I started planning it out in the shower this morning. There was a three-hour training to be a writing coach for Berkeley High at noon, and I could imagine the setting.

I got ready. Not too much makeup, check. Birkenstocks, check. Organic apples, PB&J sandwich and a handful of walnuts for lunch, check. Bottle of homemade kombucha, no–doin’ too much; bottle of tap water, check. But those aren’t the things I was really thinking about.

These events usually start with some sort of indroduction, going around the room giving our names and occupations. That’s what was bothering me. What will I tell them I do? Do I say I’m a stay-at-home mom? That opens up the inevitable questions about how many and how old, which leads to the fact that my youngest is 16 and the only one still at home.

I’m a stay-at-home mom. That title has been cause for pride at times, embarrassment, or sometimes judgement–of me or by me.  It’s my career, but it’s not really a job. There are no specific hours, there is no pay.  It’s what I do, but I wouldn’t be considered a professional.

I hadn’t figured out any great new way to make Career Mom sound like a high-powered occupation by the time I arrived at the training–remember the days when people claimed to be “Domestic Engineers?”–so I pushed the nagging sense of unease out of my mind. I was relieved when the facilitator said there were too many people at the training and we didn’t have time to go around and introduce ourselves. Awkward moment averted.

The odd thing is, for the most part, people are supportive when I tell them what I do, or they don’t seem to notice because they’re busy telling me about what they do. The problem is with me. It’s not that I’m unhappy with my choice. This career has been  varied and challenging and rewarding, stretching me to grow and learn all the time; it’s a great job.

I’m content until the spot light shines on me and I feel like I’m being asked to justify myself, to prove that I’m really doing something more than hanging out and eating bon-bons; I feel like I need to prove that I’m more than just a mom.

The training started out slowly, but soon I was completely engaged, excited about the ways I could make a difference in the lives of high school students by listening to their stories and helping them find their voice and express their perspective on the world. I have time to do two shifts, I thought, mentally reviewing my schedule.

It was so engaging because this work is getting to the core what is really important to me.  Too often, I forget that what I do is not the same as who I am, and it is not a good measure of my worth.  I was reminded that I don’t need a title to protect me from others’ opinions of me. If I’m just putting on a mask of a person I think people will be impressed with, there is not real connection. I want to be open and honest, building real relationships.

Not much make-up, birkenstocks, kombucha?  That’s me. High powered career? That’s not me, but I’m starting to find my voice. Finding our voices and telling our stories connects us to each other in an authentic way. I really don’t want any other kind of connection.