When Your Dream Job Becomes Your Worst Nightmare
Hey everyone, I’m Sarah, and I’ve got a story that might sound familiar to any working mom out there. It’s about chasing dreams, making impossible choices, and learning that sometimes the “perfect” career path isn’t so perfect after all.
The Dream Job That Wasn’t
Fresh out of law school, I was on top of the world. I’d landed my dream job as a clerk at a rural courthouse in a tiny mountain town in Colorado. Think population 2,000, one main street, and the kind of place where everyone knows your business before you do.
The courthouse was this old brick building that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1970s. There were supposed to be four of us on staff, but in reality? It was basically the Sarah show. I was doing everything – filing paperwork, managing case records, dealing with walk-ins, you name it.
Most days, I was literally the only person there. I’d unlock the building at 8 AM, and I’d be the one turning off the lights at 5 PM. When locals couldn’t find anyone else at the courthouse, they’d just call me directly. “Hey Sarah, is Judge Martinez in today?” became the soundtrack of my life.
Love in the Time of Mountain Roads
Things got complicated when I started dating Jake, who lived five hours away in Denver. Five hours! That’s five hours of winding mountain roads, altitude changes that made your ears pop, and truck stops that smelled like stale coffee and broken dreams.
Every other weekend, one of us would make that brutal drive. Jake would show up looking green around the gills from all the curves, and I’d spend Sunday dreading the drive back to my little mountain prison.
Don’t get me wrong – the job had its perks. I was learning tons, the pay was decent for a small town, and I had job security that most people my age could only dream of. But when you’re watching couples in Denver hold hands in coffee shops while you’re eating another sad desk salad alone… well, priorities start shifting.
The Baby Bomb
Fast forward two years. Jake and I got married, bought a cute little house in a Denver suburb, and then – surprise! – I got pregnant.
Cue the panic.
See, our families lived across the country, and they weren’t exactly in “drop everything to babysit” mode. My mom was dealing with her own health issues, and Jake’s parents were still working full-time. We were pretty much on our own.
The courthouse situation was… not ideal for a baby. We’re talking shared bathrooms, no proper kitchen, and did I mention the wind? This place had wind that could knock you over. I’m talking “Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore” level wind. How was I supposed to bring a tiny human into that environment?
The Hardest Decision
So we made a choice that still breaks my heart to think about. When Emma was eight months old, we found this amazing nanny, Maria, who lived about an hour from Jake’s work. The arrangement? Emma would stay with Maria Monday through Friday, and we’d pick her up on weekends.
I became what I started calling a “part-time mom.”
Drop-off Mondays were brutal. Picture this: I’m packing up enough baby supplies to stock a small daycare, Emma’s giving me those big blue eyes like she knows what’s happening, and I’m trying not to completely lose it in Maria’s driveway.
The Weekly Heartbreak
Every Friday afternoon, I’d make that five-hour drive in reverse – this time to pick up my daughter instead of see my boyfriend. Emma would cling to me like I might disappear again, which… fair enough, since I basically did every Monday.
The worst part? She adapted. Kids are resilient like that, but it kills you as a parent. She’d wave goodbye to Maria without crying, then spend the entire weekend attached to my hip like a tiny, adorable barnacle.
One Sunday, as I was getting ready to leave, she looked up at me and said, “Mama go work-work?” in this matter-of-fact voice that just destroyed me. She was barely two, and she already understood that Mama disappears during the week.
That night, I ugly-cried in the car for forty-five minutes.
The Breaking Point
I couldn’t do it anymore. The guilt was eating me alive, and Emma was starting school soon. Was I really going to let her grow up thinking this was normal? That moms just… vanish for five days at a time?
So I made another big decision: I quit.
Just like that. Five years of building my career, gone. But I had a plan! I’d move to Denver, study for the bar exam in Colorado, and find a job in the city. How hard could it be?
Plot Twist: Very Hard
Turns out, the legal job market in Denver was absolutely brutal. Everyone and their dog wanted to work there. I applied to everything – government positions, private firms, legal aid organizations. I probably sent out 200 applications over two years.
Meanwhile, I was playing stay-at-home mom for the first time in Emma’s life, and let me tell you – it was amazing and exhausting in equal measure. She’d interrupt my job applications with requests for snacks, and I’d find myself hiding in the bathroom to take phone interviews.
“Mommy, who are you talking to in there?” became a regular question.
Rock Bottom
After eight failed job interviews and dwindling savings, I swallowed my pride and took a part-time position as a paralegal at a small firm. The pay? $15 an hour. I went from making $65K as a court clerk to barely scraping together $1,200 a month.
But you know what? I was there when Emma woke up. I was there for dinner. I was there for bedtime stories and scraped knees and all those little moments I’d been missing.
Some days, I’d take my legal textbooks to the playground and study while Emma played. She’d run over every ten minutes to check on me, like she was afraid I might disappear again.
“Mama, you still here?”
“Still here, baby girl.”
The Breakthrough
After two years of rejections and barely making ends meet, something shifted. I stopped looking for the “perfect” job and started thinking about what I actually wanted my life to look like.
That’s when I met Linda, a family lawyer who needed someone with courthouse experience. She didn’t care that I’d been out of the game for a while or that I needed flexible hours. She just needed someone who understood how the system worked.
“You’ve been on both sides,” she told me during our interview. “That’s exactly what I need.”
Where I Am Now
Three years later, I’m a practicing family attorney. Is it what I planned? Nope. Do I love it? Most days, yeah.
More importantly, Emma and I have found our rhythm. She’s eight now, and she knows that when Mama says she’ll be at the school play, she’ll be there. No more wondering if I’ll show up.
The Real Talk
Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat this – those years were hard. Really hard. There were nights when I questioned every decision I’d made, when I wondered if I’d thrown away my career for nothing.
But here’s what I learned: Sometimes the path you think you’re supposed to take isn’t the right one for your life. Sometimes you have to burn it all down and start over. And sometimes, just sometimes, that leads you exactly where you need to be.
Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat. Because now when Emma runs up to me after school and says, “Mama, guess what happened today?” I’m actually there to hear the answer.
And that? That’s worth more than any job title.
What about you? Have you ever had to choose between career and family? How did you make it work? Drop a comment below – I’d love to hear your story!
