I Never Wanted To Be A Stay-At-Home Mom—Now I’m Afraid I Have To Be

But I’m going to be honest about something I’ve never said out loud.

I’ve never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.

Maybe I girl-bossed too close to the sun, or maybe I just really, truly love working—but I’ve never fantasized about leaving the workforce. My career has always been more than just a paycheck. It’s my pride. My passion. It’s how I know I’m making an impact.

I’ve worked in politics for as long as I can remember. I’ve written for senators, governors, even the President and Vice President. If a major Republican figure has sent a spicy fundraising email or an op-ed with just the right sting, there’s a decent chance I had something to do with it. I’ve built a website with a loyal following. I’ve been on Newsmax, Sky News, and Fox News. And I love to talk about it. Not because I’m arrogant, but because it all made me feel so worthy.

It’s made me feel like I mattered.

I spent years advancing the conservative agenda. I led College Republicans. I worked for conservative nonprofits. I was all-in on Trump since his nomination—and I’ve never looked back. I even got close to the “inner circle.” I thought I was going to make it.

Then, in late 2022, a longtime client dropped me to take on the DeSantis campaign. A campaign I’d openly said I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. I cried. I drank. I cried some more. It felt like everything I had worked toward was slipping through my fingers, career-wise.

And when no new job came? It only got worse.

For nine months, I hustled every connection I had. Nothing. The only thing I had left was my website—and I’ve never considered that a real career. It felt like I was failing so hard.

A lifeline finally came in September 2023, just three months before my first baby came. I landed a dream gig: a MAGA firm. A Trump-loving company that aligned with my heart and soul. I was elated. I worked right through my pregnancy, skipped maternity leave (I was a contractor), and sent reports from the couch just days after giving birth. Not out of obligation—out of joy. I was proud. I was finally back on track.

My baby and my career got me out of bed in the morning. I was building something for both of us. Every day, I reminded myself that my daughter would be so proud of the work I was doing. 

But then it all came crashing down. Again.

The dream firm hired a new CEO—an ex-DeSantis pollster. Suddenly, there was no room for a proudly pro-Trump firebrand like me. Did DeSantis get me fired again? Or was it Trump, indirectly? Who do I really blame? Who knows. The one thing I know for sure is: I'm out of a job. Again.

Cue the spiral.

Am I bad at my job? Am I not good enough? Am I… replaceable? The answer to that last question is the only one I can openly admit is a “yes.”

Somewhere between the “girlboss” and the “tradwife” I am just a woman who wants to feel like she matters.

Then, the thought crossed my mind that I wasn’t prepared for: Maybe it’s time to just stay home.

I wish I could tell you that thought brought me peace. But instead, it sent me into a full-blown emotional crisis.

How can I be the woman who says, “Stay-at-home moms are heroes,” and yet, totally recoil at the idea of being one myself?

The truth is painful: apparently, I never really meant it.

It’s become clear to me that I want the world to see me. To validate me. I want people to know I’m smart because they pay me to be smart. I want to be important because I have a job that proves it. 

And here’s the worst part: my career has screamed at me, more than once, you are replaceable. And still, I keep crawling back for more? How many times am I willing to ignore the flashing lights that remind me that corporations do not care about my feelings? 

I know what the “right” thing to think is. I know my value should come from God, from my family, from my love for my child. I know it. 

But I’m still struggling to feel it.

Maybe it’s the millennial in me. Maybe it’s the way our generation grew up idealizing women who “have it all.” Maybe it’s internalized trad-culture prejudice I thought I was above. Or maybe it’s just me, being brutally honest with myself.

Whatever it is, I’m sitting in the tension.

I’m grieving the loss of a career I thought would never let me down.

I’m grieving the loss of identity I thought was untouchable.

And I’m learning—slowly and painfully—that it’s okay to feel all of it.

Because somewhere between the “girlboss” and the “tradwife” I am just a woman who wants to feel like she matters. And I have a feeling I’m not the only one.