After nearly two decades of being a home educator, and with the youngest of my three homeschooled children now living and studying at an out-of-state college, I've finally got the time to pursue my own career. This is both exciting and terrifying.
It's exciting, because I can put myself first, instead of second, third—or last. Make no mistake, I'm no martyr. No one compelled me to be self-sacrificing; I simply chose to make my kids and their learning community my highest priority. I always knew it was only a temporary arrangement (that is, if you can call 24
years "temporary"), and so with that in mind I gladly volunteered to confine all my plans, my hours and days, to fit the schedules of others. But now, at long last, my time is my own. I can try doing things I've never done before. I'm ready for a change.
And yet, this transition is also somewhat terrifying, because I've been an at-home mother and educator for so long that doing anything else feels really strange. Applying for jobs is intimidating, my resume looks unconventional and skimpy, my last paid employment was back in the '80s, and I expect the learning curve for any new job will be steep.
Luckily, I know three young adults who are wonderful sources of advice and encouragement.
When I turn to my kids and wonder how I'm going to make my way in the wider world of rapid change, independent contractors, and new technologies, I hear my own words coming back to me.
"You can do it, Mom!" they say. "You've got loads of experience: researching, teaching, organizing events, planning curriculum, keeping records, writing newsletters and reports." They remind me of all I've accomplished over the years, just as I used to remind them of their achievements when they were feeling unsure of themselves.
"Look at all you've done this year!" I'd say. "Remember how you couldn't do This or That back in September? But now you can!" Whether or not our school district required an annual written evaluation, I always prepared one for each of my children, so that they (and I) could see their progress. Now my kids are returning the favor, lifting me up in my time of self-doubt and helping to restore my confidence.
When I tell my oldest daughter I'm not sure what to do next, she tells me, "do what you love." (
Now where have I heard that before?) I think about writing, tutoring, mentoring. She helps me consider the pros and cons of different jobs and opens my eyes to the possibilities. Never one to shy away from adventure or a new challenge, my eldest knows how to inspire me to try new things.
When I ask my youngest daughter—a college senior—for help with my resume, she says, "think about not only the things you've done, but also what you've learned in the process, the extent of the impact you've had." I think about the dozens of kids who have learned in my home, all the ways in which I've had to change and adapt, and the hundreds of homeschoolers who have contacted me over the years. I smile as I reminisce, all the while feeling so proud of the remarkable young woman who is giving me this advice.
I even confide in my son, who is home for mid-year break after his first semester. I tell him I'm feeling nervous about starting my first job, and he says, "You'll be fine! You've done much harder things than this. You've got this, Mom." I feel momentarily overwhelmed by his words of encouragement. Afraid I might embarrass him if I start to cry, I give him a hug instead, so he can't see my face. He towers over me by at least six inches, and when I step back to smile at him, I notice there's a dark shadow of stubble on his upper lip and jawline. Only a few months away from home and already he seems older, more self-assured.
Maybe it seems weird for me to turn to my kids for career advice and support, but oddly enough, they understand what I'm going through. Considering career options, updating resumes, applying for jobs: these are things they've either done recently or will be doing in the near future. Even if we didn't have that in common, though, the collaborative give and take of solving problems together has become so normal and habitual for us that we fall into the pattern naturally. I value their opinions as much as they value mine, and we trust each other to be honest, fair, encouraging and forthright.
It's now 2015, and my husband and kids have helped me transition from homeschooling to a new job. I suffered through a few months of dead ends and a couple rejections, but I've found part-time work that I love. I'm an editor for
Author Accelerator, a startup company formed by Jennie Nash (editor, author and book coach) and Matt Richter-Sand, entrepreneur. My new "students" are writers who are serious about getting their books written and published, and I enjoy working with them. It's challenging to find the right balance between critique and encouragement, but Jennie is a wonderful mentor and I'm learning all the time. It seems like a perfect fit for me, and I'm happy to have found a use for many of the skills I cultivated as a home educator.
I've always been fascinated by medicine, and there's nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a well-written nonfiction book. So, not surprisingly, I've loved everything Dr. Gawande has written. Being Mortal is his best so far. It is terrifying (because he makes us think about our own mortality), poignant, informative, tragic and brilliant. And, quite unexpectedly, it includes insights into why schools aren't necessarily the best places for our kids to be spending so many hours of their days, so many months of the year, for so many years of their young lives.
