This week, I lost one of my steady writing jobs.
And since the moment I read that email and came across the importance of freelancers also having a back-up plan, I’ve been in slight panic mode.
I realize that the third trimester of pregnancy probably isn’t the best time to start job hunting, but it feels like one of my biggest fears coming true. I’ve worked so long and so hard to carve out a living as a freelance writer and literally every day I thank my lucky stars that I’m able to do this.
But the downside of all that gratitude and awe that this job is real for me?
Is because I am fully aware of how easily it can be taken away.
I am under no illusions that this a steady and permanent job. Like the seasons of motherhood, I know that freelancing is ebb and flow, constant and shifting, a growing season into and of itself.
And yet, I am so anxious to do more and make more and write more and earn more.
But maybe–just maybe–I need to stop and learn a different sort of lesson.
A lesson in letting go.
It’s not easy for me.
I’m a mover and a shaker, a do’er and a dreamer and I want to constantly evolve and move on to the next task, the next list, the next big project. I’ve had to physically stop myself from flipping through the paper for another job opportunity or Googling writing jobs (even though that never comes to anything fruitful anyways).
It’s like this veil of anxiety has settled down on my soul, prompting me to ask,
Am I enough?
Am I doing enough?
Do we have enough money?
Will I fail?
And I think a little part of me is just downright scared. Scared of what life will be like with four little people–will I be sucked into non-stop bickering fights between sisters and breastfeeding sessions and trying to potty-train a two-year-old boy–all of which are important things in my role as a momma, but not entirely enough to fill my days with gladness?
Is that horrible to admit?
I like working as a writer. I love scrounging up new ideas and telling important stories and those cherished snatches of time when I can sit and just work and not answer to anyone but myself.
But it’s also about more than any cherished “me” time. It’s a job. It’s an income. It provides very real, steady money for our family and it’s scary to learn how to trust that I can go on and find more work when some days (today), just getting the laundry done feels like too much.
I don’t know what the future will hold, but I hope I can learn to be here, right now, and focus on the things that matter: budgeting a bit more in the coming months, preparing for this baby, and adjusting to a new routine as a mother of four.
Because maybe I can’t see it at the moment–
But letting go might just be a blessing in disguise.