National Social Work Month: The Juggle Is Real

The Social-Working-Mom

As we celebrate National Social Work Month, I find myself reflecting not only on this profession I love, but on the identity I carry proudly every single day: social-working-mom.

If you’ve spent more than five minutes with me, you’ve probably heard my go-to line: “The juggle is real!” And it is. Beautiful. Messy. Humbling. Real.

I came to the human services field out of necessity. As a lifelong disability advocate, my entry into this work was shaped by watching people I love navigate inequities in access to mental health care. Systems that didn’t talk to each other. Services that didn’t align. Families left to coordinate what should have already been coordinated.

My commitment became my passion.
And my passion became my career.

As a social worker, my first baby was the program I developed to bridge continuity between our siloed IDD and mental health systems. I nurtured that program the way you nurture something you deeply believe in. I stayed up at night thinking about it. I worried about its growth. I learned from missteps. I built relationships. I cultivated a team. I celebrated milestones that felt like first steps.

Sleepless nights. Anxiety of the unknown. The joy of watching something take shape and sustain itself.

Program development and clinical social work prepared me for motherhood long before I knew I was preparing.

Then came my actual babies.

Being a mom to two little girls has been the joy of my life. Before them, being a social worker was my identity. It was a point of pride — and if I’m honest, sometimes at the expense of my personal life. After-work dinner dates with family and friends turned into late-night documentation. Friendships waited patiently. My world revolved around impact and systems change.

When I became a mom, I had to ask myself hard questions.

Would I lose my identity if my career wasn’t my sole focus?
Would my friends understand that taco Tuesdays were now replaced with baby snuggles — or honestly, a nap?
Was it even possible to be a social-working-mom?

For a while, I wasn’t juggling well. I was physically present at home but mentally elsewhere — answering work calls, responding to emails, texting friends “when I got a second.” Saying hello to my husband in between “quick” crisis calls. My body was there. I was not.

That realization was uncomfortable. It was necessary. It led to change.

For each hat I wear — social worker, mom, wife, daughter, loved one, friend — I’ve come to see that none competes with the other. Each role makes me better in the next. The empathy I bring to my clients deepens because I am a mom. The boundaries I model for my daughters strengthen because I am a social worker. The relationships I prioritize ground me in both spaces.

As a clinical social worker, I’ve had countless conversations about “self-care.” During National Social Work Month, I think it’s worth asking ourselves what that actually means, not as a buzzword, but as a lived practice.

For me, self-care means proudly embracing being a social-working-mom.

Social. Making room for friendships and connection, even when those connections look different. Even when it means scheduling coffee three weeks out. Even when it means being the mom taxi and taking calls on speaker while waiting in the car outside dance class. Connection still matters, maybe now more than ever.

Working. Creating psychological safety in the workplace. Prioritizing culture. Allowing joy and laughter to live alongside hard work. My commitment to the disability community has not diminished, it has expanded. My “why” now includes modeling for my daughters what it looks like to advocate, to lead, to create change. My aspirations for systems impact remain strong, but they are anchored in legacy. I want my girls to see what is possible and what dignity and respect for others means in action.

Mom. Being present, not just home, but present. That distinction took me longer than I’d like to admit. It required a job change. It required boundaries. It required redefining success. For years, I was a mom who was always working, not a social-working-mom. Choosing differently has been one of the most important resets of my life.

To my fellow social workers this month: the juggle is real. It may not be easy. It may come with trial and error, exhaustion, frustration, and guilt. But finding your version of balance is a journey worth taking.

And, let’s be honest — social workers are superheroes. Moms are superheroes.

So social-working-moms? We definitely have the mama magic.

Here’s to honoring all the hats we wear. Here’s to redefining self-care in ways that actually sustain us. And here’s to embracing the beautiful, imperfect, meaningful juggle of having it all!