The date was July 21, 2016. Just a month before that, I had been promoted to Head of Asia Marketing from Regional Manager of Southeast Asia at the world’s self-prolaimed most selective university. My schedule was beyond busy: traveling to five to ten cities across Asia every week, managing a team of 10+ interns across four timezones, giving occasional speeches and talks at various conferences and events, as well as strategizing and operating the entire arm of Social Media and Marketing for Asia team in Minerva’s largest market. Separate from Minerva, I had started a feminist community right here on Medium: we had built a publication with amazing contributors and were going to organize events and conferences in both US and Vietnam.

On top of all that, I had been in a long distance, serious relationship for over a year. My time was divided between San Francisco and Asia. In fact, on July 21, 2016, I had just traveled back to Hanoi from a business trip in San Francisco, where my then boyfriend David worked. He came with me to give a TEDx talk in Vietnam, on the same stage that a year earlier I myself also spoke as a Tedx presenter.

To say that I felt quite on top of things would be an understatement. After a few years of struggling to balance life and career, I felt like I finally figured it out. We were young and in love. We had amazing jobs that excited both of us. We were financially secured and could afford intercontinental trips to be with each other. We were even talking about the prospect of having the first ever female president of the United States!

Everything changed when I found out that I was pregnant, at 4.52 p.m. on July 21, 2016, to mine and my then boyfriend’s disbelief.

I always knew that I wanted to be a mother. But the timing of such was a total surprise for us. We were unprepared, to say the least. What about our jobs? What about money? What about all the ongoing projects and unfinished business we had? We were even considering an abortion.

But then, I heard a tiny voice inside my head. You know, the voice that told me to say “India” 10 years ago when the National Selection Committee asked me which country I would go to should I receive the scholarship. The same voice that told me to go to that movie with David right after we had met randomly at a street concert in San Francisco. This time, the voice said: “Work can wait and life will go on, but this being might be your one chance of receiving the greatest blessing you will ever imagine possible.”

I then told David: “I don’t want an abortion. I want to keep this baby.”

He agreed. It turned into a night of celebration.

It’s been almost 10 months of emotional roller coaster, internal and external turmoil, as well as difficult after difficult decisions. Both of our lives shifted in major directions.

She was born a bit early, needing oxygen. But today, she is beyond healthy (growing 1–2 ounces per day!), being an absolute joy to me, my now husband and everyone around. She recently uttered half a smile and our little family just turned into mush.

Regardless, transitioning from a full-time professional to a full time mother has been hard. When we work, we can base our self worth on the company we represent, the people we work with, the money we earn, the shine we receive from whatever title we’ve got. Society reveres mothers who work — you know, the Sheryl Sandbergs or Natalie Portmans of the world.

Raising a child is considered a natural process and a privilege for women. But yours is never a unique journey — most women do it, including your mothers and grandmothers and generations upon generations before you. Try this: name one full time mother who you respect or admire (and no, your mom or grandma doesn’t count!).

The truth is, for a lot of modern day women, myself included, this 24 hour a day, 7 day a week job is not something to brag about. Why brag if you can’t even manage to stay healthy and beautiful, maintain your job, keep in touch with friends and family, be yourself all the while contributing positively to society? It is a natural process, just something you have to do, right? It is a modern day feminist paradox. You can’t be all but somehow, you should. Look at the result of this year’s US election: a woman lost to a man. And she had, and I quote, “only herself to blame”.

I chose to be a full time mother for simple reasons: I want to give my daughter the very best life she can possibly have, especially for the most pivotal first two years. I want to exclusively breastfeed till I can’t, watch her grow through all the leaps and phases, be with her when she needs me the most. I simply can’t do all of that while working a 60 hour a week job, flying back and forth in between four time zones, having two sets of grandparents on opposite ends of the world, all the while maybe get six weeks of unpaid maternity leave. Maybe.

For all things I disapproved of Ivanka Trump or her father, there was one thing she said that I’m in 100% agreement with: the greatest wage discrepancy between women and men results from motherhood, not gender. There is no other time I thought it was more true than when I had my own.

Will I ever regret this decision to become a full time mother and leave my well-paid job? No, not in a million years. Do I wish that society made it easier for parents to have longer paid leave, provided changing stations at most restaurants and stores, or were more breastfeeding and breast pumping- friendly at the work place? Yes, I do.

It’s 2017, and a woman just recently lost to a man in a not even close election. Maybe I’ve indulged in too much wishful thinking, but I dream of the day when my daughter were inevitably put in the same position I was, things would be better and brighter and easier.

For now, I’m gonna go ahead and research the next brand of baby carrier that will bring my fussy baby to sleep easier during the day.