丁香园AV

On International Women鈥檚 Day (March 8), CBC鈥檚 Michelle Eliot had a COVID-centred conversation with Amanda Watson about her recent manuscript,  (2020 UBC Press). Watson鈥檚 book was written before the turbulence of the pandemic, but was timely published during the eye-of-the-COVID-storm in the fall of 2020. Watson critically examines the trope of the 鈥渏uggling mother鈥� and 鈥渢he invisible and poorly understood emotional [and embodied] labour that women have a duty to take on to make things work as they juggle competing labour responsibilities鈥� (2020: 2).

According to Watson, the pandemic has revealed the stubborn and entrenched ways in which the problem of women 鈥渄oing more鈥� [than men] has been getting worse. 鈥淭he pandemic hit and suddenly 鈥榯he juggling mother鈥� couldn鈥檛 do it anymore. The fa莽ade cracked. We were juggling and then someone threw an elephant into the mix and now everything is on fire.鈥� 

It鈥檚 been a hard time for mothers, and I am no exception. 

At the onset of COVID, my children鈥檚 father made the unilateral decision to terminate court-ordered financial support for almost six months, resuming only after enforcement action was taken by BC鈥檚 Family Maintenance Enforcement Program. He is the owner of a financially sound business that quickly re-stabilized, yet he showed no care or kindness. There were no notes or calls keeping me apprised of the situation. He offered no assurances of his intention to honour financial commitments. He opportunistically knew I would pick up the financial slack鈥攚hich I did.

Additionally, although my children鈥檚 father lives a four-minute drive from my home and we are 鈥渃o-parents鈥� who share 鈥渃ustodial time,鈥� he washed his hands of all the physical and emotional care of our children at the onset of COVID. He opted out of parental responsibilities, knowing full well that I would pick up the slack鈥攚hich I did. 

I must confess, it feels uncomfortable writing my pain for public consumption (I am curious, does it feel uncomfortable to read?). Airing these matters is a transgression of private/public sensibilities that are deeply ingrained in the (white) middle-class imaginary. Women don鈥檛 talk about 鈥減rivate鈥� pain because we loathe bringing 鈥減ublic鈥� shame to the men we love. We resist publishing our personal stories of disappointment in 鈥減ublic鈥� venues for fear of being read as vindictive, or worse鈥攍iars. We鈥檝e already got enough on our plates, and the emotional weight of potentially becoming a lightning rod for disturbed men who aggressively troll women online is, quite frankly, a problem we would prefer to live without. 

And perhaps we don鈥檛 talk about these ugly private stories for fear of revealing cracks in the shiny fa莽ades of our lives. After all, we have invested heavily in perpetuating the illusion of competence. 

My children are older than the youngsters normally envisioned in these conversations, but I assure you, balancing the responsibilities and stressors of parenthood during the pandemic has left little time for me to engage with the work I love鈥攎y Ph.D. studies.

As Watson so eloquently stated in her conversation with Eliot, what mothers have always known and what the pandemic has made abundantly clear is that 鈥渨e must attend to the ways in which we assume some people [mothers] in our [heterosexual] families will pick up the slack no matter what. And that is certainly what we鈥檝e seen. We鈥檝e seen women pivot to unpaid work without being asked, in crisis management mode, and now we are seeing the data on their disproportionate mental health crisis.鈥�

I am tired. It鈥檚 been a long year. 

I am content. The pandemic has revealed what I have always known to be true鈥擨 am resilient and can thrive under difficult circumstances. 

I am proud. I have kept my queer little family healthy and happy. 

I am fucking angry. There are no socially sanctioned avenues by which mothers can scale back and/or opt out of parenting responsibilities without swift condemnation and self-imposed guilt. 

I am grateful. I have many resources at my disposal: accumulated financial assets; solid friendships; paid services to access; a supportive Ph.D. supervisory committee in a department that 鈥済ets it鈥�; a safe home; a fridge full of food; access to medical care. The list is joyously long and cannot be exhausted.   

I am shameful. Watson argues in The Juggling Mother that internalized patriarchy and misogyny compel women to carry an unequal ratio of 鈥減rivate鈥� care while concurrently over-performing 鈥減ublic鈥� professional competency. Yet, our collective performance of the juggling mother leaves unchallenged the structural forces that demand redress (2020: 15). These performances make women (especially privileged women, such as myself) complicit in hierarchies of power that disproportionately impact queer, trans, Indigenous, poor, racialized and geographically distanced mothers. Watson reminds us that the conditions that make privileged women 鈥渇eel鈥� as if they are 鈥渃oming undone鈥� are potentially lethal to the families of women who are most excluded from power (126). 

I am part of the problem鈥攜et I know of no way out. Beware! This makes me frightfully angry.