The Joys of Feminist Motherhood

I didn't expect motherhood to force me to confront my own complicity with the patriarchy in the way that it has.

“What have I done to my life?” I sobbed. It was the second time in five years that I had blown up my life. The first was in 2003, when I walked into my department chair’s office to notify him that, despite his confidence in my success in the tenure process, I wanted to transition to a non-tenure track position so that I could go to seminary part-time. It had been a decision that I’d made without good counsel. I had not been prepared for the backlash that would follow.

This time, though, I had been cautious. I had talked it through with trusted family, friends, and colleagues, all of whom cheered me on. I had educated myself about the process. I had deliberated the decision for years before finally following through. I knew it would be the hardest thing that I had ever undertaken. I did not, however, expect to be standing in my kitchen with tears streaming down my face as I tried to prepare a bottle while holding onto a crying infant and frayed nerves.

Motherhood blew up my life. I had expected the sleep deprivation, the disruption to our rhythms, the challenges of trying to parent while working full time. What I did not expect was how deeply motherhood would make me grapple with my own feminist identity.

Long before we became parents, my husband and I had had to reckon with how patriarchal both of our professions were: mine as a professor and his as an engineer. Within my first year as a tenure-track professor, I realized that the success of my senior male colleagues was due, in no small part, to having wives who not only did all the childrearing and housekeeping, but who also typed their manuscripts and helped grade assignments. Engineering had similar expectations. When my husband’s colleagues teased him for getting to work later than the men who had children, he pointed out that he spent more time and energy caring for our dog than they did caring for their children. One man’s wife ironed and set out his clothes and prepared his breakfast and lunch. All he had to do each morning was shower, get dressed, and walk out the door while she took care of the children and household. No shade to women whose ministry that is, but it wasn’t mine.

Early in our dating, my later-husband and I talked about wanting a marriage that was unlike any relationship we’d seen. Neither one of us was interested in the male-headship model that we’d been taught in our churches and witnessed in our families. We wanted an egalitarian partnership, where we supported each other’s careers, participated fully and equally in the household, and shared power. We agreed that household roles should be determined by interests, skills, and needs, not gender.

For eleven years, it worked. We cooked and cleaned together, sometimes to the astonishment of relatives who were not used to seeing couples co-labor in the kitchen. Being more detail-oriented, I handled the finances. Being more mechanically inclined, he handled the cars. Then, we became parents and the patriarchy moved in.

It was not intentional, at least not on our parts. It was laissez-faire patriarchy, partly a function of the structure of our jobs. As a professor, I had more flexibility in my day. My son’s summer birth allowed for time to rearrange my fall teaching schedule so that I could stay home with him during the weekdays, teaching at night and weekends. But gender still plays a role. It turns out that, even when men and women (I’m being real heteronormative here because I’m talking about the patriarchy) have similar job flexibility, women are more likely to take advantage of that flexibility for the sake of childrearing. That’s not always because we want to; it’s often because institutions will accommodate us because, according to our gender norms, that’s what women are supposed to do. So while our jobs had similar parental leave policies, my husband was expected to return to the office two weeks after our son came home whereas my dean helped me to finagle a reduced teaching load.

It’s not just that institutions accommodate women’s roles as mothers. Our gender socialization makes us more likely to take on a disproportionate parenting role. I entered parenthood with considerably more child-related knowledge and skills than my husband. Not only am I the eldest daughter of a single mother, but I am the first-born grandchild on both sides of my family. I have spent a lot of time taking care of siblings, cousins, and neighbors. I worked in summer camps throughout high school and college. My husband, in contrast, had never changed a diaper and was rarely allowed to hold a child. It was to me, not to him, that women in our families and our churches approached to share their wisdom about parenting. I was the one whom they asked about my intentions to keep working. And I knew that I’d the one whom people would blame if our parenting were found wanting.

That day, as I frantically tried to soothe an unconsolable baby, I very much felt like my parenting was wanting. Had I made a mistake with my life? With his?

Then, just as suddenly as he had started crying, he stopped, looked at me and smiled. And I laughed. Maybe I was doing okay after all. Now he is 16 and, as I write this, he is on his way to prom. The kid really is alright. His mom is, too. We found our way, the three of us. We’re finding it still. Sometimes it looks like a six-year-old who confidently proclaims, “It’s mostly dads who do the cooking.” And sometimes it looks like a woman who exclaims, “I will not be mansplained in my own house!” Most of the time, though, it just looks like three people trying to muddle through the best way that we can, patriarchy be damned.

Catch Me on the Harmonize Your Life Podcast

I meant to share this last week. At the end of March, I had the opportunity to do a live recording of the Harmonize Your Life podcast, hosted by Dr. Toni G. Alvarado. We filmed it at the TDK Designs boutique in Stockbridge, Georgia, with a live studio audience. We talked about self-care, trauma, and healing for the StrongBlackWoman. Watch it on YouTube or listen to it on Spotify.

Buy Me a Coffee

I’ve been seeing these “buy me a coffee” links here and on other platforms. Honestly, I thought it was odd. Why would anyone go around expecting other people to buy them coffee? Then I started seeing conversations about how it allows people to provide a one-time gift to a writer instead of a recurring subscription. That made more sense. So when you see the “Buy Me a Coffee” button, that’s what it’s for.