Having it All ~ by Leah St. James

I came of age in an odd, in-between period of time. The hippie movement had passed, disco ruled, and the women’s movement was beginning to establish a foothold in the hearts and minds of America’s female population.

By the time I was a young teen, Billie Jean King had (successfully) challenged Bobby Riggs to see women not as a weaker gender but as equal.  A few years later, Helen Reddy sang“I am Woman,” declaring “If I have to, I can do anything.”



Women, once consigned by societal mores to traditional roles of wife, mother, secretary, nurse and teacher, could now do more. We could marry, raise a family, go to law school or med school, get an MBA from Harvard and run a company—we could do anything.

With the help of scholarships, I went to college and started taking classes like biology and chemistry. I didn’t know where that path would lead, but I knew I wanted to do something important. I wanted to make a difference—maybe decoding the genes that defined disease.

Then I met my husband.

Before I knew it, was married and living in a suburb of Washington, D.C., working for one of the federal agencies that hunts down bad guys. I was doing something that mattered. Another checkmark on my having-it-all list.

A couple years later, son number one was born, and my list was complete. I had the meaningful career, marriage to a wonderful guy, and motherhood with all its joys. Joys like breathing in that clean baby scent, watching him sleep, his little mouth making sucking movements as he dreamed of eating. Playing at bath time, water splashing and sloshing over the rim of the tub, onto the floor. Watching him toddle those first tentative steps. Reading to him, singing to him – Okay, he preferred my husband’s impersonation of Elvis’s “C.C. Rider” over my Linda Ronstadt, but whatever.

I also remember sleepless nights, constant exhaustion and weekends filled with cleaning and shopping and hours at the Laundromat. I remember fighting D.C. traffic morning and night, using “vacation” days to stay home with a sick baby, and daycare bills that took most of my pay. And the worst—the GUILT of leaving my baby with strangers for more than 50 hours a week.

At work, I stumbled from day to day, watching the clock until I could bolt for home. I was doing it all—marriage, motherhood, career—but struggled to do it well.

When our second son came along, I quit my full-time job to do transcription work. The pay was lousy but I could work at home on my schedule. I joined PTA committees, served as grade mom and went on class trips. I worked crazy hours—late nights and weekends—but I had a ball.

My sons are grown now and I'm so proud of the men they've become. But I can't help but wonder how things would have turned out had I stayed the career course. Money would have been easier over the years, and my sons probably wouldn't be carrying the same student debt load, but would they be different men?

So my question is: Can a mother be successful at having “it all”?

I think you can, with the right circumstances. (Alicia Dean shared her story on the 19th.) For me, it wasn’t until I’d redefined “it all,” that I was happy and counted my choices a success.

What about you?
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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the enduring power of love. Please visit Leah at LeahStJames.com.

Motherhood vs. Parenting by Leah St. James

I love being a mom. I have two grown sons, and I’ve loved being their mom from those joyous moments I knew they were growing inside, to the euphoric instants of birth and through the years, watching them mature to the wonderful men they are today.

Visiting the Penn State Nittany Lion at
University Park, Pa. My son said, "Hey,
there's a guy in there!"

Being a mom is the laughter from the “So big!” game, the anxious pride of watching that first competition or recital, the bittersweet happiness of witnessing your child fall in love. Being a mom is the fear that grips every fiber of your body and soul while nurses wheel your child toward surgery, the despair of learning your child has an incurable medical condition but knowing you must be strong to help him cope.  A mom is a fixer, a peace-maker, a boo-boo kisser and a shoulder to cry on.

When my son changed majors, requiring
a couple more years of school than
we had expected, it seemed like
graduation day would never come.
When it did, I wanted proof!

I love being a mom, even in those fearful times, but sometimes I really hate being a parent.

Where mom is the nurturer, the fierce protector, a parent is the enforcer.

A parent has the task of telling a young son that, despite what Daddy told him, it’s NOT okay to relieve himself against the tree in the schoolyard... when the second-grade girls are 20 feet away. A parent compels a child to face someone he’s hurt, to make amends. A parent meets with teachers and guidance counselors to develop strategies that will, hopefully, turn that child’s schoolroom performance from weak to strong. A parent sits in a waiting room in the local police station while officers have a conversation with her just-turned 18-year-old, then has her own conversation when he’s released.

A parent metes out time-outs and forces her child to face the hard facts of life, and those moments truly are harder on the parent than the child.

It’s far easier to turn a blind eye to a child’s “little white lie,” or to explain away poor behavior than it is to confront it and call it out for what it is. Nobody likes dishing out uncomfortable truths, and it goes against a mom’s nurturing instinct when she has to deliver those realities to someone whose life she would save over her own.

A parent has to understand, far more than the child, that tough love is often the best kind of love.

When I was a little girl, we had a female cat that had kittens. My mom found homes for the kittens, but one day, one of the kittens made its way back to our house. I remember the kitten standing on our porch, meowing to come inside. And I vividly remember our sweet, loving mama cat peering through the glass, growling and hissing until the kitten ran off. (I can only hope the kitten made it home!)

I was horrified. How could our mother cat have turned her own child away? My mother, my parent, said, “She’s doing her job, honey. She’s taught him everything he needs to survive, and now it’s his turn to make a life for himself.”

It took me years to understand that lesson, but I remembered it as I raised my boys, and I’ve often wondered if our cat felt the pain I’ve felt when having to “parent” one of my sons.

Still, the joy of being a mom is worth every painful moment of parenting. I love my boys--every joyous and the not-so-joyous moment--and I'm so blessed, and proud, to be both their mom and their parent.
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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the enduring power of love. Visit Leah at LeahStJames.com , Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest.