becoming at Home

When I was pregnant with our son, my husband and I had it all planned out. We were going to put him in daycare so we could both continue working. After all, my husband had just earned his master’s degree in accounting, and I had just started my career as a registered nurse at a hospital near home. We spent weeks touring daycares, comparing prices, sketching out schedules. I remember reassuring myself, “This will be good for us. We’ll have time to grow our careers, and our baby will get to socialize.”

And then… December 2024 arrived.
We met our son.

I don’t know what exactly shifted in me — but I remember walking up to my husband one day, tears streaming down my face, and whispering, “I can’t leave him in daycare. I can’t. Not at six weeks old. Just look at him… how can I walk away from this tiny face?”

Still, in February 2025, I returned to work. Full-time. Night shift. Med-Surg. I was still in my residency and didn’t have the flexibility to go part-time or PRN, even if I wanted to.

I cried on every single drive to work.
The job I had dreamed of, the career I worked so hard for — it suddenly felt so far from what I wanted.
I didn’t care about climbing ladders or making money.
I just wanted to be home. I just wanted him.

In March 2025, I made the leap — I left my full-time RN job and transitioned to part-time at a wellness clinic. Two days a week. Day shift. No more nights, no more crying in the car. I loved that job. It was the perfect balance: fulfilling work, time at home, my husband working remotely, everything finally clicking into place.

And then — skrrrrrt.

My husband was offered a government job in Houston. A great opportunity. A smart move for our family. We said yes and relocated.

Of course, I was proud of him. Of course, I was happy for us. But inside, I was grieving.
I had just found my rhythm, only to lose it again.
The thought of yet another change felt unbearable. I had already given up so much — why now this?

Now here we are. It’s October 2025. We’ve been in our new home for just over a month. There are still boxes left unopened, corners of the house half-settled. Life feels in between.

And the battle begins — in my heart, in my mind.

Part of me still aches to work as an RN again, even just PRN.
Another part of me loves being at home with my son — watching him grow, being his safe place.
But then, guilt creeps in. What about my degree? My license? My experience? Will it all just fade away? Will anyone take me seriously in five years if I try to come back?

The world tells me: Don’t fall behind. Keep your skills sharp. Stay relevant. Or you’ll regret it.
And I spiral. Reddit threads, forums, articles — women warning women: Don’t lose yourself in motherhood.

Anxiety and fear feed off each other, dragging me into a storm of FOMO, regret, shame, and this overwhelming feeling that I’m disappearing.

This is the identity shift.

The world has me convinced that choosing to stay home means I lose everything else about me.
That being “just” a mom, “just” a wife, is somehow a small life.
That it makes me invisible.

But then I look at my son.
I look at my husband.
And I ask myself: Why do I care so much about what the world thinks of me — and not nearly enough about how they see me?

This is the identity shift.

Yes, I worked hard for my BSN. I earned my RN license. I’m proud of that.
And yes, it hurts to feel like I’m not “using” it.
But in the grand scheme of things… does that truly outweigh the time I’m spending here, now, with my family?

This is the identity shift.

A constant tug-of-war between purpose and presence.
Between ambition and surrender.
Between the career woman I built — and the mother I’m becoming.

I don’t have all the answers.
But what I do know is this: I’m learning to hold space for both parts of me.
To honor the nurse in me and the mother in me.
To stop letting society dictate what makes a life “valuable.”

This is the identity shift.
And I’m walking through it — with love, with faith, and with fierce determination to make peace with it all.