The Politics of Motherhood
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Thursday, February 22nd, 2007A report out last week says that the UK is ranked as the worst place in the Western world for children to grow up.
The UNICEF report ranks child well-being in economically advanced countries.
According to the report, the UK and US are the worst places for children to grow up. The Netherlands topped the league, followed by Sweden and Denmark. (For Canadian readers, Canada came 12th out of the 21 countries.)
The UK is behind in terms of relative poverty and deprivation and UK children have worse relationships with their parents than children in other ‘rich’ countries and are at greater risk from alcohol, drugs and unsafe sex.
But there is opportunity for improvement: the comparisons in the report demonstrate that ‘given levels of child well-being are not inevitable but policy-susceptible’. Now we just need to elect someone who will give our children a better future.
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Posted in Reports and Research, The Politics of Motherhood
Motherhood vs mothering
Tuesday, November 28th, 2006I had an email last month from Georgia (hi Georgia) asking me about the terms ‘motherhood’ and ‘mothering’, both of which I use on this site. She asks are these terms interchangeable or is there a difference between them? My answer is I’m not sure, at least ‘officially’ - I’m not a scholar of women’s studies, feminism or motherhood - but I know that I use these terms to differentiate between two opposing perspectives of raising children.
The thing about raising children is that it is a job like any other and we have the right to define what it is, to ‘own’ the job decription and not to have a patriarchal definition of what motherhood should be thrust upon us. However much we like raising children most of the time, the notion that we should love it all the time without complaining, without pay, without help from partners in many cases, without any recognition, is ridiculous.
We love our children but to say we find it wonderful and stimulating and rewarding to look after children who require everything doing for them, who take pleasure in whining and throwing tantrums, who revel in making as much noise and mess as possible, who need feeding, changing, disciplining and to be kept safe in a constant carousel of chores and to do all that with a smile of contentment on our face, without any recompense or recognition because our children should be reward enough, well that’s the patriarchal version of motherhood.
To admit that, yes, we love our children and they bring us much joy but it is not always fun, we are not always fulfilled, we sometimes have depression, we might often bitch and moan, we wish we were more respected or rewarded (and if we had more time we might be actively working to change things to achieve this but right now we’re busy) and it’s okay to talk about all these things, to care for all our children from within our communities whether those are our own households, local communities or those stretching across cyber boundaries, to nurture and raise our children according to our own rules with attention and affection whilst looking after ourselves too, well that’s mothering.
I bridle at being told what motherhood should be. As I write in my About Me page, I hate the way motherhood renders me invisible in society. I would like to change these things and I’m doing my best with limited time. Talking unapologetically on this site about the difficulties I have with motherhood is just one of those things I’m doing. I also run a site for mothers. I write elsewhere about parenting and the less glossy side of being a mother. I have no problem portraying an accurate representation of motherhood in public, sometimes a yummy-mummy approach, sometimes a can’t-cope mother approach. I take my children with me wherever I can and make no apology for their presence in places where they are less than welcome (although if they misbehave we leave); I am visible as a mother and my children are visible members of society, a part of everyday life. I hope that when my children are older and I have more time, I will be able to do more (even though I need that change now!). What else could I be doing? I think of a lot of things (there is a lot of feeding going on at night and I’ve got nothing else to think about! Especially not the incontinent dog!) but it’s hard to think of things that could be really revolutionary, really effective. The internet provides a huge platform and that could be harnessed, even though it is not absolutely inclusive because not everyone has access. There are lots of blogs reflecting the true nature of mothering, and these were a revelation to me, and also a lifesaver, but not everyone reads them and their impact doesn’t seem to reach far outside blog circles. Mothering movements make the voices louder, but are they being heard? Local groups can effect change in their area, but what about wider changes? And what about policy: is top-down or bottom-up the best way to influence policy-makers and bring about change?
I’m up for a challenge! I’d make the time! What’s the answer?
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Posted in The Politics of Motherhood
The problem with motherhood
Tuesday, September 19th, 2006Yesterday I was paid for an article I wrote about parenting. It was a good moment. Although I have been writing for nearly two years it was validation of my writing efforts to receive money for writing more or less what I write here every week (For free! What a bargain for you all!).
