One More Thing: Flexible Work Hazards

A monthly last-minute note from the editor because she’s bad at time management and technology but good at sucking down iced coffee and thinking of new things she must tell you. Deadlines be damned.

This month, I wanted to share an experience that, for me, has epitomized the idea of being both blessed and stressed. It revolves around working from home ­– which I typically recognize as a revolutionary and incredible opportunity that many generations of women before me probably would’ve killed for - and also a situation that often sends me into rage or tears of frustration. It all depends on the day.

One such day was a school holiday. My older two kids had a sleepover the night before, and I strategically decided to let their friends hang out the next day to keep them entertained, as it was a regular workday for me. So when I discovered that a single mom in my neighborhood was in a bind and without childcare, as the school she worked for didn’t have this day off, I offered to help.  I mean, why not?  I had the flexibility to do so and also the hope that her son and my youngest would entertain each other.  Boom.  Way to own the day.

While some of you are wondering, why would you fill your house with children (some of them not even your own) when you have to work? But I know  some of you get it, too. This strategy has worked for me in the past: fill the house with other kids…and the sibling fighting decreases significantly… as do random requests to drive them places…and complaints of boredom…and endless snack orders…and me getting virtually no work done.

So, after feeding seven boys a hearty breakfast, I set up in my bedroom “office”. Things were going well.  I was killing it, “doing it all.”

Then, I heard the crying. Don’t worry, it wasn’t coming from a kid. Instead, it was from a creature even more needy ­­­­– my bulldog, Ace. Specifically, this crying was emerging from under my bed, where he had somehow wedged himself underneath (he’s a bit of a big boy), and yup, you guessed it, he couldn’t get out. I called for backup, and although my older sons tried coaxing him out with treats, their efforts were unsuccessful(which is how we knew he was really stuck). Meanwhile, an issue had come up at work, naturally, and my inbox and messenger started to aggressively ping. Ping, ping, ping.  The whining, my kids’ “enthusiastic” coaxing, and the pinging – it was a lot, especially as I am someone easily overstimulated by noise. I also started to worry that Ace might actually be hurt (and not just annoying me), and that he might be squished to death under the bed boards. I decided we needed to take action.

During my heroic escapade, I learned my mattress is 500lbs but also floppy and awkward as fuck. It’s ok – I had a house full of young, energetic boys to help. All five of the older boys were now in my bedroom/office. We attempted to work together to lift the mattress, and all the while, my computer was ping, ping, pinging away, and I could feel the minutes being added to my day, actually feel them, knowing I’d have so much to handle when this crisis was ultimately averted.

As my crew of helpers were a little excited and rowdy, the two younger boys naturally came to see what all the fuss was about. Did I mention this was the first time the younger kid had been to my home? Welcome to hell, buddy.  So, there we were. Seven boys, one working mama, and a fat bulldog stuck under a bed (who may or may not be close to death by smooshing). Add a few encouraging texts (please don’t kill me later)  from my helpless husband, and my day, my mood, and my perfect plan were fucked.

Just when I  thought there was no way in hell the bedroom / office / rescue operation site / bonus wrestling area for antsy boys could not get ANY  louder, my computer began ringing with an unplanned Teams call from my boss. For. The. Love. Of. God.

I think I somersaulted out of the room with my computer and was in a full-blown sweat (not the kind that causes endorphins) when I answered behind the locked door of the downstairs bathroom. Meanwhile, the ceiling shook above me, as this entire lovely (endless??) incident had revved everyone up. My reliable entertainers were becoming a rowdy mob. I felt angry at everyone and everything ­–– my colleagues, my kids, my husband (who hadn’t done a single thing except go to work, which – in this moment - was the greatest sin you could commit against me), and then I felt bad for feeling angry. How was it possible for one person to fail at so many things at once?  And to feel so many things at once?

A few tears in the bathroom is always the cure. Eventually, all the fires were put out. Ace was wedged out and unhurt (except for maybe his ego), and the children settled down. I had to log on after hours and stressed I’d appeared scattered that day to my colleagues, but hey, that’s working from home, right?  And you can’t beat the flexibility.

Or can you?

I recently was chatting with a coach (whom I adore) and mentioned how although I wasn’t attempting to do brain surgery or anything like that, work and tasks were SO tiring and draining lately. It seemed like things should be a bit easier. And she said, “it’s not about the tasks or work, it’s that you are constantly switching modes. That’s what is exhausting.”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

There are so many benefits to work-from-home life that I’m grateful for, but this is a true side effect of it. There is an invasive amount of energy used when you go from presenting at work mode, to bus stop mode, to create mode, to meeting mode, to checking on your teenager mode, to colleague bonding mode, to making chicken wings as a snack for a hangry boy mode, to Mama Beasts mode. All things you are grateful for and love doing ­– but the constant “mode switching” can be stressful and depleting. And then never mind the fact that there’s also literally not much physical separation from the modes. Right now, as I type this in Mama Bests mode before day job mode begins, there is laundry that needs to be folded and a dog that needs to be walked in clear sight. For someone easily overwhelmed and overstimulated by clutter and mess (I know I am not alone) – this can be more than an annoyance or distraction. Sometimes, there’s a kid physically hovering over me - or worse, asking “why are you always on your computer?”

Now, when I think of my 8-month pregnant self taking two trains to Cambridge, being chained to a desk for 8 hours, taking personal days for one hour doctor’s appointments - and of my friends who are in classrooms and operating rooms and on their feet all day - I want to smack myself for whining. There are many things I don’t have to miss in my kids’ lives because of my flexibility, and I also have some time to take care of myself, thanks to remote work. But with all these blessings, there are some serious stressings that I think women in particular are expected to absorb in stride. And we can ­– but I am not always sure if we should?

Antoinette Hemphill is a writer, founder of Mama Beasts and has a few other flexible jobs. Telling you these types of stories is at the top of the list.