Why I work
A letter to my son

Dearest Oakley,
It hasn’t turned out as I expected. The love is so much deeper — so much more intense, consuming, blissful and overwhelming. It brings me more joy than I thought possible, whilst terrifying me at the same time. I’ve spent most of my life navigating how to keep safe; I’ve built walls, I’ve worn masks, I’ve run away. Now, I’m split open; vulnerable, exposed and at your mercy.
Before you, the biggest love of my life was Me. I was beguiled by the mystery of Who am I? What am I? What can I be? I was selfish. I put myself first (and I got pretty good at putting your father first too). When I became pregnant my sense of identity started to quaver — I remember being called “mother” for the first time (you weren’t even born yet), and felt horrified. I was Bronwen, not “mother”. I felt my identity sliding away and it terrified me.
So much of my identity has come from working. First, I was the Local Babysitter in the neighbourhood, then the Snowboard “Gurl” working at the local ski hill. I’ve been the Edgy Barista at the independent coffee shop, and the High Flying Fashion Exec at a Global brand. I’ve always worked and have sculpted my identity around what I do – I’ve felt like people only know me once they know what I do for a living.
Through work, I identified my life’s purpose and legacy. I am a generator of Joy — it is why I am here, and it is what I will leave behind. This is big stuff — so you see, my job is important to me.
You arrived ten days late (as I knew you would), and larger than any of the midwives expected (but that didn’t surprise us). Nearly ten pounds of healthy, perfect, purple human appeared on my chest and we cried uncontrollably. In that instant, my love affair with myself shifted. I had to make space for you.
The first few days of your life are cloudy: I know I ate toast, I know my nipples cracked, and I know I fell in love with you over and over again. Your hair, your cheeks, your sharp little nails that we were too scared to cut. Your cry, your chin wobble, your dark and mysterious eyes. I looked for hints of myself in you — clues that I had made you. There was so much of your father there — loving you was easy. Slowly, the days slipped by and turned into weeks… my milk continued to help you grow. I realised you were of me.
As my bump shrank back I had flashes of my former self… for seconds, minutes I would forget you were there. I would see myself as the third born child of Beth and Robert — young and irresponsible – and then you would stir and I would come rushing back into the present moment and the new reality that the Child had become the Parent.
I felt unqualified.
Mat leave is the first break I’ve had since puberty. Despite all the work I’ve put into my career, I went into it thinking that the 12 months would be a gift. A holiday. A break. I deserved it. But the days and weeks and months have gone by and as I’m beginning to get to know you, I’ve realised that you aren’t getting to know the real me. Bronwen doesn’t stay home all day and wait for her husband to bring home the money. Bronwen doesn’t get excited about meal planning. Bronwen doesn’t like cleaning the house, or emptying the dishwasher, or doing laundry for days. I’ve felt overwhelmed with the idea that I am responsible for your development. It bothers me that you are seeing a household where old-fashioned, traditional roles are being fulfilled. I am a strong, smart, creative, bold woman. I am independent. I am a problem solver and a multi-tasker. I am a storyteller and an athlete. I am all these things and I am your mother: but I can’t be the latter well without you knowing about the rest of me. I am going back to work so that you can get to know me.
When you arrived, my love affair with myself was over. It will be for the rest of my days here on earth — I don’t know what’s on the other side, but if we keep any memory of this life, then I know my love for you will endure. I have fed you, dressed you, washed you, cherished you. You have your father’s eyes, your mother’s laugh, and a head of hair that will make heads turn. You are the single most important being in my life. You are now my reason for living. You are my purpose and my legacy. You are my joy.
Love,
Your Mother, Bronwen.
