My Mother Thinks I Do Admin

Sunday lunch at Mum's in the Shire. Roast lamb, too many potatoes, my brother's kids running around the backyard with the hose. I brought a pavlova. Mum said it was lovely and then quietly pointed out it had cracked, which is the most Mum thing that has ever happened.

Then, over coffee, my aunt asked: "So what exactly is it that you do now, love? Something with bookings?"

The cover story

For five years, the family version of my job has been "self-employed, admin and bookings for a small business." It's not even a lie, exactly. I do spend a lot of time on admin and bookings. I just leave out the part where the business is me.

I smiled and said, "Same as always. Scheduling, accounts, customer service. It's boring, I promise." My aunt nodded and moved on to her knee surgery. Mum looked at me for a second longer than necessary. She always does.

Why I keep it private

It's not shame. I'm not ashamed of what I do. I run a legal, careful, honest business, and I'm good at it. I pay tax, I keep records, I look after my health and my clients' privacy with the same seriousness.

It's more that I know my family. They'd worry. They'd imagine all the worst versions they've seen on television. They'd never be able to see the actual reality: the quiet, professional, often gentle work of looking after lonely and interesting people. My privacy protects them from their own fears as much as it protects me.

The conversation I did have

Later, while we washed up, Mum said, without looking at me, "You seem happy these days. Happier than at the bank." I said I was. She said, "Good. That's all I care about. Whatever it is."

I don't know what she knows or guesses. I suspect more than she lets on. I suspect she's decided, like me, that some things don't need to be said out loud to be accepted.

Driving home

I cried a little at the lights on the Princes Highway. Not sad tears, exactly. Something more complicated: love, and the weight of keeping a part of yourself in a separate room.

Tonight I'm sitting on my balcony writing this, and I've decided something. I'm not going to tell her. But I'm going to stop feeling guilty for not telling her. Privacy isn't dishonesty. It's a boundary, and I'm allowed to have those with the people I love most.