Patience Is Also a Form of Action

Rethinking my career pause

I stood in my primary bathroom staring at my phone, reading an interview with

Caroline Chambers

whilst my shower water ran cold. The title was, “Caroline Chambers makes $15k+ Per Recipe.” I was planning to take a pregnancy power nap after my shower—but instead, found myself so enthralled by the interview that I began emailing my husband and writing to you all.

I can do deals like that again, I thought excitedly. And then my thoughts realistically snowballed into everything I’d have to sacrifice to get back to the old me.

In early 2023, I made a split decision with my husband that would immediately change the season of my life. Without going into details, Matt and I decided to pull our son from school in the middle of the year, without any childcare or a backup plan.

One week prior, I had launched a business I had been building for over a year: a Food Allergy Video Series, teaching parents how to help their children overcome life-threatening food allergies (like our family did). I had spent tons of hours and invested a lot of our family’s resources into building this program and venture. I was excited to join the ranks of “career outside of the home” entrepreneurial mothers.

Instead of ignoring life’s red flags and soldiering on with my startup, I chose to press pause on my career outside of the home to take care of our family. Sometimes the right choice is the hardest choice. I remember that time in our lives as one insanely messy, painful, incomprehensible tornado.

I don’t know how we got through it, but we did. Like we all do.

It’s been over a year since I made that hard decision with my husband. While I found tremendous excitement in reading the interview about how Caroline Chambers does it all and runs a business with a baby on her hip (and, I can see how my career as a creator was very similar to hers), I was recently stopped in my path with a quote from Auguste Rodin. He said, “Patience is also a form of action.”

Every day, at school drop off, I give our son the option to get dropped off at school, or to park and walk up the stairs together. He always picks the stairs. Last week, as we were breathlessly getting to the top of the 101 steps, he said, “Mom, want to know why I always pick the stairs? Because I want to see you more, not less. And walking up the stairs means I get to see you more.”

I remember thinking that this moment was my Heaven on Earth. This simple, beautiful moment. Shared only between the two of us. I didn’t stop to roll the camera on my phone and ask him to say it again for social media. It was a sacred moment, one that was in alignment with who I am and the path I am walking on in this season.

Heaven on Earth, I thought, was not getting back to my old self—my lots-of-likes and validating career outside of the home, or even getting back to my old body, for that matter. Heaven on Earth, and my “goals,” exist for me right here, right in front of my eyes, unfolding in this very moment. In one year, my success benchmark transitioned from negotiating large deals to hiking up 101 stairs every morning with our son—not so easy in the third trimester.

It was just the other morning, the same morning my son and I hiked up the 101 stairs, that on the way out the front door with my arms full—a backpack hanging over my arm, a handbag, two water bottles, coffee, and an Amazon return package—that the quote from Auguste Rodin popped up on my phone. I remember reading, “Patience is also a form of action,” right before walking down my front steps. The cold morning air rushed into our home and the first rays of winter sunrise pierced my eyes. I was getting ready to load up my son and armful of stuff into the car, when I paused, looked at my petite front garden lining the city street I love so much, and thanked the universe for the reminder, that patience is also a form of action. I’m so glad I gave this career “at home” a chance, instead of jumping into another so quickly.

You see, I’m quite happy right now.

I’m quite happy where I am, hovered over my wood cutting board, chopping fresh herbs for a Jacques Pépin omelette, about to sit for an unrushed weekday lunch at home with my husband.

What I am saying is, that maybe my path, where I stand today, isn’t this so called “in-between career pause” we talk about when becoming a full time caregiver—either by necessity or by choice. Maybe it’s just the place I’m meant to be. Just the job for me.

You see, I’m actually quite happy right now.

Note: I’m trying something new. Expect to receive a shorter email with recipes I’ve cooked for my family next week.