When Having it all Means Doing it all

Amanda and her mother

In the 1950s, My mother risked her life to have children. Like over 400,000 American women today, she developed pre-eclampsia during her first pregnancy. The condition starts with a severe headache, moves on to seizures, and without quick treatment, proves fatal to both mother and child.

Luckily, my grandfather was a doctor. He rushed her to a hospital, where the baby was delivered by caesarian. Named after my grandmother, the little girl died after a few days. 

Mom went on to have two more pregnancies. She developed pre-eclampsia with each one. My brother and I were both delivered early via caesarian. As you can imagine, she poured herself into raising us. We had the works: long walks in the country, homespun birthday parties, home cooked meals, an immaculate home, and (best of all) her undivided attention. 

Then, the second wave feminists came along and pointed out that women like Mom could have more than babies and a clean house. Our passionate, energetic Mom decided to “have it all.” She went back to school, got a teaching credential, and found a job at our local high school. She loved the work, but the transition was tough.

You can do it!

Women in my generation had a head start. We were raised to think that we not only “could” but “should” have it all. We knew that meant career and children. “I am going to be an astronaut,” I explained to adults who asked, “and I’m going to have four children.” 

“Sure thing. You can do it!” my cheerleading squad insisted. They were high on enthusiasm and short on details.

My aunts and my mother smiled, nodded, and lowered their eyes to take another sip of Cold Duck.

Even the new math wouldn’t make an astronaut of me so I took a different track. “I am going to be a professor,” I explained to the Berkeley admissions committee. “I’m going have four children.” I promised my new in-laws. 

I wonder what went on in their minds as they listened. Did my mother-in-law feel a hint of envy? Did Mom wish she had had the chance to go to Berkeley? They never said. They just beamed approval. 

“Sure thing. You can do it!” my cheerleading squad insisted. They were high on enthusiasm and short on details.

Professor Mom

I became a professor before I turned 30 and had two babies before getting tenure. When my colleagues asked, “How do you do it?” I laughed and said, “I don’t sleep” (which was true) or “I don’t do it.” (which was also true). 

There were so many things I didn’t do. I gave up leisure, sleep, and exercise. I gave up time with my husband, time with my children and time with my colleagues. I gave up friendships. I gave up moments of stillness.

I remember nursing my son while working on a computer, holding my squirming daughter while introducing a speaker, fending off children to take a work call from home, worrying desperately about a sick child when I was away at a conference. 

I remember spending most of my take-home pay for child care; taking a sick child to work; firing a babysitter who took my son to her gardening job when he should have been home with the flu. I remember being late to pick up my child because an urgent meeting went on and on. I remember leaving urgent meetings to pick up my children.

Amanda and her daughter

Once, I came home while my mother was visiting to find her in the hallway, lips pursed, neatly folding the terminally wrinkled sheets and towels that I’d rolled up and crammed into a shelf. 

I remembered her tidy linen closet with its labels “single flannel” “double cotton” “flannel pillow” “cotton pillow” evenly spaced on the front of each shelf. Symmetrical stacks of unwrinkled linen rested in comfort, each in its place. After she left, I realized she had folded every plastic bag in my recycling drawer. 

I was overwhelmed by a sense of total inadequacy. 

Back problems

But that was how I managed work-family balance. I scrambled. I organized. I improvised. I cut corners. I set priorities. I bent over backwards at work to make up for the times I couldn’t be there. I bent over backwards at home to make up for the times I couldn’t be there. I bent over backwards until my back gave out. 

I like to think my daughter will have more options, more freedom, more support to pursue her dreams. I like to think she will live in a country that values women, not as baby machines or super-achievers, but as thinking, feeling, complicated human beings; worthwhile in our own right, not for the degrees we gather or the widgets and children we produce.

American women deserve better than risking health and sanity to do it all.

Years ago, I was invited to serve on a panel at a women’s conference on “work-family balance.” 

The first speaker launched into her perky advice, “Control your thoughts. If you think of grocery shopping as recreation it becomes your me time!” 

“Here’s how you handle guilt,” the next one explained, “You make your choices, you think it through. And then . . . no regrets.” Nods around the room, and whispers, “No regrets, yeah, no regrets.” 

“You just have to plan. Make a to-do list and tick things off. It’s so rewarding!”

Another offered the a-b-c’s “. . . attitude, belief, consequences. . . . You gotta control your attitude.” 

“Keep a gratitude journal.”

When my turn came, I said, “Work-family balance takes a village.” (Hilary’s book having recently come out.) It does. It takes families, it takes employers, it takes a community and it takes a nation to achieve the healthy work-life balance we deserve. 

• It takes policies that support parental leave. 

• It takes a public child care subsidy.

• It takes a national commitment to early childhood education for all. 

• It takes work that can be done from home. 

• It takes recognition that families come in all shapes, sizes, and genders. 

• It takes true reproductive freedom. 

American women deserve better than risking health and sanity to do it all.

The next wave of feminism must empower women to respect our own limits and it must support changes that will free our daughters from the manic treadmill that comes with “having it all.”