Last week Women’s Agenda published an article called ‘What no one tells you about motherhood’. It was written by English journalist Esther Walker and first appeared in The Times. The newspaper headline that accompanied the piece was this: “This is not depression. This is motherhood.”
The reaction to the piece has been extraordinary. The first reader to comment on the site said that reading it “had an unexpected, overwhelming and intensely liberating effect” on her. That sentiment has been echoed by many, many, readers. It is, easily, the most perceptive article I have ever read on the topic of motherhood. Like, our first commenter, reading it had a liberating effect on me. I read it and felt completely and utterly understood.
A great deal has been written about the topic of motherhood but Esther nails the subject with more wisdom, clarity and humour than I have ever encountered in a single article. It is why I am not surprised that it has resonated with a larger audience than any other piece we have ever published.
But having given it a few days’ thought there is one thing I would add. And, judging by some of the comments and emails we have received, it is a comment others would like added too. The caveat I would add concerns post-natal depression, a topic which some readers thought Esther diminished. I can understand that conclusion – from the original headline alone. But, honestly, rather than trivialising the issue of post-natal depression I think Esther’s piece succours it.
She articulates the reality of motherhood brilliantly. She acknowledges that it is an intensely hard slog — not hypothetically or intellectually — but that it is physically, mentally and emotionally taxing on a daily basis in a way you have to experience to understand. But her point is not merely that it’s hard. Her point is that it is really hard and it is made even harder by the fact, generally, we don’t really want to acknowledge or recognise that it’s hard.
So motherhood is hard, you might think, how is that exactly ground-breaking? On its own it’s not. You’ve probably heard it many times. But the fact you might be thinking ‘enough with the naval-gazing about motherhood’ is the point itself. An article like Esther’s is powerful because there are thousands and thousands of women who have read it and felt understood. Because she explains comprehensively what so many parents are conflicted about on a daily basis; loving their children but feeling overwhelmed by the relentlessness of it. Knowing, or suspecting, they are not suffering post-natal depression but questioning why it still feels so difficult. Reading a piece like Esther’s makes us feel less alone. It makes us feel liberated.
And that is powerful because motherhood is not a job that ends. It is all consuming in a manner that very few other tasks are. It means when you struggle with a baby or a toddler and you experience any doubt in your ability to parent, that doubt is uniquely consuming and even painful. Mothering is what you are supposed to be good at, it’s supposed to be innate, and yet here you are unable to settle a crying baby or appease your toddler in the midst of a major meltdown. What kind of parent does that make you? These are the thoughts that many parents will experience daily.
The juxtaposition to this is the broad societal expectation that mothers will enjoy the experience of bringing a baby into the world and remain cheerful throughout. The reality of raising children, even without post-natal depression, is vastly different from most mothers’ pre-conceived ideas. It’s a culture shock that every parent discovers and it’s compounded by the expectation – however well-intentioned or covert – to communicate motherhood as advertised. It leaves hoards of parents feeling misunderstood. Not only is the job harder than anticipated but they’re not allowed to say it.
As a society, when it comes to mothering we permit very little grey between the black and white. It’s why, as Esther points out, it is obligatory to suffix any parental complaint with something along the lines of ‘But i love him/her so much and it is absolutely worth it’. Requiring or expecting a parent to add that caveat, particularly when one might hope it is blindingly obvious that a lack of parental love is not an issue, suggests we don’t really want to hear the complaint. Or that we don’t really validate it.
If you say it’s hard you’re in the throes of post-natal depression or you’re ungrateful for the experience and don’t love your children. Those options are far too limited and yet it’s hard to suppress an honest account when it’s what you’re spending your every waking moment doing. If you do tell someone you’re finding it tough and their reaction is “Perhaps you’re depressed”, when you know that’s not the case, the loneliness is greater. Not because they don’t care but because they don’t understand.
As a result of the unwillingness to meaningfully acknowledge the reality of raising children, us parents, and most often women, build a facade around the endeavour. As Esther says we slowly, day by day, start to observe the silent code of conduct that reigns around parenting. We speak the truth to a limited few but more broadly we keep up appearances.
The expectation, however well-meaning, to paint the picture as rosy starts from day one. How many brand new parents are too scared to say “I’m finding it really bloody tough” when visitors come to visit their beautiful bundle a few days in and ask how they’re going?
This facade compounds the situation, bitterly, for a mother who is in the throes of post-natal depression. If we were all a bit more open and receptive to the notion that looking after small children is tough I would argue it would remove – not burden – the remaining shame and stigma around post-natal depression. Painting motherhood as entirely rosy does every parent an enormous disservice, but particularly those who suffer post-natal depression.
Pretending that new mothers have only two options — to either cope brilliantly and love every minute or to battle post-natal depression — creates a disingenuous gulf. I would say that acknowledging there are many options for mothers in between the two extremes is far more realistic. It means opening up and saying ‘I’m not coping with this’ is less daunting. If we all accept that looking after babies is difficult, I think it would create more understanding and support for post-natal depression. Because I suspect one thing that mothers battling post-natal depression struggle with is the notion they’re finding their life as a new mother hard when it’s supposed to be some blissful existence.
Post-natal depression is a medical condition that does not need legitimising but by broadly and meaningfully saying as a society, we recognise the blood, sweat and tears that raising children entails, we do implicitly legitimise the plight of anyone with post-natal depression.