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The same old story of the same of battle

Day # 3 of  #HalfMarathon Blogging Challenge with Blogchatter.

It is the same old story. Women who want to work but have to take some tough decisions like leaving the kid in a daycare or with a nanny. And it’s the same old battle. Inner conflicts, guilt, being judged by one and all, juggling the responsibilities; and the fear of losing it all more and more often. Yes, it is the same old story of the same old battle. Every story has a different kind of color. But share the same canvas of endurance.

It’s been many years that I decided not to quit working. I will not glorify the decision or justify it anyway. Because there is no reasonable justification except the fact that I like it. Plain and simple. The best moment of my day, on many days, is the time when I set out to work. And I am very sure I am being judged right now for not nominating “moments with kiddo” as the best moments. Not that they aren’t. But it’s difficult to pick one of them. There are days when I want to quit everything but I know this shall pass soon. Same as those difficult days of motherhood. Both might hurt temporarily or seem difficult at the moment, but I know both these things define my life.  

Having said that, does this immense penchant to work simplify decision making for me? No, it does not. It never did and it never will. It is always heart-wrenching. But I keep doing it because I know that it is in the interest of everybody in the long term. I know that I won’t be blaming my kid for not letting me pursue my dream. I know he will appreciate the fact that this person called mom has other dimensions to her personality. I am sure he will understand that it is important to respect a woman’s individuality like his father does. But more importantly, I know he will realize that his mom pursued her dream and so should he, along with the responsibility of different roles that he would play in his life.

I had decided that this post will stay away from any kind of feminist streak. I think I have succeeded, to some extent. Blame the deep-rooted feminism if I slipped here and there. But writing about something so sensitive without getting carried away is difficult. At least, I have tried being honest.

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