Rashida’s Story

“Oh, she’s crying again…” I would mumble to myself, half overwhelmed, half anxious, even though the moment she fell asleep, I would forget I was a mum at all. My little bundle of joy, my early-morning alarm clock, my reminder of a life before responsibilities.

She’s up again.

I pick her up in my arms and breathe in that sweet scent of baby oil on her beautiful C-curl patterned hair. The serene moment softens me. Let the routine begin, I think. This might be my life for a long while. okay, maybe not forever, but at least until she can bathe herself, brush her teeth, and take herself to school. Wow. That’s still a very long way to go.

As I start to feed her, the reality hits me again: I’m a mum. I keep having to remind myself of this new identity. No one is watching… but she is looking at me with those still, trusting eyes. That look that says I am her protector, her comforter. At the end of the day, it’s my heartbeat she knows.

And just like that milk-drunk, eyes rolling up and down she’s out like a light. Back to my duties.

I walk into the kitchen and glance out the window. People everywhere laughing, rushing, driving. Living their life. There goes that lady with her two daughters, always looking so well put-together. I miss those days. Now, “put-together” for me is taking a bath and putting on my wig so I feel a little decent.

I watch her mouth as she says, “Hurry or we’ll be late,” and I realise that will be me someday.

A small sting of jealousy pricks my chest. I want to go back to work too. Look at them… off they go. Work, school, college. When will it be my turn? Is it too early to put her in nursery at two months? Some people do it… but can I?

Then the sinking feeling hits fear, worry. the fees, how am I meant to afford any of this?

Six months pass. I’m still home.

It’s time.

I need to job hunt, or I will lose my mind in this house. And I need to support her; there is no one else. Mama Bear must carry the weight after all.

I look everywhere, but where is the support for mothers? Do they not like us? Are we seen as unreliable just because we have children? At one interview the man asks, “How will you juggle work and motherhood?”

Surely, he cannot be asking me that.

Inside, anger flares. An out of body moment, I imagine shouting, “Do you have a womb? Do you even have kids?” but I swallow it and simply reply, with a stiff frown, “I’ll be able to manage.”

I sign up for a programme that says they will help me find a job. Another promise. Another dream that may or may not deliver. But I give it a chance.

They want me to do a course but wait, who will look after baby girl while I take these courses? Childcare is so expensive. People are busy. No one is available when you need them, ahhh did I ruin my life I think to self.

Then my coach calls; “I put you forward for a job. It’s not permanent, but it’s a start.”

A spark of hope. I have always wanted to work for the council. Look great, do even greater work.

It’s the day of the interview. I walk into this beautiful building thinking: I’m never leaving, I am never going to leave! Manifesting my future with the council. I walk out thinking: maybe this is the end of staring out the window watching everyone else live. I am excited, almost like I’m going on holiday to chill buy the pool with a long island iced tea with no responsibilities. Ha. If only.

Days pass. No answer. Do they not want me? I’m a mum, after all. They probably hired someone with fewer or no responsibilities.

Back to the drawing board I tell myself, just as I pick up my bundle of joy baby girl throws up in my face. The sense of dread hits me like a bus. And of course, the phone rings while I’m covered in milk mixed with baby Heinz shepherd’s pie, I bought from Tesco.

I pick up.

“Is this….?”

“Yes, this is she.” It can only be from the council I think to myself anxiously.

A pause.

Here it comes, the rejection.

“Sorry for the long wait the lady says …”

My heart tightens.

“…We would like to congratulate you. You got the job.”

Relief. Joy freedom

Everything hits me at once.

Day one at the job, and I am excited. But days turn into months and I’m not excited anymore. I miss baby girl. I feel guilty did I put her in nursery too early? Will they look after her like I do? Her days are so long for a nine-month-old. It feels like she is working a full-time job too.

So back to the drawing board again this time looking at internal jobs at the council. One role catches my eye. Senior employment coach is the role, oh and it is also a temporary   maternity role. Looks like another woman has gone off to ruin her life like me; the only thing is that she has a job to come back to (“hater,” is what I say to myself). I want to help people get jobs I mean this was the same position I was in 4 months ago. This would really mean a lot to me, I know I can do it… but the fear rises.

What if I hate it?

What if I fail? I have only ever worked with young people at the youth centre more than a decade ago.

No.

I need to try. I will never know otherwise.

I apply. I get an interview.

It’s tough questions like I’ve never heard before “what would you do if you have a person who is sofa surfing and has come from a dysfunctional family home?” “How do you deal with a client who has been exploited by gangs?” I start talking about my lived experience, and my voice shakes. I get emotional. But they are locked in, listening. They see me. They understand the courage, the vulnerability, the resilience. With that being said I got the Job here I am now.

I realise: I didn’t just become a mum. I became stronger. Braver. More determined. I overcame.

And I am still overcoming every single day.

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