Before I became a mother I was moderately interested in women’s issues and occasionally ranted about some sexist attitude or another, but would probably only call myself a feminist if pressed. While I knew that injustices and prejudices existed, I’d led a relatively privileged life as a white, straight, cis, middle-class, Western, educated woman. As a result, my experiences with inequality were limited. In short, I wasn’t fully invested in the movement. I thought I had no reason to be.
Then in 2006 I had a child, a daughter, and the veil fell from my eyes.
My pregnant body became public property, subject to unsolicited comment and touch. Birth was something best left to the professionals: an event to be endured and controlled instead of experienced and enjoyed. Breastfeeding in public became something I had to learn to do ‘modestly’. Taking my baby into a cafe or on a train was suddenly a nuisance and cause for hostility from other adults. Trying to navigate public areas and access services that had not taken the needs of children or their carers into consideration (like train stations without lifts, government buildings with no baby change facilities and shops with aisles and doorways so narrow and overstocked as to prevent entry or movement once inside) became a constant source of frustration.
I quit my job to look after my daughter because I wanted to be with her but also because I couldn’t afford good-quality and reliable care for her. I would’ve loved to return to work in a part-time capacity but there was little on offer and financially it just didn’t make sense. Part-time work outside of the service industry is woefully hard to find, has few employee benefits and even less stability. So I buckled down to do the ‘Stay-at-home Mum’ thing, even though it didn’t feel quite right. I enjoyed (for the most part) caring for my daughter on a daily basis and being there to watch her every developmental milestone, but I was keenly aware that for the first time since I was 15 years old, I didn’t have a job or any source of income. And what made that a bittersweet pill to swallow was that I was actually doing the most challenging and intensive work of my life, with the longest hours and fewest accolades. Everything started to feel quite…unfair. There was a tangible air of oppressiveness about my daily life but since Mother’s Guilt says we should all be overjoyed if we can afford to stay at home with our children, I swallowed my uncertainties and plastered on a smile. Still, the irritations and grievances kept coming.
Health care and social services professionals didn’t bother to use my name any more and instead called me ‘Mum,’ as if my identity had been erased and replaced by a walking, talking uterus. I was suddenly a ‘breeder’ and my child a ‘screaming brat’ whom I had to keep quiet and under control at all times, according to a small but vocal segment of the population who despise children. When I joined an online breastfeeding support group and got involved in helping other women successfully feed their babies and wrote about some of the misinformation out there that hinders the process/relationship, I was labelled a ‘Boob Nazi.’
Before I’d been just Me but suddenly I was all these other things as well. Names were thrust upon me left and right until I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. Becoming a mother had changed my life not only in a personal way but in an intensely social way as well. I was Someone’s Mother now. My status and the way people interacted with me had changed forever and I wasn’t particularly liking what I was seeing.  My isolation from the ‘real world’, my anger at the mistreatment of parents and children in UK society and a growing sense of hopelessness about ever being able to combine career and mothering in a fulfilling, meaningful way — not to mention complete financial dependence on my husband — drove me to depressing lows I’d never known before. I was full of discontent with the way motherhood was being mapped out for me. It felt as if it had all been taken out of my hands and that the obstacles before me were too many.
Everyone had told me that having a baby would be difficult, but I thought they’d meant the actual caring for and being responsible for a child bit. No one told me that the really difficult bit would be reconciling the fact that how the world viewed me had irrevocably changed and, consequently, altered my view of the world.
Then one day, while looking for some baby-related information online, I stumbled onto a few websites that changed my life. Finally, I had found a label that encapsulated and acknowledged everything I was feeling and going through: Feminist. So that’s what I was! It all made perfect sense. And this time, I knew it was a label I would happily and readily wear.
I began devouring feminist websites, books and magazines as voraciously as if they were food and I hadn’t eaten in days. In a way, the words and the stories and knowing I was not alone in my experiences were my sustenance. My hunger for them grew alongside the seething bubble of indignation and anger in the pit of my stomach. I was completely transfixed as I read story after story about women’s rights being trampled on “for the safety of the baby:” Pregnant women being refused a glass of wine while dining; women being coerced into unnecessary c-sections for reasons related not to her or her baby’s well-being, but the doctor’s convenience or lawsuit concerns; women experiencing trauma and even assault in the course of or as a result of their child’s birth, their bodily autonomy stripped and stolen. My eyes moved with indignation over articles about women being kicked out of airplanes, department stores and restaurants for breastfeeding their babies in view of other people and without adhering to some indeterminate and wildly-varied idea of discretion; stay-at-home mothers and working mothers alike vilified and criticised, pitted against each other in the media-constructed ‘Mommy Wars’…I couldn’t believe that there was so much more to feminism than the banner issues of abortion, equal pay, sexual violence and discrimination. A whole world and other side of feminism had opened up before me and I jumped in, unhesitant, with both feet.

