I read an article online today – well
it was a letter that a woman sent to the editor of the Irish Independent. She
didn’t give her name, but spoke of how miserable she was working outside the
home when all she wanted was to be with her children. She explained her working
was necessity rather than choice, so that she could pay for essentials - not
luxuries or holidays. She stated “there
is nothing natural about peeling little arms from your neck every morning as
you drop them to the childminder”.
As I
read through, I found myself nodding along in agreement at some parts,
wondering if feminism had sold us a pup. We tell our daughters that the sky is
the limit – that they can be anything they want to be. But I’m not so sure that
we’re truly honest with them about the real cost of “having it all”.
My
grandad had some pretty old-fashioned and outdated views on a woman’s role in
society. I was the first in our family to go to university and he had a copy of
my graduation photo hanging on his wall. “That’s our Jennifer being canonised”,
he’d say to everyone who came into the house (whether they enquired or not),
much to our amusement. Yet proud as he was of his eldest granddaughter’s
achievement, even if it wasn't quite saintly, he couldn’t help but wonder why my mother bothered.“Sure
they’ll just get married and have babies, there’s no point in girls being
educated”, he said, much to my mum’s disgust. Thankfully she held very
different views and so on we went believing the world was our oyster and that we
could achieve anything we set our minds to.
In due
course, those babies my grandad predicted began to arrive. With every fibre of
my being I was in love, exhausted, overwhelmed, ecstatic and busy – so very
busy. I still am. All the responsibilities of family life and work life must be
juggled and it’s so hard. Every time I slip up and miss something I feel I
mightn’t have if my mind was fully on the “mammy job”, every time a younger
child asks “why can’t I stay with you today” and every time I find myself run
ragged and exhausted to the point I can barely remember my name, I wonder if
“having it all” is truly worth it or even desirable.
And
then I remember the choice is gone. I don’t work because I’m a strong,
independent woman who chooses to work – I work because there are bills to be
paid and mortgage payments to be met. Whether I enjoy my job or not is of
little consequence – there is no choice but to have a job.
The
saddest part for me in reading the article today was not actually that the woman who
wrote it felt as she did, but the lack of empathy and understanding that was
evident in the comments. “She’s not the only one, she made her bed she has to
lie in it, were the general sentiments.
Maybe
feminism has indeed blindsided us. More is expected from women than ever
before. But we are strong – even stronger when we build each other up rather
than tear each other down. And that includes recognising that choosing or
wanting to stay at home with our children is as valid an aspiration or dream as
any.
