“Why have you done nothing between 2015 and now?”
There it was. The one question that made ten years of my life sound like I’d just sat there with a cup of tea and my feet up. The cheek!
I was interviewing for an AI translation job. I’m bilingual, I love reading, and everyone knows I love to talk. This seemed like something I could actually be good at. I’d been nervous, but getting an interview felt like I’d finally dipped my toe into the pond.
Then he asked that question. Nothing. Yes, that’s right. Zero noise coming out of my mouth. I froze. Was I embarrassed that I’d chosen to look after my children? I could practically hear my friends laughing in my head. Manon, speechless? Well, that’s a first.
I couldn’t find the words. So I hung up. Disaster. Do I tell my husband when he gets home that I’ve just bombed my first interview? Maybe not. I’d spent all that time building myself up, only to feel as though I’d run a mile in the opposite direction.
But why couldn’t I answer him?
Every day can feel like Groundhog Day
I grew up in a family that more or less had the means to give me everything. But it hadn’t been handed to my parents. They both worked for it. What came with that was less time together. They were overtired and overworked, while I wanted their attention.
I wanted something different. I wanted to see every milestone, to be there at the school gates, to hear about my children’s days just as they arrived home, while they still wanted to tell me. Let’s face it, later on my daughter will be cooped up in her teenage cave, giving me one-word answers, and my son, bless him, will have forgotten the whole day already.
Being their mum was what I’d always wanted. A life goal, if you will. It felt right. I felt as if I’d been born to be their mum. But loneliness can eat away at you when every day feels like Groundhog Day.
Up at six. Put a wash on. Make the beds. Tidy up. Clean up after the animals. No, I don’t mean the kids. The actual animals. The chickens, the rabbits, the cat. Then the school run, shopping, appointments, homework, meals. And tomorrow? Do it all again.
Yes, I moan. But it’s lonely at home on my own all day. Just me and the cat, Sushi. Even while I’m folding the washing or emptying the dishwasher, the house is silent. My hands are busy, but my brain has room to go over everything happening in our lives.
The term “stay-at-home mum”—I probably judge myself harder for it than other people judge me. I worry people think, She’s lazy. Our taxes probably pay for her to sit at home doing nothing all day. Which isn’t the case. Not in the slightest. Unless the taxman is called Dad. He could probably be the one to judge, if any judging needed doing.
The bills pile up, and I feel like I can’t seem to come up for air. Then I’m asking him for help. AGAIN. The money comes in and goes straight back out again. Do I spend too much? Maybe the children need to learn what “no” feels like. My friends who work tell me what they pay for school lunches and after-school clubs, and I wonder: would it be worth it for us?
So when September arrived and we were bleeding money we didn’t have, I started looking for work I could do from home. My biggest fear was no longer being there for my children in the way I’d always been. And why couldn’t I do both? It was 2026. Don’t tell me it was impossible.
Which brings me back to that interview. The clean clothes hadn’t magically appeared in the children’s wardrobes. Perfectly organised wardrobes, I might add. Unlike mine, which looked like a bomb had hit it. The home-cooked meals hadn’t arrived ready-made. The house hadn’t cleaned itself. There was no fairy godmother waving a wand while I sat there with my feet up.
Yet when he asked that question, my mind went straight to: What do I have to offer?
I needed something to get me out of that funk. Then I thought: what about creating a space for people like me? Someone who wanted to be there for her children, but also earn money and contribute to the family. And so Mum’s Got Sparkle was born.
I wanted that feeling of self-worth. To have done something for myself. Something I was proud of. Something my children could be proud of me for. I started writing articles, hoping someone might recognise themselves in what I was saying. But I was writing for myself too.
Before I knew it, I was writing my own story. I even found myself laughing at my own jokes. Do I have all the answers? Absolutely not. But guess what? I like writing! Who would have thought those literature classes at college would mean so much to me now?
I still have financial worries. I still question myself. But I think I’m finally learning how to defend the choice I made. And if I could speak to that interviewer again, I think I know what I’d say.
“I wasn’t doing nothing. I was busy being a goddamn superwoman.”
