The end of an era

It has now been almost a full week since life as I used to know it was irremediably changed: with my post coming to an end on 30 September, I stopped being an academic, and I am quite confident that I will never be able to apply that label to myself ever again (nor am I sure I want to).

I am feeling somewhat nostalgic, particularly this week, when emails I am receiving, as well as TimeHop entries that are popping up on my phone remind me that this is the period when a new academic year is starting. In previous years, this is the  time when I would get to meet with my new students and give them my usual introductory speech, in which I would tell them that, in my role as their Director of Studies, I would be their best friend and biggest supporter in everything to do with their work, that I would always fight their corner and do my utmost to ensure that they are provided with everything they need, and more, UNLESS (and at this point the glasses would come down slightly on my nose) they messed about, not do their work, fail to turn up to classes or supervisions, or generally not take their student duties seriously enough… in which case they would get to see the less friendly side of me, which I am told can be quite scary [I credit this speech, as well as my attitude which made clear that I meant business, with the success of my working relationship with most of my students, as well as their good results]. This would be the time when I would be running around like a headless chicken trying to see all the students individually (and my meetings would always overrun, because the care I would show each student would mean that I could never wrap things up fast enough; the time when I would scratch my head a hundred times trying to organise my timetable, fitting around all the different students with their various languages and classes combinations… How I used to love this time, the enthusiasm and energy of new beginnings, the promise of an even better year and an even more dedicated generation of students. Despite all the stress of having to fit my work life around my ever more demanding family life, the school pick-ups and drop offs with their very precise timings, along with all the many other responsibilities of the normal running of a household, I genuinely loved my job, my work with the students, my time with my colleagues as well. I used to get a real kick out of giving what I felt as a successful class or lecture, or out of being able to help a student in a  moment of need (whether this be work-related or personal, as many of my students often came to me with personal problems as well).

All of that is over now, and the new academic year is starting without me for the first time in fourteen years (I spent eight years as a student and six as a lecturer), so I had always known I was bound to feel an inevitable sense of loss.

However, when a door closes, a window opens elsewhere, and the end of this really formative period of my life only signifies a new beginning. Before I had the Girl, I was convinced that motherhood was only going to be a brief parenthesis in my academic career: I specifically wanted to have a baby in the spring, so that I would only have to miss the exam term, when the students are revising and would therefore not feel my absence too much. And, even while I was pregnant, I was determined to stay on maternity leave only until the end of the summer, and to return to work in the new academic year, even though the Girl would only be five months old… Little did I anticipate how my life, my mentality, my entire being, would change once the Girl actually arrived, how differently I would feel (or rather, not feel) about my students and their welfare. In the end, I only returned to work when the Girl was nine months old, and even then, I could only bring myself to go in on a part time basis at the beginning. My heart became well and truly anchored at home, and despite the fact that I never stopped caring about the students, someone much more important had entered my life and trumped every single one of them.

These feelings have only increased over the years, and have only been exacerbated by the Boy’s arrival into the family mix. So, although my old self would have been rather surprised by this, I could not be happier that now, at least for a while, I will be dedicating myself entirely to my family and my children. They are so little, so innocent, they need so much love and support to help them grow into well-rounded, well-adjusted people. I feel profoundly blessed and grateful that I can be here for them every step of the way rather than having them in full time care or in the care of someone else. When I was little, my parents used to work so hard, and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents; while  this was wonderful in itself, I remember how desperate I was for my mother to sit down and play with me (for some reason, the game of ‘Snakes and Ladders’ sticks in my mind as the one I most wanted to play). My poor mother was so overworked and tired that she hardly ever found the energy to play with me, though; in contrast, all I need to do is play with my children, because the housework can wait until I can get around to it, and I don’t need to care about or do anything else.

When I told the Girl recently that this change was imminent, that I would no longer have to go to work, but I would be there to take her to school every morning, and to wait at the gate every afternoon, she was so excited about it that it made my heart swell. This is where my place is for now, and I am determined to embrace it as fully as I can.

I am now a stay-at-home mum, and proud of it. My husband suggested I don’t call myself this, but rather ‘child development professional and writer’ (the latter, on account of this blog). I like that sound of that, and certainly the amount of reading, thinking and talking about children’s development that I do would warrant such a label. Whatever I call it, though, I am happy and knowing that I can dedicate myself to it fully makes me feel fulfilled. I would be lying if I were to say that it is all a bed of roses, and in fact, the sleepless nights and general feeling of exhaustion at the moment are often making me feel quite on edge and stressed out, but this is where I feel I belong right now and, on the whole, I am enjoying it. My nostalgia for whatever was is only transitory and inconsequential. The official end of my old life only gives way to my much more important one: before anything else, I am now a mother (I had better believe it, after 4.5 years!!), and I am hugely excited about my life at home.