I am used to the singularity of my situation. In the newsroom, I am the only reporter-mother with two young kids. In my family, amongst my circle of my friends, I am the only journalist with young kids. In other words, in both the social and professional spheres, there is nobody else who can empathise or share their experiences with me.

Thus, I must figure out things on my own: how to balance my ambitions and professional requirements with the needs of my family. Journalism is a tough business to be in. Work hours are irregular; it cannot be poured to fit neatly between 9am to 5pm. There is no such thing as a regular weekend, zombie night shifts are part of the package, some of the work involves networking outside of office time, competition can be pretty fierce, and the pressure to deliver accurate, balanced, and crisp stories with almost daily deadlines can be quite stressful.

Of course, this is a choice I made, to continue as a journalist when older women in the family suggested something more PG-rated like teaching or a government job. "What are your timings?" I am often asked, and I struggle to answer them. When the work is done, I suppose, is the response; except it never quite is, because there are always phone-calls to be made, stories to be found and so, work-time often bleeds into home-time.

Just a few days ago, after I had finished the shoot for a video report I was to deliver the next day, I wanted to leave for home at around six in the evening because I had a doctor’s appointment for my daughter. I was asked to record a quick radio dispatch from the studio for the early morning radio show. But I was running late for an appointment I had already re-scheduled and apologised that I would be unable to do it just then. After the doctor’s appointment and before it was my daughters’ bedtime, I squeezed in the radio dispatch over the phone.

The next day, however, my editor expressed his ‘disappointment’ that it was not of studio quality. I got it done at the cost of sound quality, I wanted to argue back, because I was prioritising family. Only it cannot be framed like that to one’s boss because from his standpoint, work takes precedence over family.

There are days when the kids soothe the raw end of a difficult day. Early one morning, once the children had been sent off to school, as I was having breakfast and scouring the newspaper, I got a call from the office that there was a bomb blast in Rawalpindi. I rushed there, navigating checkpoints, irate security officials, heart-wrenching stories of survivors, and a grisly encounter with a photographer in a mortuary.

After the day was done and stories filed, I drove home exhausted. A lapse in judgement, and I had a minor car accident, which obviously took time to sort. It is important for me to put the children to bed because it is our ‘golden time’, when we swap stories of our day, read books together or listen to songs. This particular day, I hoped the children would not be asleep. Fortunately, they weren’t when I reached home, and the usual bedtime was extended so that we could chat, giggle, and shuffle off the weight of the day.

As all working mothers will testify, every single day is filled with choices that impact our work and family life a few extra hours. Do I sleep in after the children go to school? Shall I stay the extra few hours at work to trace a lead? Shall I pick my daughter up from school during lunch-break so that we can touch base during the day? Should I have dinner with my friends or colleagues or go home to the kids waiting for me? Do I take a day off when unwell, or use it for when the children are? Do I spend weekends relaxing from a grueling work-week, or plan activities with the kids?

For fathers, these parts of life are separate and compartmentalised, the choices more clear-cut. For a mother, guilt and performance as a mother and employee are intertwined. As a mother, our choices -- small and great -- impact the lives of the little children dependent on us. That in itself is quite frightening. But our choices at the office that have no direct bearing on the children, also somehow impact them.

It is not always easy to put the family first and it can often be at the cost of career progression and opportunities. Journalism can be flexible; there are a number of roles that can be tailored to one’s particular talent and ambition -- reporting, sub-editing, production, TV anchoring, radio presentation, free-lance writing, training, and so on. Since I’ve had my children, I’ve done them all, often combining part-time work with other assignments on the side. It wasn’t until my mother-in-law retired a few years ago that I decided to return to full-time work.

There are no day-care facilities in any of the media organisations where I have worked, only understanding managers and editors who have provided separate rooms so that I can supervise the nanny at the office. I now work full-time because of supportive individuals like my husband -- who in the face of strong disapproval -- encouraged me to take on an assignment covering the US elections, for example. When I told my daughters that I would be gone for three weeks, the eldest assured me everything would be fine but added, "We’ll cope, but I find it hard to sleep without you." Guilt, and big hot doses of it.

A few years ago, I wrote a research paper on "Women in the Media" for an NGO. The idea was to gauge what prevents women from having a more amplified voice in the media, whether as opinion-makers, reporters, or editors. Ostensibly, it was another assignment, privately it was because I needed answers as to how female journalists cope with family life and career and how to move forward. One of the women I interviewed told me something that really hit home, "the reason there are so few women at the top is that fewer women are willing or able to make the personal sacrifices required to achieve any of the top slots."

Why do I make personal sacrifices? Journalism is not necessarily a crusade for me, but it certainly is where my specific skills find expression. I feel as if I am a part of something bigger. I hope my daughters learn that they, too, have choices, and with a little time-management and support, they can explore the bigger world out there.

The writer is a mutli-media journalist working for BBC Urdu