her diary as a little girl. Her writing explores the joys and challenges of being a working mother while pursuing her own dreams in the quest for a life filled with well-being and endless love. She is passionate about empowering all mothers to embrace self-love and achieve their goals. Carmen is a proud daughter of Mexican immigrants, a LA native, and always on the hunt for the perfect, juicy taco. Most days you can find her juggling work while finding cheerful adventures in chasing after her two beautiful boys. Follow along on Instagram and her blog.