“To be a mum is to be divided
Your energy
Your time
Your heart
You trade freedom for love”
Olly’s mum on motherhood.
From “Bump”
To be a mum is to be divided. To be a mum is to be divided. To be a mum is to be divided. This week this truth cut me like a knife. I have just woken up from a dream which gifted me a metaphor that clarifies my struggles in a tale that could be that of any working mother.
So, it’s a grey day. I am walking with a male acquaintance on bare earth, then notice that the ground beneath us is in fact a thin veneer that conceals a deep, dark lake. As we keep walking, I spot an abyss a meter in front of my feet - a terrifying-looking chasm in the water. I try to divert our route away from it, but the ground is increasingly shaky and starts to crumble under our weight. No matter how softly I try to tread on the precarious surface, eventually I fall into the water. I try to keep my head above it, but it is hard. I am starting to drown. My head disappears under then re-emerges. I’m fighting the water to stay alive. My companion - now just a faceless individual - is trying to help me, but he can’t. I am drowning. There’s nothing I can use to pull myself out, no anchor to save me. The water is murky, thick with kelp and algae. I feel petrified, trapped, repulsed. But also determined to survive. I force myself to wake up.
I wake up to a veneer of functionality covering a lake of chaos. I lie seemingly calm, but I am a mess. Overwhelmed, I sleep badly. The disrupted sleep fuels the chaos in my head. I am behind on my writing deadlines; the topics I am tackling are emotionally taxing; my older child needs help preparing for his mock GCSEs; I need to decide what to cook; prepare packed lunches; respond to a bunch of school and work emails, reply to text messages that are already days old, call the doctor to check on some test results... The list goes on and on.
I get frustrated with my husband because I have asked for help with the kids and the cooking before. This period of work is too intense. I work seven days a week. I am desperate to protect the summer holiday. My husband is too busy himself with his ten work projects and so is finding it hard to help. Nonetheless he makes a plan and presents me with a solution. He will help the boys with breakfast and the younger one with sleep time. He will cook three times a week. He will take over being with the kids on Thursday afternoons. Well, that’s great. I will have longer uninterrupted chunks of time to work. Fantastic, right? Right? Right?
Not completely. I feel a particular pang that comes from feeling divided. I want this time away from the children to write. Yet, I miss them - I want to be with them. I want my husband to take over, yet I cling to my role as the central artery of the family body and the control that comes with it. I want to be in my head, coming up with ideas, yet I crave cuddles and time with the family. I want to be absolved of cooking, yet I miss my family praising the tasty dinner I’ve cooked. I realise that I want to have my cake and eat it. I want to let go of the relentless responsibilities that come with motherhood while retaining my special position as queen of the house. Unfortunately, this is not only tough on me, but also on my husband. How is he to have a more prominent role in parenting if he receives such mixed signals? How is he to squeeze through the door of a room I have invited him into, if I have lodged my foot behind the door, preventing it from opening fully? I realise that gender equality at home may be a bit hard for me to accept because it requires letting go of some of the precious perks of motherhood: quality time with your children and that special status in the family. It dawns on me that gender equality means sharing these perks too. That’s hard.
I go back to my dream. I reframe the ending: I stop fighting the water for my survival. And let myself float. I am no longer drowning. I relax. It’s dawn. I see the sun rising. A new day. Let’s try again….