Before I became a mother I was moderately interested in women’s issues and occasionally ranted about some sexist attitude or another, but would probably only call myself a feminist if pressed. While I knew that injustices and prejudices existed, I’d led a relatively privileged life as a white, straight, cis, middle-class, Western, educated woman. As a result, my experiences with inequality were limited. In short, I wasn’t fully invested in the movement. I thought I had no reason to be.

Then in 2006 I had my first child, a daughter, and the veil fell from my eyes.

My pregnant body became public property, subject to unsolicited comment and touch. Birth was something best left to the professionals; an event to be endured and controlled instead of experienced and enjoyed. Breastfeeding in public became something I had to learn to do ‘modestly’. Taking my baby into a cafe or on a train was suddenly a nuisance and cause for hostility from other adults. Trying to navigate public areas and access services that had not taken the needs of children or their carers (or those with disabilities, for that matter) into consideration became a constant source of frustration. For example: train stations without lifts, toilets with no baby change facilities, shops with aisles and doorways so narrow and overstocked as to prevent entry or movement once inside and limited scope for taking a pushchair onto a bus.

I quit my job to look after my daughter because I wanted to be with her but also because I couldn’t afford good-quality and reliable care for her. I would have loved to return to work in a part-time capacity after her first year but there was little on offer and financially it just didn’t make sense. So I buckled down to do the ‘full-time -stay-at-home-mum’ thing, even though it didn’t feel quite right. I enjoyed being there for my daughter, to watch her every developmental milestone, but I found it quite isolating and I was keenly aware that for the first time since I was 15 years old, I didn’t have a job or any source of income. And what made that such a bitter pill to swallow was that I was actually doing the most challenging and intensive work of my life, with the longest hours and fewest accolades. Everything started to feel quite…unfair, somehow. There seemed to me a distinct lack of ‘choice’ about this situation but since Mother’s Guilt says we should all be overjoyed if we can afford to stay at home with our children, I swallowed my uncertainties and plastered on a smile.

Everyone had told me that having a baby would be difficult, but I thought they’d meant the actual caring and being responsible for a child. No one told me that the really difficult part would be reconciling the fact that how the world viewed me had irrevocably changed and, consequently, altered my view of the world and how I navigated through it. I felt invisible and powerless.

Then one day, while looking for some baby-related information online, I stumbled onto a few websites that changed my life. Finally, I had found something that encapsulated and acknowledged everything I was feeling and going through: Feminism. I began devouring feminist and feminist-mothering websites, books and magazines as voraciously as if they were food and I hadn’t eaten in days. In a way, the words and the stories and knowing I was not alone in my experiences were my sustenance. My hunger for them grew alongside the seething bubble of anger in the pit of my stomach.

I was completely transfixed as I read story after story about women’s rights being trampled on “for the safety of the baby:” Pregnant women being kicked out of the pub for having a beer or refused the purchase of cheese at the supermarket; women being coerced into unnecessary c-sections for reasons related not to her or her baby’s well-being, but the hospital’s convenience or lawsuit concerns; women experiencing trauma and even assault in the course of or as a result of their child’s birth, their bodily autonomy stripped away without a second thought. My eyes moved with indignation over articles about women being kicked out of aeroplanes, department stores and restaurants for breastfeeding their babies in view of other people and without adhering to some indeterminate and wildly-varied idea of “discretion.”

I read news and discussions on these topics, and more, with a mixture of disbelief and horror. I became very interested in broadening the scope of my comprehension, both socially and academically, on issues ranging from reproductive rights to gender stereotyping to the proliferation of sexual violence and how all of these intersect with race, class, and heteronormativity. But still, my interest was drawn strongly towards issues facing mothers, particularly after I had my son (via an amazing home birth) in 2008.

