When I was little I had visions of stardom. I can remember being six or seven and standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pretending to be in a shampoo commercial. I had the door half open, and part way through my commercial I became aware that my dad was watching me. A part of me thought maybe I should be embarrassed, but mostly I just reveled in having an audience.
As I grew up, those dreams and visions shifted. I would dream of getting on an airplane and sitting next to someone reading a book with my name in the byline. I would dream of standing on stage and speaking words that touched people’s hearts and reminded them of who they are and what they dream of.
If I am honest, I still dream those dreams.
They are good dreams, but the reality is that there is nothing flashy or public about my life as an adult. My work takes place within the walls of a small office, sitting with one other person. Therapy is a quiet, deeply private process. The rest of my time is spent on the daily work of parenting and managing a household. It’s brushing hair and clipping fingernails, filling milk cups, practicing spelling words, and slicing apples.
My family is loud and expressive and fully of energy; nothing about my daily life at home is actually quiet. But the living it out is most certainly quiet work. It’s not flashy or glamorous in any way. There are no fancy trips, no red carpets, no book launch parties.
And sometimes I fall into the trap and believe that because it’s not big and flashy, it doesn’t mean that much. Because my job doesn’t make a ton of money, win awards, or catch Oprah’s attention, I worry that maybe it’s not that important. I’m not solving global issues or effecting major change. At home I end up cleaning up the same messes over and over, putting kids in time out for the same offense. I spend a truly disturbing amount of time doing laundry.
I’ve talked to so many mothers of young children who wonder what they even do in a day, who question if their work matters and wonder what they are doing with their lives.
And I want to say this: I believe that the quiet work matters.
I believe that the quiet work of therapy, matters. It may not be global change, but if I can help one person find their voice, heal a wound, or recover hope, I believe that does change the world.
I believe that all our quiet work matters. The quiet work of teaching kids to read and write and learn, it matters. The work of driving a bus, fixing electrical problems, and working on computers, it all matters. We need the quiet workers, the workers who do their job and keep things running.
And we need the quiet work that happens at home, the reading of stories, changing of diapers, and washing of dishes. The quiet work of nurturing small hearts and bodies is some of the most fundamentally important work in the world. To the parents of young children, the work you do matters.
When your work is public and flashy, you get your applause. The recognition and accolades are right there to receive and enjoy. And that is a beautiful thing.
And, there is something deeply sacred about the work that goes without applause. About the quiet work that happens at home and in small spaces. Do not despise or diminish the small days, the commonplace, quotidian work.
This week I am shifting my attention to the commonplace and ordinary, and honoring the daily work. The person fixing a power outage, the receptionist that answers the phone at the doctor’s office, and the teller at the bank. I’m looking parents of young children and practicing an awareness of all that they give their children and the ways they invest in our communities on a daily, minute-by-minute basis. I’m honoring my own quiet work and the sacredness I believe exists in the daily. And I am grateful.