The sounds over the baby monitor wake you up as they have every morning since they were born. You walk bleary-eyed into their room, greeted with a beaming smile that could only ever come from a baby at 5 am. You’re shattered, of course, but the dance your heart does as their slightly swollen eyes meet yours trumps all other feelings. You get their milk and breakfast, change their nappy, get them dressed, and then yourself – the same way you always do, but today is different. Because today, you aren’t walking into your local town for coffee, you aren’t cooing over them at a Baby Sensory class or taking another 45 photos of their ever-changing face. Instead, you’re dropping them off to someone else – a grandparent, a childminder, a nursery – with a lump in your throat and a pain in your heart. You take a deep breath and pull yourself together as you prepare to return to work. And while you’re most likely stepping back into old shoes that once felt comfortable, an entirely different person now fills them. You’ve gained perspective, new purpose, life experience and an outlook on life that can’t be explained unless you’ve lived it. Yes, you may be returning to an old role, but there’s no ‘going back’ from your new one. 

Returning to work post-baby, no matter how long you’ve had off with them, is a transition your head and heart can’t prepare for until it arrives. With both of my children, I went back to work when they were just 6 months old. Being self-employed means you don’t get the benefit of maternity pay but a government allowance, which grants you statutory pay for 39 weeks from when you stop working. I knew I couldn’t take those full 9 months off, and definitely not the year some of my peers were lucky enough to have. But it doesn’t matter how long you’ve had off with your new baby; when the day comes to step out of your maternity leave bubble and back into ‘work mode’, the transition can feel overwhelming at best and heartbreakingly impossible at worst. 

While I was returning to work at what is deemed very early in this country (many mothers in America are only entitled to 12 weeks unpaid leave – which is an absolute best-case scenario and requires enormous financial and childcare privileges to take), I was lucky that I work completely remotely, my role is flexible, and I was returning part-time. After Ren, I went back just two days a week, which he spent in the care of my mum until he was 2 years old, I gradually increased my working days to three, and he went to nursery. This balance was perfect for us both, and after the total shock of motherhood the first time around, those 2 days of work felt like a break. It’s funny because before having children, I would never have considered 9 hours of writing relaxing, but it was nice to go to the toilet, eat my lunch and just ‘be’ alone. After spending every waking (and sleeping) moment with your baby for however long your maternity leave may be, leaving them to go to work does, in some ways, feel like a respite. And some days, that break is welcomed and needed, but on others, it feels like you’re going against every maternal instinct in your body to leave them behind. 

The opposing feelings you have when returning to work are like many others that punctuate motherhood. It can feel nice to rediscover a part of yourself that isn’t wiping bums and taming tantrums. In those moments, when you’re ready to pull your hair out, work almost feels like the easier option. But then, when you’re at work, you so often ache to be back wiping those bums and taming those tantrums. It can feel like that is exactly where you should and need to be. When I left Ren in those early days, I missed him dearly. I never switched off from my other (and what felt like my most important) role as his mum. I would be messaging for updates or refreshing the app to see what he’d eaten and how many times he’d been to the toilet multiple times a day – and when nursery would upload a photo of him playing with a big smile, my heart would skip a beat in excitement, pride and of course, guilt. 

Before having children, I considered myself extremely career-driven. I knew I wanted to do this job since I was in primary school. I picked my GCSE subjects based on it. I studied Fashion Journalism at University, and when I landed a job at ASOS in 2013, I felt like my dreams had come true. I absolutely loved my job, which was a huge part of who I was – even when I wasn’t at the office. Beyond ASOS, I worked at magazines and luxury e-commerce platforms, which meant travelling the world, attending fashion shows and PR events, working with incredible people on photoshoots and living out my childhood dream even further. I didn’t think I would be ready to leave all that behind when I got pregnant. Of course, I knew I would take some time out, but I didn’t for a second think that my job would no longer give me so much purpose.

But the truth is, it didn’t. 

Because yes, you may go back to an old role, but after having children, you’re an entirely new person. And it isn’t easy to merge everything that comes with both of your titles. There’s indeed an expectation on women to work like they don’t have children and parent like they don’t have to work. We are supposed to switch from mum mode to work mode, day in, day out. But the problem is, mum mode doesn’t have an off switch. It doesn’t even have a mute button. Or a pause option. It’s a siren that blares in the background, 24/7, wherever we are, whatever we are doing. How do you forget the endless weight of the motherload to sit in an office and write about fashion all day? Whatever your job, throwing yourself back into that realm 100% is almost impossible. As we’ve discussed before, you can’t give 100% to all areas of your life, and you’re definitely not prepared to let your family cup drain for weeks on end to ensure your work is always filled right to the top. 

