I got a new job. When I left my old gig, I was skeptically hopeful that someday somehow I would get back into the creative world. And it happened sooner than I thought.
I emailed and interviewed and put myself out there. And I was lucky enough to garner a fair number of interested conversations. Nearly all of which quickly died as I laid out my parameters. My priorities.
My foster kids.
And then there was one. One who reacted quite differently than all the others.
One who named the importance of motherhood during my very first interview. Before I even shared that I was a type of mother myself.
His kindness and comradery extended long before a job offer. When the offer did come for a 30 hour contract role, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t worry or wonder.
I was only grateful. I am only grateful.
It’s harder than I imagined. Not because every person there isn’t enormously kind and supportive and helpful. Because in some odd way they all are.
Rather because it’s new. All of it. The parking lot. The people. The server. The coffee. Everything has a bit of a learning curve.
And learning that curve while trying to get out the door by 3pm for school pick-up isn’t something I considered.
I hadn’t thought about the stress of trying to prove myself again. The difficulty of starting from scratch.
It hits hard but it’s just a taste of what our kids face.
After all, every child who comes to our home begins again. Often with only a sibling or school to cling to. And too often, not even that.