Normalizing motherhood as a choice

On complicated feelings, and mom guilt

This week, I read this really great interview by Sara Peterson of

In Pursuit of Clean Countertops

with Ruby Warrington, author of Women Without Kids, about our societal expectations of women¹ to become mothers, and the importance of normalizing motherhood as a choice. You can read it here:

Are women without kids "selfish cunts?"

As Sara mentioned, those who do not wish to become mothers are far from the only ones affected by these expectations. This conversation got me thinking about my own journey to motherhood and the complicated feelings that I've mostly kept to myself out of - you guessed it - guilt.

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Photo by Javier Allegue Barros on Unsplash

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When I was a child, I saw exactly one “valid” presentation of womanhood, which was, of course, woman as doting wife and mother. Sure, some education was encouraged, and even pursuing a career, but it was very much understood that those things would become secondary to the marital and parental roles as soon as they became relevant.

After all, what could possibly be more important or central to a woman's identity than birthing and caring for children? What could be more fulfilling? This message of motherhood being more or less inevitable - and universally desirable - is hard to get away from, even today.

I think a combination of my undiagnosed neurodivergence (which made imagining myself in any kind of career very difficult, due to how much I was quietly struggling, and all of the unknowns), my religious background, and the fact that I have always been really drawn to babies, all worked together with this messaging to ensure that I was wholly unprepared, not only for any life outside of marriage and motherhood, but also for motherhood itself.

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Because when motherhood is seen as an inevitable destination - something you must want and, furthermore, must enjoy and thrive in - there is almost no room for any genuine conversations about how hard it is, how much work really goes into it, how much you must give up or let go of, even temporarily.

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There is almost no room to complain, to ask for help, or to advocate for a more fair distribution of responsibility. There is almost no room to want more for ourselves.

The struggles of motherhood are both minimized and villainized in everyday conversations and in media. We are seen as nags, lazy, ungrateful, etc. if we have the audacity to complain or to want anything beyond our role as mother. Rather than acknowledging the unfair expectations and systemic inequality, we blame women's failure to live up to the expectations of society on the mothers.

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I went into motherhood not truly understanding any of this. I imagined that I would love being a mother more than life itself, and that if I didn't, it would simply be because I wasn't trying hard enough.

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Even after years of watching my own mother struggle with the division of labour in our home, and seeing how her entire identity seemed to be mother - despite the plans and interests she had before becoming one - I couldn't imagine any better path for myself.

Even as I deconstructed² and became a feminist and thought I understood what equality looked like, I understood so little about the many layers at play that would shape my experience as a mother.

I was so focused on becoming a mother as quickly as possible that I never stopped to consider how much growing and learning I still had to do myself. I didn't consider that my husband and I still had so much to learn about each other and our relationship.

I didn't consider how difficult it would suddenly become to do all of the things I loved, that made me feel like myself. I didn't consider that while I would be working so hard to meet the needs of my children, I would have little time and energy to meet my own needs. I didn't consider that my husband would not struggle with these things as much as I would, and how much I would resent him for it.

I couldn't have imagined how jealous I would be of every childless friend or family member, or how guilty I would feel about that jealousy.

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Even now, I feel like I need to qualify this essay with a “but I don't regret it!” - to center my commitment and love as a mother over my more complicated feelings.

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Literally as I am writing this, I am choking down rage due to being overstimulated as my toddler climbs on me yet again, and I am begging for just five minutes of peace to focus on myself.

The truth is: I don't regret it, and it's so much harder than I expected. I don't regret it, and I am exhausted. I don't regret it, and I need and deserve more support. I don't regret it, and I wish I'd been more prepared.

I don't regret it, and if I'd known better, I might have waited; because my kids deserve the healthiest parents possible and I deserved to not have to give up so much of myself in order to be there for them.

I've mentioned before how much I have learned from my children and how grateful I am, and it would have been so much easier on all of us if I'd learned a lot of that before having children.

But rather than focusing on my own wholeness and personhood, I thought that the focus of my life should be on birthing and raising more humans; so I have been forced to confront trauma and grief and generational cycles, and to do my best to cobble together a support system, all while in the midst of trying to raise littles who will hopefully have far less to heal from than I do.

The truth is, all of us deserve better than this. When I read Sara's interview with Ruby, I wanted to clap and holler and cry, because it just shouldn't be this hard. When motherhood is a mandate, we all suffer for it.

When motherhood is truly viewed as a neutral choice, it leaves space to explore our expectations and desires for life in, and/or outside of, motherhood. It gives us a chance to reimagine family and community. We all deserve to make educated, authentic choices for ourselves and to be supported in those choices so that we can all thrive.

So, to the women with kids, and to the women without kids: I see you. And you deserve better.

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Thanks for joining me here today. As usual, feel free to leave a comment

and to share if you feel inclined.

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1. I've used “women”/“woman” throughout this essay primarily to describe common experiences for those assigned female at birth, and “mother[s]” for those socialized as women who have become parents. As a non-binary mother, I understand these labels may not fit everyone who has shared these experiences, and do not mean to exclude anyone who uses different labels for the same experiences.

2. “Deconstruction” in this context means the dismantling of the religious and political beliefs I grew up learning which I found myself at odds with.