The Trade I Didn’t See Coming

I started an MBA two months after giving birth to our second daughter. It was a terrible idea. But it held and it was what I needed.

When I found out I was pregnant with our second daughter, I applied to business school.

Not because I had time. Not because I had a perfect plan. I just remembered what it felt like the first time. Like I was being split in two. Half of me felt a love I could hardly understand. The other half felt I was disappearing. Granted, this was in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, when everything was strange and hard to name.

This time, I wanted an anchor. An anchor in the shape of a degree. In systems theory, a system does not have to be formal to be real. It only needs structure, rules, and a shared belief that it matters. My plan was to build my own system before postpartum life swept me away. I would trade the fourth trimester for the first semester.

Like any MBA program, there was an entrance exam. I was seven months into what they call a “geriatric pregnancy” when I signed up for the Executive Assessment, or as I liked to think of it, the geriatric GMAT. It is the MBA entrance test for people with more work experience. I had to write it at a testing centre where there were a few steps before you could sit down. Empty your bag. Empty your pockets. Bend down and touch your toes. I just stared at the proctor, belly first. He looked at me for a beat and said, “Yeah… you can skip that.”

I got in and chose the part-time program, which meant three full days of classes each month for two years. On my first weekend, I sat in the lecture room trying to look like I belonged when I heard a low pulsing hum from my backpack. My breast pump had somehow switched on which made me chuckle to myself. For the Bravo fans, it reminded me of The Real Housewives of New York, when Luann’s suitcase made a similar sound. Well, similar noise, different device.

That pump came to every class weekend. In economics, we drew supply and demand curves. Breast milk works the same way with supply depending on demand, and mine was sadly trending down. I kept breastfeeding for the first semester and then let it go. I could have pushed through, but I do not regret the decision. At least, I think I do not.

A year in. Halfway. The shine wasn’t just gone, it had packed its bags and skipped town. My girls were now one and two years old and quite frankly, I had no idea why I had done this to myself. The readings. The assignments. The endless discussion posts. What the f—k was I thinking? Why didn’t I just go to therapy like a normal person? Was an MBA really the solution or just a very expensive cry for help in business casual? Another year of this felt impossible. The end lived in another century. My carefully built system was starting to crack. And somewhere in there I started to realize that every choice was a trade-off and I wasn’t sure this one was worth it. I was gripping the wheel but I was not in control.

I was run down and wanted to quit. We all get these moments where the road splits and you have to choose. Though looking back, there was no wrong turn. If I had stopped, it would have meant more time with my family. If I kept going, it would mean proving I could claw my way through the mess.

I kept going. Not for the degree, not even for myself, but because I wanted my daughters to see what it looks like to keep moving forward when every part of you wants to pull over. I could only do that because my husband, Ben, never flinched in believing I could. He held that belief for me when I could not hold it myself.

I am a perfectionist. I used to call it a gift and a curse. Now we only call it a curse. Sure, it has opened doors I never thought I would walk through. It has also made me suffer over things no sane person should care about. Tweaking tiny details until they feel “just right,” moving my own goalposts so far I would need a telescope to see them.

No one tells you that when you are back in a classroom for the first time in over a decade with two tiny humans who need you, you will trade all of that in for “good enough.” Letting go of perfect was not something I set out to do. It just happened somewhere in between and it was the greatest gift I never knew I needed.

Economist Thomas Sowell said there are no solutions, only trade-offs. I traded a lot to finish graduate school. Some went in the win column, some in the loss. Life is full of trade-offs. It’s just part of the deal.

But I made it home.

Some frameworks are official, others you make up as you go. I built mine to hold me through a season I knew would be messy, and it did.

It was not perfect, but it held.

It held my belief that I could keep moving, even when I doubted myself.

It held lessons that were not in the syllabus.

It held the example I wanted my daughters to see.

And in the end, it held. And so did I.