‘My kid laid on the guilt when I returned to work’

My nine-year-old daughter has been engaging in psychological warfare since I returned to work.

For eight years, I freelanced from home. I never missed a class holiday party, I volunteered at school functions and chaperoned her class trip to the zoo.

But our family needed more financial stability, so when there was an opening with my former employer, I went back full-time.

My daughter has never forgiven me.

I’m constantly peppered with comments such as: ‘‘I remember how it used to be, when you could come on trips with me.’’

Or, ‘‘Remember that time you were going to lead a craft at my class Valentine’s Day party, but then Daddy had to do it, because you started work that day?’’

Or, ‘‘Meghan’s mum came to class today to run a maths game. I wish you could do that.’’

And I’ve offered a lot of apologies. I’ve apologised for missing Healthy Heart day. I’ve apologised with explanations: Sometimes two working parents are necessary to support a family.

I’ve tried just giving hugs and nodding along. ‘‘Yes, it’s hard when Mummy isn’t here. I’m sorry.’’

But recently I got tired of saying sorry. And I started to wonder if all this apologising was doing her a disservice.

Of course, there are the financial realities of the world, from which I can’t always shield her. I’m not the only working mum in her class, and we’re not the only family that needs a dual income to make ends meet.

Plus, we’ve been fortunate in that her father, who owns his own business and has a more flexible schedule, has been able to do many of the things Mummy used to do, allowing our daughter and 5-year-old son to spend more time with Daddy and providing a positive example of all the roles men can fill.

I can’t help thinking that my son, who was younger when I returned to work, especially benefits from seeing his father manage many household tasks in addition to his work.

But something else has been bothering me about all these apologies. Yes, I went back to work full-time largely for financial reasons. But I enjoy my work, too. It’s fulfilling.

I spent four years at university preparing for my career and then 10 years building it before going freelance after my daughter was born. I don’t want her to think having a career is something to apologise for.

I don’t want her to feel that she’s doing wrong by her family if, when she has children, she wants to stay in her chosen profession.

What message does it send when I’m constantly saying I’m sorry for having a career?

The last time we visited my 96-year-old grandmother before she died, she showed me her ‘‘brag book’’. It was a collection of cards, photographs and letters related to her career. She went to work as an archivist in 1961 and eventually became a manager, which was uncommon for women at the time.

Although she was initially nervous to go to work, my grandfather was unemployed, and her family needed the income.

Whether she was conscious of it or not at the time, she had been somewhat unfulfilled at home. She grew to love and identify with her job. Her proudest stories revolved around her job: The good reviews from her boss, retirement parties she planned for co-workers, and the time she refused to cross a picket line during a union strike.

And so, recently I sat my daughter down, and instead of apologising, I decided to lay a little truth on her. ‘‘I’m sad that I can’t see you as much as I’d like or be there for every class party.’’

My daughter was quiet, waiting to commiserate. ‘‘But there’s something you should understand,’’ I continued. ‘‘I like my work. I enjoy what I do.’’ My daughter nodded. ‘‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’’ I asked her. ‘‘An actress or a lawyer.’’ ‘‘Well, imagine that you work your way from small to starring roles. Or you work your way through law school and finally get the big cases that allow you to defend people in need. And then you have children.

‘‘You may choose to stay home with them. And if you do, that’s a wonderful choice. But you may also choose to keep acting or practising law, and there’s nothing wrong with that choice, either. It’s not easy, but your life can be as full as you want it to be.’’

My daughter was quiet, and then we snuggled on the couch.

But I’ve reached a turning point. Instead of apologising for my career, I plan to involve her more in it, by talking to her about what I do and what’s challenging and rewarding about it.

I’m the primary female role model in her life, and when I hide how much I ‘‘secretly’’ enjoy what I do, I hide from her how rewarding working can be.

The Washington Post