“Mommy, you going to your track meet?”
I look down at my three-year-old, Maeve, her cornflower blue eyes taking me in quizzically. It’s a Wednesday morning and I just changed out of my PJs and into my standard suburban mom uniform: Running tights, a hoodie, and my tried-and-true Hokas. “No,” I tell her, “Mommy’s not going anywhere yet,” and we go about the morning. It’s not the first time she’s asked me this question in recent days, and it definitely won’t be the last.
The best feeling? Coming home from a late night meet in time to give this girl a squeeze before bedtime.
After all, in Maeve’s little mind, Mommy is at a track meet or track practice a lot. And she’s not wrong: As a high school cross country, indoor, and outdoor track coach, I spend a few hours each weekday and entire Saturdays hanging around athletic fields or in arenas throughout the greater Washington, D.C. area and beyond. Since August, I’ve had meets on all but a handful of weekends, totaling hundreds of hours away from home. And away from my family.
With four kids between 3 and 14, three of whom are quite active in various sports other than track or cross country, being a coach means I miss many basketball and baseball games, soccer matches, and swim meets while I’m with my team at our own competitions. I hear about their wins and their losses, their best times, and their key plays through texts or quick calls I take during whatever downtime I have.
When photos or videos of a clutch hit or a solid save pop up on my phone, I swell with pride and blink back tears while wishing I could reach into the screen and wrap their sweaty bodies and narrow uniform-clad shoulders into an enveloping (and, for them, embarrassing) bear hug.
The mom guilt is real. And it was once so heavy that I had trouble shaking the weight of it. I’d fret about missing out on my family’s major moments. Or feel for my husband Mark, who bears the brunt of the hustle-and-bustle of getting everyone out the door to their different destinations. As much as I enjoy the process and experience of coaching, I questioned whether it was even worth the effort. It didn’t help that at meet after meet, I’d take stock of the coaches around me, the majority of whom are male, and think, “Where are all the women?” Oh, that’s right. Probably spending time with their kids.
Seeing my athletes compete on the sport’s biggest stage, like Penn Relays, is so thrilling and helps me justify the hours away from my family.
I let doubt creep in as I found it impossible to be a present mom and a present coach. And I said as much in a Facebook post after a particularly long indoor track meet on a freezing February night. I got home emotionally drained and physically exhausted—and too late to see any of my kids before bedtime. I cried as I kissed each of them on the cheek long after they’d fallen asleep. A few days later, my uncle, a sensitive soul with an empathetic ear (but typically not one to respond to social media posts) sent me an email.
“I have been thinking about your comment you made about having mom guilt, by which I gather you mean you have guilt about your coaching taking you away from your terrific children,” he wrote. “Everything you do is an inspiration to them. There is nothing better for children who have a strong, independent woman in their lives. Keep it up.”
My uncle’s perspective gave me pause. As a coach, I never saw myself as a role model for my own children. I was stuck on a loop about the time and attention I was taking away from them, instead of what I was giving them. But he was right. By doing something somewhat unconventional for a mom of four young children and as a woman in a male-dominated field, I was demonstrating strength and resilience. And, hopefully, inspiring my kids to pursue their own passions, and to persevere when that pursuit presents challenges.
The mindset shift allowed me to accept that both of these things can be true: I can mom hard and I can coach hard. And I began to look for pathways to circumvent the guilt.
Yes, it’s hard to miss those Saturday activities. Yes, I may be distracted at times when I’m fretting over line-ups or writing team emails or poring over results or stressing about an injured athlete.
But I’m there as much as I can be. Soccer and baseball games and swim meets happen on weeknights and Sundays, too, so I don’t miss everything. And unlike, say, a demanding full-time career, my coaching job is not all-consuming, at least not all the time. I’m with Maeve most days until mid-afternoon (the benefit of working-from-home) and I’m available for my older kids nearly every evening when we don’t have a meet. I jump at the chance to drive to practices or activities so we can spend one-on-one time together. And while it doesn’t often work out that my kids can come to meets because of their own busy schedules, it sometimes happens. Over the winter, I brought my 12-year-old, Nora along to the indoor track nationals in Boston, a rare chance to blend my mom life and my coach life. She loved it, and I loved having her there.
Can’t hide my pride!
And when I’m in coaching mode? I try to shift my focus away from what I’m missing out at home and instead pour my energy and attention into whatever’s transpiring in front of me. Fortunately, I have a team of super talented and dedicated athletes who make coaching easy and so fulfilling and rewarding. The pride I feel for them when they conquer a goal or win a race or execute a plan just right is on par with the heart-swelling sensation I’m flooded with when I see my own children soar.
It’s not a perfect balance, and perhaps it never will be. As busy women, as moms, as caregivers of any sort, we are always stretched thin and dropping a ball here and there. I know I’ll never feel like I’ve cracked the code of being my absolute best in these dual roles, save for splitting myself in two. But I’m inching closer every season.
So, when Maeve asks if I’m heading out to the track on any given hour of the day, I try not to guiltily assume she thinks I’m leaving her…again. Rather, I’d like to believe that she’s just taking note of Mommy heading off to chase her dreams, and well, kick some ass. Just like she will one day.
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