It has only been two weeks into the new year, but I am already exhausted.
There are many times in a day where I have to tell myself to keep calm, and to constantly remind myself that I am bigger than anything else that’s trying to bury me down.
My husband has moved to a new department, lo and behold, he’s gonna have a pretty busy time there. My husband has a choice, or in fact choices on which departments he’d like to move to after his old department is closed, and we both agree that him being busy for the time being is alright, for his learning.
He’s sitting for a professional accounting & finance exam looking for that chartered accountant title so he’d need all the trainings. But that will mean terrible hours of working.
It is not just about his working hours. The problem is with mine as well – with more years of experience comes more trust and responsibility. But the setting is different for me now. I am a wife and a mother. I could definitely chase the excellent rating at the end of the year but at whose expense? And if I were to go for less than excellent, is there a loophole for me? I could not bear going less than alright. I don’t even know what does that mean.
What makes it harder is the fact that I am doing what I like. My job scope this year is very interesting (I am not gonna bore you with the details, though) but me being passionate and it being interesting is not enough to make me happy.
Yesterday proved to be too much to handle. I had to bring Isa to the prayer room and played with him there until my husband arrived, which was an hour later than usual thanks to the terrible traffic just over the 2km distance between our offices. We finally arrived home at 8pm, 150 minutes past my working hours.
That’s too much.
I could not bear looking at his innocent face when we were waiting for the father.
This is not right.
A little child like him, being left to a caregiver for 8 hours and yet to be home, in a familiar place, after almost 12 hours away.
I knew he was restless.
I could not recall when was the last time I read for him (last week was even worse, FYI).
I could not recall on which weekday we could actually calmly play together at home.
He spent two hours daily in a car, where his movements are restricted.
His sleep is often interrupted, following our crazy schedule of leaving home by 7.30am daily.
He reaches home when it is almost his bedtime.
Tell me, how much quality time could we have together?
I don’t buy the bullshit about how quality is better than quantity when the power to change and add both the quantity and quality is in my hand.
My very hand.
I love this job, for God’s sake, but this is too much.
And hence, I am giving myself one year.
Just one year, God willing.