The not-so-gentle reminder to slow down

I think I am finally beginning to see a pattern in myself.

Every half a year, life seems to slow down a bit. Maybe the toddlers finally completed their most recent OS update1 , and my life feels manageable again. Or I managed to declutter half of the house and came up with a rigorous household labor routine that gives me back few hours in a day, making me feel like, “Hey, maybe I can do this after all.”

And maybe because I have a little more bandwidth to be poking around, I might see a full-time job listing that seems like a miraculous fit with my background, interests, and desirable income. Perfect fit! Except that they want to come in-person to their NYC or Seattle office twice a week.

In a state of temporary mania, I half convince myself that yes, commuting from a DC suburb to NYC office twice a week is TOTALLY REASONABLE and POSSIBLE. I just have to leave after the kids go to bed on Sunday nights and come home after they’re asleep on Tuesdays… Right?

Totally reasonable to expect that my house (which is just teetering on edge of functional with me at home almost full-time with two kids in daycare), my children’s emotional needs will be well cared for, and my husband will be able to pick up the childcare slack. Not to mention that I’ll have emotional or physical bandwidth to be an effective worker, mother, spouse, and house manager.

Usually, like impulse shopping, I come to my senses after a few days of obsessive rumination, trying to puzzle out the logistics of this “dream job” alongside the realities of being a 2x toddler mom.

No, actually, it is quite possibly a horrible idea for the whole family, including my own health (both physical and mental). But there is always a nagging thought in the back of my mind that goes “here I go again, having to give up my career as a mother, while the other sex seems to have their careers bolstered by child rearing.”

When my husband goes on business trips, I doubt anyone asks him who is watching his kids for him for the week (something that gets asked every time I go on a business trip).

Anyways, if you know me (but this is the internet, so likely you don’t), I love my kids, and it’s fair to say that 90% of my brain is consumed with planning their activities, inventory management (how many diapers is too many to have stocked up?), cleaning up after them, and preparing what they’ll eat. Until I spent 2 days away from them, I thought that if context changed, I would stop being consumed by thoughts about or of my children. Nope. Even if I am physically away from them, I’m always thinking about them.

And while I’m constantly exhausted, I love watching them figure out the world and go on little adventures, or spend 10 minutes in the sun staring at ants marching around ant holes together.

But sometimes, that little “other me” pops out from the bushes, clears her throat expectantly, and tries to remind me that there are multiple facets of “me” that still exist, and they would also love a few minutes in the sun, thank you very much. And look at all the career moms around me, somehow juggling both motherhood AND their kick ass careers!

Thankfully, now that my younger child is no longer blood-tied with me via his feedings, and with the support of daycare, my husband, our parents, and amazing friends, I have been able to slowly do activities that I was unable to do for the years I was pregnant/postpartum (x2). I went to New York City, Seattle, and Las Vegas for business trips last year, and this year, will likely do the same.

When routines are going the way they are supposed to, I can devote time to research, learn, collaborate with companies, and write. I can take podcast interview requests, and plan events with people around the globe (I had the opportunity to panel/present at two AWS-related events in Tokyo when we visited few months ago, and it was amazing).

Most of the time, I am very content with the 10% of my brain that I devote to my work, career, and “exciting new things” I am planning with people. But sometimes, I feel a rush of anxiety that I am being left behind, or that when my royalties stop flowing, I will no longer be financially contributing to my family finances, and therefore, I should start looking for a new career and “go back to work.”

Ninety percent to kids, 10% to my work, which leaves me 0% with a very vital miscalculation that I completely forget about until it crashes through my life like a tornado: my health.

Every year that I am not busy having a life-altering experience like giving birth, my body, like clockwork, sends a reminder to slow down. When I get anxious and start “doing a little too much,” my body sits me right back down, gets in my face, and goes “Hi, did you forget how fortunate you are to have your current life????”

I have the privilege of forgetting that I am living in a disabled body and brain, only able to live the way I do and raise the children I cherish so much because of luck and privilege that has my body functioning “well enough.”

It is all too easy to forget how close I exist to the edge of the cliff, where one wrong step could land me right back to where I was 10 years ago when I had rheumatoid arthritis that locked up majority of my joints, or 15 years ago when I had brain surgery and had to relearn how to sit, eat, and walk.