Even if you wanted to give your job as much as you had previously, the unpredictability of children doesn’t allow you to. Norovirus doesn’t put itself on hold because you have a work trip. Chickenpox doesn’t wait a week to reach your child because you have a big presentation on Monday. Your parents or in-laws don’t only get 4 weeks’ annual leave. The baby won’t miraculously sleep through the night because you’ve returned to work. Their teeth won’t stop cutting because you have a 5 am alarm. Life happens, and if you’re in a role where your employer doesn’t have children or doesn’t understand the weight of being a working parent, returning to work when you have a small baby can feel like one more spinning plate you can’t seem to keep in the air.

The juggle of being a working parent is exhausting before you’ve even stepped foot into the workplace. For many, it looks like a regimented schedule of who is having the children on what days, which means managing multiple drop-off and pick-up locations at differing times. It can mean eye-watering childcare costs that almost make working not worthwhile. If you have children of school age or those that attend a school nursery, it means breakfast and after-school clubs, figuring out where they will be for 12 weeks of the year, and desperately trying to work out how you will do your job but also never miss a sports day, play or school trip. It is true that we are constantly trying to paper over the cracks of childcare at the cost of both our children and our sanity, but in 2025, needs must.

In today’s climate, you’d be hard-pressed to find many parents with the privilege of not working. The cost of living is at its highest in 41 years, and being a one-income household can, for many, including me, feel like a total pipe dream. Luxuries like holidays and extracurriculars aside, just keeping your house afloat, your fridge stocked, and your children in clothes that fit is a difficult task for many parents today. So, while working, whether part-time or full-time, might feel painful in your heart, your head knows there really is no other option. In theory, you should be able to rationalise it this way, but feelings aren’t always rational, and when it comes to actually doing it, the screaming voice in your head saying, ‘I just want to be with my children’ is hard to ignore.

I’m returning to work for the second time, and I’ve found it so much harder than the first time. I wanted to write this story last week, but truthfully, it felt like one more thing on my list that I could not manage. It’s strange because I felt ok about my return to work in the lead-up. I was being pragmatic about it. I was glad it would take the pressure off my husband, who has solely supported us. That returning means we could have a family holiday this year. I would have my own money again and some time for myself. I felt lucky that I was in a position where I could ease myself in with just 2 days and that I didn’t have to go back full-time. I was extremely grateful that my old company, where I was not an employee but a contractor, wanted to have me back after taking that much time off. But when the day arrived, I spent the majority of it crying.

I spent the whole day on the edge, like someone would only have to look at me, and I would burst into tears. And it wasn’t felt out of guilt, but sadness. I felt sad that I was leaving Nova – a mummy’s girl – when she was just 6 months old. I felt sad that I could not take her to the baby class I loved so much with Ren because it was on the days I had to work. I felt sad that I wasn’t just leaving her, but I was saying goodbye to another day of the week spent with Ren, meaning we have just one together now until he starts reception next year.

Once I began to sit down and unpick it, this transition felt so hard for me because it’s a huge reminder of how fast time goes and how your children are only so little for so long. I almost felt like the early years with Ren were flashing before me, and it hit me square in the face just how much he is growing up and how Nova will be in the same position before I know it. And while it fills me with immense pride to watch my children grow and become the amazing little people they are, it also comes with a pang of what I like to call ‘happy heartbreak’. It’s a feeling of deep sadness and happiness all at once. I don’t know how else to describe it, but if you’re a mum, you probably know exactly what I mean. 

These feelings weren’t arising because of the work itself. Actually, I still really enjoy my work. But to say I don’t ache to be with them more would be a lie. While I love what I do, it doesn’t fulfil me and give me purpose like motherhood does. Work now feels like an extension of the ‘old me’ that I get to tap in and out of, and I am happy to leave at my laptop at 5.30 pm. It doesn’t fill my thoughts before bedtime like it once did. Those thoughts are replaced with a laundry list of things to do for my family. And while yes, those things are mundane and infuriating, I would, in some ways, rather spend my time just getting them done and looking after the people who rely on me. 

The difference this time is that I know we will all adjust. Before long, we will be in a routine, and this will be our new normal. I know that my children won’t resent me for working. They won’t know any different, and I’m proud for them to see a mum who has built a career she loves and continues to do so to give them the best possible life she can. While I cling to all the time with them I can, I know that Ren absolutely loves going to nursery and likely, Nova will too. It pains me to say, but he might prefer it to his days off with me because he is a social butterfly who loves to play and learn, and he is exactly where he needs to be to do that. On reflection, these transitions are harder for us than for them because we know what came before and foreshadow what is coming after. As we wave them off at nursery, our heads jump to the first day of Primary and, of course, the last.

I know that my struggle with the change is more about me than them. It’s stepping out of the routine I’ve built that feels comfortable and manageable to throw myself into the unknown. It’s another cup in my collection of ‘things to do, worry about and try to keep on top of’, and some days, it doesn’t only feel like lots of those cups are empty, but they’re tumbling out of the cupboards. I remind myself that, ultimately, the cup that matters most to me is theirs, and I will always do my best to fill it up as much as I can, which right now means going to work to provide them with a life they love.

So, to all the working mums out there who are tired, wired, and just doing their best – this story is for you.

I see you, and I’m right there, too.