2012 is the year of my sabbatical. After enduring the impact of making a life-changing decision, and moving our family across the world, I officially declared that 2012 would be my year to reflect. I told myself that it really needed to be this way because I was required to be at home with my kids: helping them make the transition to their new lives, and being available for them whenever they needed me. But, more than that, I will admit to being completely daunted by the idea of qualifying myself as a psychologist or a counsellor in Australia. I will admit that I have not felt compelled to research how to work again. I will admit to not looking for the energy to problem solve the issue of domestic help/care for my kids. Declaring 2012 as my sabbatical year has had the impact of giving my overachieving-self some time off. For the most part, it has restrained the tendency that I have to serially jump into professional opportunities, without giving myself time to reflect on how I really want my career to progress.
And now there are 60 days left in my sabbatical year. The pressure is ON for me to declare (to myself anyway) my next step. What do I want to be when I grow up? It is a question that has plagued me for most of my life.
I expect that those of you who've known me for a while are not shocked by my confession. Because my resume really shows off my reluctance to professionally commit. Or it shows off my versatility. Depending on my mood, I can see it either way. I do believe that each step in my career path has taught me a lot about myself. In every job I've held, I have learned more about my strengths and my challenges. I have made lifelong friends at every organization that I've had the privilege of working for. So, what's the hold-up, you ask. Why aren't you embracing this new opportunity to work in a new country? What are you afraid of?
I've thought a lot about this. My hesitation to "move forward" and get into the work world again. And I don't think I'm afraid. I think a better word would be "lost". I don't mean that in a dramatic way. I am grounded to my family and to my friends and to the gratitude I genuinely feel for the opportunities we've had.
But, there are some drawbacks to starting over. In the beginning, I think the excitement of having a 'clean slate' camouflaged the losses. But, as time passes, the losses are making themselves known. For me, I find myself flailing--struggling to be seen as a person with intelligence and competence. In Australia, people do not know me in relation to my career achievements, my professional skills, or my work experiences. They do not know me as a person that once prosecuted a man for murder. They don't know that I used to train police officers about how to lawful detain, arrest, search, and question persons accused of crimes. They don't know that I counselled families facing terminal illness. They don't know me as anyone other than a person who picks up her children from school every day at 3 pm, and otherwise, seems to have a lot of free time on her hands.
And before you mention it, I do 100% agree that picking up my kids from school is a worthy endeavour. That's why I'm doing it. But, it is not an endeavour that provides me with professional credibility. I confess to really missing my professional identity-the one where I was known as an intelligent and driven woman with skills to offer the greater world. I want to be someone more than a mum who lives a "privileged life" of staying home with her kids, working out at the gym, and lunching with friends. Please don't read this as a criticism of that lifestyle, as I know first-hand how much hard work goes into being a stay-at-home mum. I didn't know it before I moved to Australia, but I absolutely know about it now. Kudos to all of the stay-at-home mums out there--it is the hardest job in the world, bar none. And having lived it, I really mean that (I'm not just saying it because it is the PC thing to say). But, for me, my identity does not rest peacefully carrying only that role. I wish it were otherwise, but if I'm brutally honest with myself, it is not enough for me.
The loss of credibility, the loss of my extensive professional network, the loss of being seen as an accomplished career person, and the loss of being confident in my professional abilities and what I have to offer the employment world . . . these are my "overseas-move" losses that I think now require my close attention. It is ironic that I have spent so much time studying the dynamics of grief and loss, yet I don't know quite how to attend to my own grief. How will I move past all that I've professionally lost to find my way again, to reestablish my identity as both a 'good mum' AND 'professionally successful. In jest, I would say, "there's 60 days left in my sabbatical to figure out that answer". More honestly, I know that this is a process and I might need a bit more time. And that's OK.