Another mini stroke, another seizure, relapse of rheumatoid arthritis, my executive function disorder or anxiety disorder acting up, my brain injury wrecking havoc… Any of those is a possibility, and I have only luck to thank for the fact that my arthritis did not relapse during my pregnancies, and I was able to safely give birth without having strokes.

Last year, I had an osteoporosis scare. Long story short, I was advised that I have basically no bone in my jaw, and to get my bone density checked. I went to my rheumatologist, did a DEXA scan, and was told that my bone density is fine (apparently, this can happen to some people who are on rheumatoid arthritis drugs). I was told to take calcium and Vitamin D, and to exercise. (I wrote about my thoughts here.)

But between the potential diagnosis and the non-diagnosis, there was a period of time where I had to come to terms with the lease on life I was given, and how it can all crumble in an instant. This was also in the spring (starting to see a pattern), when my younger son had turned 1 and began daycare. I was feeling restless, wondering if I need to embark on a new career, get a job, or go for another degree. Maybe I was slacking too much? Everyone else seems to be working AND taking care of their children?

But my body gave me the shake on the shoulders with a strong reminder to not compare myself to other people, and to make decisions that made sense to me and my family. This setup works for me and my family, and it is where there can be a (semi) clean house with food on the table, and me not completely burnt out. I managed to chill out for 2025 (thought I had a few fits of mania every time I took a business trip and talked about work with my peers and got very excited about the different potentials).

Last month, my younger son turned 2. He is a fully autonomous human being with lots of opinions and outsized reactions to everything (positive and negative). Again, I was starting to feel restless, thinking that maybe I need to be doing more, contributing more, working more…

And then, out of nowhere, my back seized up, and I couldn’t move. I was bending over to change my son’s diaper, and bam. My lower back started feeling like it was being shattered into pieces. I managed to get a new diaper on, and the 2 year old pulled his own pants on, but I spent the next hour stuck leaning on the kitchen counter, unable to move an inch to the left or right. I had to have my 2 year old bring me my phone to call my family to get someone to come home and help me.

While we were waiting for someone to come home or show up, my son was pulling on his shoes, and getting ready to leave the house, declaring “I want to go outside! Go to playground!” I think only the smell of desperation gushing out of my pores kept him from executing his plan for the afternoon.

And the thought that I had no way to prevent him from leaving the house no matter how hard I tried, because of this strange phenomenon happening to my back, was absolutely horrifying. Helplessness isn’t strong enough of a word for the fear I felt as I begged him not to leave the house. It was just pure terror. He came back, shoes still on, asking “Mommy can’t move?”

I managed to call our neighbor, who rushed over to help me out of my taxing position (my arms were going numb supporting my weight), and put me on a couch. We utilized tele-health for the first time ever (I was not going to sit in a car), and I was able to get a muscle relaxant prescribed. Few hours later, thanks to the miracle drug, I was able to stand and walk (thank god, because I REALLY REALLY needed to pee).

In between toddlers crying to be picked up, and my husband being on a business trip, and not wanting to take medication that can make me drowsy when I’m solo-parenting (but not knowing when another seizing episode may come), I was once again reminded of the precarious situation I am in.

That the life I have now is contingent on a lot of things going right for me, and it will take only one wrong push for everything to fall apart.

I know it’s inevitable in the long span of childrearing, but I don’t want to ever experience the feeling of helplessness I felt as I begged my 2 year old to not go outside (he is 150% capable of going outside by himself if he wants to, and also doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do).

For me to function well enough that our household runs smoothly, my kids are fed and clothed, and I am not burnt out, this set up is the best for us. It’s possibly not forever, and I may end up going back to a full-time job, or take a more active self-employment route (right now, it’s 100% passive income based). I have no idea what the future holds.

But as my body reminds me year after year, I need to appreciate everything that I have, and the situation I have, and need to focus on taking care of my mental and physical health to be the most effective and pleasant version of myself that I can be, not just for my kids and family, but for myself.

This was a long way to say… I need to remind myself without becoming immobilized from back spasms that whatever way we choose to shape our lives and our motherhood that “works” for our family is the one to pursue, and that the comparison trap is only an entrance to hedonistic treadmill that will lead to burnout (for me).

Mostly, given that my full-time job is to pick toys off the floor, I really need my back to function normally. Please give me all your lower-back-protecting advice.