Now, I cringe at how stay-at-home mothers and working mothers alike are vilified and criticised, pitted against each other in the media-constructed ‘Mommy Wars’. I clench my fist when I hear the pay gap nonchalantly explained away as being the result of “lifestyle choices” that women make (i.e. taking time off to give birth to and raise young children) without any meaningful discourse on how a male partner’s often-already-higher salary and greater earning potential (not to mention how women are the presumed carers for any and all children) are a big determinant in the female parent’s decision to quit her job, reduce her hours, change jobs to something more family-friendly or put her career on hold altogether. That some would make something so complex and with so many different factors at work out to be a kind of ‘all-things-being-equal-I-make-this-lifestyle-choice‘ decision, made as lightly and as simply as figuring out what to have for lunch…well, it gets me fuming.

Women who are the main breadwinners, the sole parent or who choose to return to work shortly after birth are often ostracised, condemned and even fired from their jobs for doing things like taking the day off when their child is sick or daring to breastfeed or pump milk for their babies beyond the confines of their allotted break time or on the premises without ‘permission’. Even before her baby is born a woman is at greater risk of losing her job — it is estimated that 30,000 pregnant women are sacked or forced out of their jobs and a further 200,000 discriminated against each year in the UK. Each YEAR!

Those who stay at home after their children are born are simultaneously scorned for being dull and unambitious, and martyred (for doing what they are ‘supposed’ to do), while women who do work for pay (usually out of necessity) are berated for not “choosing” to stay at home. And regardless of work-for-pay status, partnered women with children (and even those without) do a disproportionate share of the child-related and domestic labour.

When I first started looking into these things, I couldn’t believe the minefield of feminist issues specific to mothering that were out there. Why wasn’t I hearing more about these issues in the news? Why weren’t books being written about this, marches being organised, legislation to correct these problems being introduced? Namely, where were all the feminist voices? Did they not care about these things as much as the banner issues of abortion, equal pay, sexual violence and discrimination?

A whole world and other side of feminism opened up before me and I jumped in — unhesitant, with both feet — eager to find the answers. I discovered that mainstream feminism is talking about these issues but not with the dedication and commitment they deserve. But what I worked out relatively quickly is that this is by no means a purposeful omission. First and foremost, people tend to care about, write about and be most passionate about what they know and have personally experienced. As it is, a lot of the most active and vocal women in the feminist movement are either childless by choice, haven’t had children yet or have already raised their children into adulthood. The twenty-somethings and the fifty/sixty-somethings tend to run the show (the former on feminist websites and the latter in academia), likely because the women in their thirties and forties are quite preoccupied with the most demanding years of their careers and/or involved in time-intensive childrearing.

So while some mothers might feel that mainstream feminism isn’t interested in fighting their fights, I have not found that to be true in the vast majority of cases. Feminists who have not had children are not, as a rule, unsympathetic towards issues that are unique to parents. They might not be aware of the complexities or have experienced the challenges themselves, but nearly every time I’ve brought a mother-specific issue to the attention of a group of activists who are mostly childless, I have rarely been turned down, moved on or ignored.

Mainstream feminism wants to help mothers. There are many mothers already within mainstream feminism. The key to a better relationship between those who have had children and those who haven’t is an awareness, sensitivity and mutual respect for the issues each face and willingness to get involved in campaigning for changes that don’t directly benefit or effect us at that particular stage of our lives.

I know so many wonderful, intelligent, passionate, community-minded women who want to change our world for the better, make it a more humane, equitable and accepting place for the most vulnerable and disadvantaged people in our society. Some of them have children, some of them don’t. Some of them call themselves feminist, some of them don’t. Do we need the labels, presumptions and stereotypes? Of course not. But what we do need is unity, cohesiveness and enough of us willing to organise together to affect (nay, demand) the changes we so desperately need. Can we do that when we have a tainted name, no official strategy, and not enough women willing to put themselves on the front line? I fear we don’t.

That’s why I’ve started Fertile Feminism: in the hopes we can find a way to bring parenting issues to the forefront of the feminist agenda (which, contrary to popular belief, doesn’t involve exterminating men or eating babies for breakfast) and, in return, help fortify and revolutionise the movement that already exists —  for all women, everywhere.