Leaking Milk and Confidence: My Postpartum Interview Disaster

Job Interview Tips for New Moms (That You Won’t Find on LinkedIn)

The scene: An empty public restroom in the building where I hope to work.

In a freshly pressed, new, roomier postpartum pantsuit, I’m staring at my chest in the mirror. After artfully (I think) inserting a tissue wrapped absorbent pad into my bra cup to catch any leaking breast milk, tuning to my side-profile, I inspect my work.

Facing the mirror again, I exhale and say aloud: “Not bad.”

I shake my head. Ten weeks postpartum, this is what a job interview looks like. Instead of repeating confidence-boosting affirmations to myself, I’m in this sad, public restroom, talking to my tits.

Ten weeks postpartum, this is what a job interview looks like. Instead of repeating confidence-boosting affirmations to myself, I’m in this sad, public restroom, talking to my tits.

B.K. (Before Kid)

Job interviews are terrifying, during normal times. Add to this a hormonal postpartum imbalance, a fresh bout of anxiety on what it will meant be a working parent, and my leaking breasts, and, yeah, I’m a mess.

The thing is: I’m actually pretty good at this job search thing. B.K. (Before Kid), my biggest problem was avoiding recruiter calls.

The Interview Panel

As I head into a conference room—filled with the familiar smell of cologne and capitalism in the morning—I try to channel that old confidence. The interview panel welcomes me with a smile. I stealthily glance down to check for leaks, and seeing none, begin shaking hands. My sleep-deprived body starts to feel energized. The first few minutes start off strong. I’m prepared. I’m pithy. My quick wit is charming them.

And then, the wheels come off.

The hiring manager asks me a resume-specific question. It wasn’t out of bounds. A mentor had coached me to expect a question like this. All I had to do was give the answer I’d prepped, without sounding rehearsed.

The question was something like: you’ve got a track record of promotions and career advancement, why are you interested in a role that comes with less responsibility than you currently have?

What I should have said was: “To get my foot in the door with your firm, ABC Company, is a dream come true for me, and, as I learn more about the role you’re filling, I see several ways that I’ll feel challenged and rewarded. Most of all, joining ABC Company is what I’m seeking with my next career chapter.“

“Why do you seemingly want less responsibility right now?”

My mind was racing.

• Was she opening the door?
• Was she making it okay for me to drone on about postpartum vulnerability, Brené Brown-style?
• Is this how employers indicate that they are a family-friendly workplace?

What I really said was, and I quote: “Uh, there’s a baby.”

Complete Word Vomit

With the wheels off, the axle soon broke. Complete word vomit. I couldn’t shut myself up. While I don’t think I started showing them baby pictures on my phone, I don’t know. I may have blacked out for part of this.

Mercifully, before I could get into my thoughts on the phrase “advanced maternal age,” the hiring manager interrupted me and redirected. But I never recovered. My eyes welled up. I didn’t cry in the interview. By some miracle, I saved the tears for that sterile public restroom after the interview was over.

The Debrief

Walking to my car, tear-streaked cheeks, milk ring-stained blouse, and all, I did the only thing I could: I started laughing. Big, full, postpartum belly laughing. My cackle echoed though the parking garage.

In the car, I tossed my briefcase into the empty car seat in the back and took a few deep breaths. Then I phoned a friend.

“So … how’d it go? “she asked.

“I bombed.”

“No, it couldn’t have been that bad,” she said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I’m telling you. I bombed. And for the first time in my life,” I said. “It’s like this kid leached all the calcium from my bones and all the ambition from my career.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“No, but I’m going to be.”

And after picking up extra-large salty fries from the drive-through and soaking my blouse on the delicate cycle, I snuggled my newborn close, acknowledging that things were going to be different postpartum, and that I was going to be okay.

On my doctor’s advice, (damn, I should have listened to her all along), I paused the job search, talked to my employer, and made some adjustments.

A New Career Path

Parenting comes with many “firsts.” Watching the first step. Learning to negotiate with a three-year-old future litigator for the first time. Calling the pediatrician’s on-call 24/7 hotline for the first time (and the second time, and the third time, and the 20^th time).

Maybe you, like me, also padded a leaking bra and bombed a job interview for the first time.

Parenting for the first time in your 30s or 40s probably means something big for your career. While I’m still figuring out what it means for mine, I’ve added a new, daily practice to my life: sharing confidence-boosting affirmations while talking to my baby, instead of my reflection.

Are you navigating a new career path as a new mom? Share your own interview misadventure in the comments—and let’s remind each other that fumbling doesn’t mean failure.

Bonus points if you bravely share your own interview bombing story.