This First Person column is the experience of Jill Barber, who lives in Vancouver. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
On a late August afternoon during a family vacation, my husband received a text from the manager of our son’s hockey team, surprised that she didn’t see Josh’s name on the roster.
That was impossible. “I am certain that I signed him up during early bird registration last spring,” I said.
In our household, my husband does the volunteer coaching and I handle all of the kids’ registrations. But when I checked online, it was shockingly clear that I had somehow failed to register him, and now there were no more spots available in the league.
I had really dropped the ball — or, as was the case, the puck.
For Josh, hockey provides a great sense of joy and pride. He loves being part of a team, giving his best performance on the ice and the thrill of scoring a hard-earned goal. In short, it serves his soul.
I thought back to last April when I should have registered him but hadn’t.
I’m a professional musician, and performing and songwriting are a crucial part of my identity. In the same way that Josh doesn’t just play hockey — he is a hockey player — being a musician is how I find meaning in the world. But it’s a career that, much like raising kids, is a demanding proposition that often requires a lot of personal sacrifice.
Sometimes it means missing the first day of school (in Vancouver) because you’re in the studio recording Christmas songs (in Toronto). Sometimes it means rushing through bedtime stories because you have a song idea that you absolutely must get down.
Regardless, you almost always end up missing something.
Last April, I was focused on the upcoming release of my latest album in between trips to the East Coast for performances while juggling family life. And amid all that, I failed to complete the registration.
This oversight instantly sent me down a familiar shame spiral, one that flares up any time my artistic pursuits collide with my role as a mother and “homemaker.” This small registration hiccup felt like an enormous West Coast mountain of a mistake that landed me in my own psychological penalty box.
My husband spent the next few weeks pleading with the league and apologizing for our registration blunder, but things were not looking good for Josh’s chances of getting in, as it was already overcrowded.
A new advisory from the U.S. surgeon general warns parenting can drastically impact mental and physical health, citing extreme stress from financial strain, time demands and societal pressures.
Then one Friday morning in early September, just as I was leaving the house to meet my community of mom friends for our weekly Friday morning coffee club, I received the news that it likely wasn’t going to happen for this season.
As I rode my bike to the coffee shop, tears began streaming down my face. This screw-up confirmed my deep-seated anxiety that I am too focused on my career and not enough on my family.
For a moment, I wondered if I should turn around and go home, but in my ongoing pursuit to live with more vulnerability, authenticity and connection, I carried on. As soon as I saw my friends, my face crumpled.
My sweet community listened and offered words of support and understanding. They know all too well what mom guilt feels like.
They assured me that, of course, my family is my No. 1. I tried to believe them, but internally the struggle feels more like a tie game, where I am the ultimate referee.
Juggling two full-time roles can mean you never really feel like you’re succeeding at either. But as a friend recently reminded me, in the grand scheme, my kids are lucky to have a mom who is an artist who can teach by example what it means to have your own soul and be devoted to it.
Buoyed by the support of friends, fellow artists and my husband, I slowly started crawling out of my shame spiral. Then, out of the blue, we received the news that due to high registration this season, the league was adding another hockey team.
This winter, Josh will be back out on the ice and doing what he loves best. And me, I’m going to keep chasing every opportunity to fulfil my lifelong passion of being a musician who stickhandles some fancy mothering moves. After all, you miss every shot you don’t take.
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