Which begs the question: at what point does one ‘become’ a writer, or an artist, or a singer or musician, or anything that doesn’t require ‘professional’ training? (I’m sure I could think of less creative professions but it is late and I am tired, and you get the idea). Is it when you are paid? Is it on completion of a relevant training course? Does experience alone allow you to call yourself any one of these things? Must you have people reading your words for you to be able to call yourself a writer, to have your pictures hung on another’s wall to be a painter? Are the skills of a talented but non-classically trained musician any less or any greater than the skills gained learning to be, say, a teacher or a manager?
Our capitalist society values and rewards certain skills. As a paid writer I have gone up in some people’s estimation because being a published writer (even in such a very small way) is more valued than being an unpublished one. I find that faintly ridiculous (although secretly I may just possibly have gone up in my own estimation). Similarly our patriarchal society values and rewards certain skills. Were I writing about technology or business I’m pretty sure I would be accorded more respect than writing about parenting subjects or being an unpaid ‘mommyblogger’. No matter; I think that what I write about is relevant to some people even if no-one else does.
In the same vein, this, essentially, is the problem I have with mothering. It is the fact that I am trying to do it without any recognition from society, the media or the government that what I am doing is worthwhile. It is the fact that there is no financial reward, which renders me invisible in a capitalist society, nor is there respect, which renders me invisible in a patriarchal society. It is the fact that I have chosen to stay at home and this irks some of my feminist sisters, past tutors and even some of my friends and family, because I am a highly educated, feminist woman (and I add ‘woman’ here because feminism is only a part of what I am) yet I am - apparently - wasting my opportunities, experience and time by choosing to stay at home with my young children. It is the fact that having chosen to stay at home I am penalised in my career progression when I return to work. It is the fact that should I decide to work while raising a family, I would most likely have to juggle all the balls - home, work, childcare - most of the time.
Mothering is a thankless task much of the time but it is also hugely enjoyable. It is a selfish act, becoming a mother, but it is also the least selfish act, raising the next generation. Whilst you may not enjoy my children in the same way I do, all our children are part of our future, literally as the perpetuation of the species, and less literally as the bedrock of our social security system which will provide (or not, as the case may be in the UK) for our old age. I know I am a good mother to my own children, or at least a good-enough mother. But being a ‘mother’ in the career sense is not recognised in any way. We are this huge, silent, working, mostly invisible group of people giving our all to something that is undervalued, judged and ignored in equal measure.
So although I may now be a slightly-published writer, I would trade the immense joy I feel about that in an instant for being recognised in some way by society, the media and government as a valued and respected mother.
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Posted in The Politics of Motherhood
Stay at home mom
Thursday, August 24th, 2006My annual postgrad alumni invitation has once again arrived with a thud in my inbox. It always feels heavy, even though it is an e-mail, because you can sense the gravitas with which my college issues the summons. And it does feel like a summons rather than an invitation.
These days I receive it with an increasingly heavy heart.
The college prides itself on its alumni network. Like most public (for which read private) schools and good universities here in the UK the ‘old-boy network’ flourishes. As a member of this I find it hard to reconcile my loathing of the concept of the old-boy network with the privilege I am accorded by being a member of it. Added to that, although I am still a member by dint of my educational background - Oxbridge - I feel pressure to opt-out, at least until I return to work in my academic field, because I am - and have been for nearly five years now - a stay at home mum. I could go to the dinner, see old friends, colleagues and tutors, but I share little in common with them at the moment. The minute I admit that I am a stay-at-home mum, the conversation would likely turn back to the subject of the moment, thereby subtly excluding me regardless of whether I could contribute knowledgably to the conversation or not. It’s an embarrassing moment.
I’ve thought about lying. I keep up with new developments and research in my field as best I can, but time and energy are short and I know I have holes in my knowledge. How apparent these would be to those at the dinner is not something I wish to test, not when the fall would be so important. Lying would also imply that I am embarrassed about what I do. I think it’s the most important job I could do. Sadly many of my fellow alumni don’t share my view. They probably understand why I chose to stay at home, it’s just that they can’t bring themselves to acknowledge that I am who I always was, just with a little less relevant experience. I would even try to refrain from talking about nothing but my children! Because that’s what mothers do!
