Work Travel as a Mum: My Love-Hate Relationship

I travel with work. Not too often, but when I do it’s long distances and I have to leave my son with my mother. I have a love-hate journey with work travel as a mum, from the moment I close that door, till I place the key in its rightful slot some days later.

I love that I get to see the world and continue building my career. I appreciate that travelling enables me to stay aware of how lucky my son and I are with our lives. My latest work trip was to Ethiopia – when I saw a small boy sleeping on the streets I imagined my own sons face on his. It was heart wrenching. No child, no mother, should have to experience that. Motherhood has given me a new level of empathy, global travel enables me to develop it further.

I hate that sleep remains an illusion I am still unable to find. Night planes with loud male missionaries talking about abortion, judgement and the patriarchy keeping me awake. Staying in a guest house next door to a mosque; I usually love the gentle tones of the call to prayer but this dude was the loudest, most out of tune muezzin I’ve ever heard. And I heard him at 4:55am every morning. It’s always something, last time broken windows in a windy room on the roof. It’s not exactly staying in the Ritz. I’ve gotten so used to snuggling up to my son, it feels strange, not quite right, without him there beside me. He helps me unwind and relax in the evening.

When I’m away, I love that I get a mental break from many of the emotional stresses I experience back home. It enables me to recharge the battery somewhat. I love that I get some time to write – scribbling away on the train, plane and during late evenings alone.

I hate it in the moments that I miss him. Then I feel concerned in the moments that I don’t. Could I just disappear? Live my old carefree life and never turn back?

As I walk home the ten minutes from the bus stop, my legs feel heavy, exhausted from the work and the travels, yet my heart feels light – it skips along. My pace picks up as I glide home like on the home straight of a race, eager to see my son. I feel fearful too. Shortly before I left this time, my son announced, “mummy went away to work for a long, long time and mummy milk stopped working”. His words seared through me like a blade. What has this trip signalled the end to?

Shortly after I enter the house, he wakes up. ” It’s mummy”, he excitedly declares as he sees me, his bleary eyes reflecting a look of surprise and amazement. That look is worth every missed moment. Pure joy and love emblazoned on his face in one split second – it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The distance has renewed our love. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. He gives me the biggest hug I’ve ever known. There are lots of hugs that morning. Big, beautiful hugs.

Then it hits me. I don’t know my son any more. He’s speaking in longer sentences, using new vocabulary. He has different mannerisms I don’t recognise – stomping round the room like an elephant is just one of them. Ordinarily we spend so much time together, when he does something I don’t recognise it unnerves me. It makes me fear I have missed a last time and a new first time, all in one.

I go to the toilet, he tells me “no”, he doesn’t want me to leave his side again now I’m home. So I ask him if he wants to come too. He usually always escorts me anyway. He says no. It jolts me. I go anyway and sit there having the loneliest pee in the world. Then he comes running, bundling in to the toilet grabbing the toilet roll, babbling away, and normal service is resumed. Perhaps four days away don’t make that much difference after all.

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If you liked this post then you might also like this post on being a part-time working mum.