So I think I’m better off taking a break from the whole thing - alumni dinners, old boy networking, career moves - until I am ready to re-enter the work force. It is my choice but it would be nice to feel that I could go along and talk about all manner of things and enjoy a pleasant evening catching up with old friends. A postgraduate alumni dinner is always going to be a closed-ranks affair, allowing only those with the right knowledge in. It’s just I never expected to be considered an outsider.
Still, what pleases me most about this whole situation is that I know that, as I am now a career stay at home mum - and long after that - I will always be welcomed with open arms at mothers’ alumni meetings.
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Posted in The Politics of Motherhood, Stay at Home Mother
Isolated parenting
Wednesday, October 26th, 2005On Monday I watched a programme called “Having a Baby Ruined my Life“. I would normally avoid programmes like this because having a baby didn’t ruin my life - although it made it bloody hard at times - and any programme broadcast on Channel Five is generally rubbish. But as I watched I found myself more and more engrossed. There were all these mothers saying all these things that I had felt when I was suffering from post-natal depression: how they missed their former lives, how the relentless routine made them want to jump off a bridge (not literally), how getting out of the house for even a newspaper became a military operation so that they stopped bothering, how the sleep deprivation made them feel like zombies and how their relationships with their partners suffered. Some found the process so harrowing that they couldn’t bring themselves to have another child. It would have made for fairly depressing viewing for most, especially if you were at the stage in life where you were thinking you might have a baby, but I sat there wishing I had seen this three years ago because the worst thing about being stuck at home with small children and hating it, is feeling like you’re the only one. I didn’t feel like there was anyone I could confide in, even my husband, although I tried to drop him not-so-subtle hints when he got home about how awful each day had been. Other mothers seemed to exude this glow of not only coping, but loving every minute of it aswell, and I felt like something must be wrong with me to be feeling differently. Looking back I probably seemed to other mothers that I was not only coping but also loving every minute of it because I felt like there was this myth that I had to live up to and to be anything less would be failing. Yet at home I was falling apart.
Some of the problem may stem from the fact that many of us had careers before children and to be defeated by a small infant in your own home seems unthinkable for us. We no longer see children being brought up in society as so much of the parenting that used to take place communally is now done behind closed doors. This means that many of us have little or no experience of babies before we have our own and it also means that many of us have little or no support from other mothers. There is no break for many of us from childcare and we can grow increasingly isolated, sleep-deprived and miserable, often without anyone really realising. Husbands and partners frequently don’t understand how boring and tiring being at home all day with small children can be and they can have their own worries about being the sole breadwinner and coping with tiredness when they have to work all day.
Of course being able to read other people’s experiences via their blogs has made me understand that my experiences of motherhood are more common than I realised. But I have been a parent for nearly four years and watching this programme was the first thing I have seen in the mainstream media (in this country) about the difficulties of parenting. One mother summed up my feelings when she said “I love my daughter more than anything but I hate motherhood.”
Our health visitor has stopped doing post-partum depression questionnaires at the six week check after the baby is born because every new mother is tired, depressed and often tearful (I hope they find a more useful way of picking up those mothers who are depressed). But I also wonder how many mothers expect to feel crap at six weeks but then who feel depressed a few months later when the reality of 24/7 parenting has really sunk in and the lack of support in bringing up children really begins to show. I wish there were some easy solution. We live isolated lives, physically shut away from friends, relatives and other parents. There is little support or recognition for stay at home parents. Other mothers often don’t want to talk about their ambivalent feelings towards motherhood when they go to coffee mornings and toddler groups for fear of being seen as a failure or as weird. At the same time, when you’re expecting your first child you don’t want to be told that becoming a parent is hard, really hard. Perhaps we should all be sent home from the hospital with a video showing us how to care for a baby which includes some other parents telling us about their experiences. Or perhaps we should all just support each other a little more and understand that some of us will love motherhood and some won’t. We all love our children, it’s just that some of us might be counting the days until they become just a bit more independent.
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Posted in The Politics of Motherhood, Post-Partum Depression
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