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songofmysnark · 6 years

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The Bullshit Industry That Is Women’s Clothing

We’re gonna have a little talk, friends. We’re gonna have a talk about the state of women’s clothing and how much it sucks.

I’m talking off-the-rack clothing aimed at adult, working women. Your Ann Taylors. Your J.Crews. Your Banana Fucking Republics. The Nordstroms of the world. You know, the companies that are trying to get us to buy their most recent monstrosity of polyblended horror and the subject of plenty of thinkpieces, this one included. “Are millennials killing the clothing industry?” Yes, because you deserve to die, but also now we’re naked so can we please strike a plea bargain?

Before any of you get your panties in a twist, I’m counting stay at home moms as working women, because domestic labor is work, childcare is work, and juggling logistics is work. If you can outsource it and the person who is doing it would reasonably expect to get paid, it’s work -- so don’t tell me being a SAHM isn’t work just because nobody’s paying her to do the job of a nanny, line cook, housekeeper, administrative assistant, executive director, coach, motivational speaker, teacher, or community organizer. And also, no SAHM should have to resort to the MLM hell that is LueLaRoe in order to clothe her body. Put the valentine heart printed butter leggings down, Karen.

So, working women, clothing ourselves is hard. It has gotten worse over the past two decades. Let us break this shit down:

Declining quality. Don’t gaslight women over 30 and tell us that the decline in quality is all in our heads and that our expectations have increased as we’ve gotten older and more critical or educated. A lot of us still have our blazers from J.Crew that we bought in 2007 -- at least I do. I saved them because they’re gorgeous and sentimental, and now I save them as a physical reminder that clothing currently available to me as a retail consumer has sharply decreased in quality.

Fit issues. Between the unreasonably sloppy, inconsistent sizing (sometimes between two of the exact same garments), bizarre proportions, limitations on size ranges, and a seemingly universal refusal to cut garments for women larger than a B cup, women’s clothing fits horribly. The solution to this problem seems to be to sew everything in stretchy, cheap materials that are clingy, unflattering, and translucent, which translates to...

...Awful styles. Since the solution to lazy fit is stretch, the industry makes a lot of clothing styles that are not suitable for most women’s daily lives because they’re too cheap to use decent fabric in making clothing to account for the fact that they’re too cheap to invest in fit and quality construction. Oh, you can’t wear a cold-shoulder top and a pair of stretchy black leggings to your corporate job? Too fucking bad, that’s what’s in stock right now. If we call it “Athleisure,” it’s all good! And if you look shitty in it, it’s because you’re not athletic enough to be wearing it.

It’s funny how when women abandoned the corset, it was liberating -- until style started demanding that women become their own corsets. No lumps or bumps or bulges allowed, but unless you want to wear Spanx (read: a girdle), you better diet yourself down to a flawlessly smooth size 2 if you don’t want to look horrible in a simple tshirt.

Sure, good style is available to those who have enough social or economic capital to access it -- and by social capital, I am including people who are thin.

The state of plus-sized fashion has always been appalling, but as the country tumbles into greater income inequality, the concentration of jobs paying a living wage into traffic-jammed cities with a lack of reasonably affordable or accessibly housing, the masses are not going to be getting thinner. The workday has been getting longer, either by extending hours or by making it very clear that people who leave before 6 are slackers, or by tethering us to email in the spirit of “leaning in.” Sorry, when you spend 1-3 hours/day commuting to your soul-sucking job that doesn’t pay enough to afford help to outsource all of the shit you have to do on weekends in order to function as an adult, the “obesity epidemic” is not going to end. How about we call a spade a spade: the “obesity epidemic” is a side-effect of the confluence of income inequality and late-stage capitalism. “Calories in, calories out, it’s so simple!” say people who are able to prioritize and afford to be thin, and are rewarded in kind with clothing that at least isn’t punishingly ugly or uncomfortable.

Let’s talk about uncomfortable clothing: there’s a lot of it when you get out of the stretchy-spandex land masking the laziness of corporate clothing behemoths behind 2% spandex in an already forgiving knit. Wovens, friends, let’s snark on wovens. Wovens are the fabrics that are stiffer -- think jeans without spandex, chinos without spandex, button down shirts without spandex, your wool coat without spandex, etc.

Believe it or not, young people, most of these items didn’t stretch 10-15 years ago, or if they did it was a tiny amount -- enough so that you could comfortably drive a car while still wearing a garment that was purposefully cut and constructed so that it would lay close to the body. Instead of spandex, clothing was constructed with more ease -- more space, looser in areas where a normal human body needs space to move. And nobody looked shitty, because the clothing was made so that the structure of the garment kept it from looking like a sack of potatoes; that structure comes from quality fit, construction, and materials.

And of course, companies will retort that if they did anything the way they did 10-15 years ago, costs would skyrocket! Materials are expensive and skilled labor isn’t cheap, especially if paid a living wage in a country with labor regulations to protect workers! To which I say: bullshit. Costs won’t skyrocket unless you expect customers to pad the pockets of your shareholders and executives to make up for increased production costs that narrow the profit margin. Essentially, you want the same profit margin that was established and became the norm when you switched to shitty quality while raising prices.

The problem is really of your own doing, Mr. Mall Fashion Executive Dude; you trained your customers to expect good quality clothing for decades, rested on your laurels while increasing your profit margins by cutting production costs, got everyone on the corporate end used to booming profits based on this giant margin, and then got confused when shit went south. You went for short-term profits, banking on the reputation of your brand to carry the company through a quality control nosedive. And now we’re rubbing your face in it.

So here’s some advice to the corporate powers that be:

Make some fucking decent clothing.

Make the entire line in a wide range of sizes, 00-24+ with no differentiation between “plus” and “misses.”

Give women’s clothing the attention, quality, consistency, and detail of men’s items.

Stop putting random shit on your clothing. I want a goddamn tshirt without a sequin, weird design, picture of a bird, a saying, etc.

Don’t “bring back a classic” and mark it up 200%. Take a hint: we all still have that item from 2003, don’t think we won’t compare them and put the videos taking you down for both an outrageous markup and a comparatively mediocre product. Looking at you, Lululemon’s “full on Luon” (i.e. regular luon from a few years prior with a new name and higher price). Looking at you, J.Crew icon trench from 2003 (i.e. the old trench marked up higher than it was before but with a shittier fit and cheaper materials).

If your wovens look like shit on the average American woman, that means you need to hire people who know how to design a decent garment, use better materials, and learn about ease, drape, and tailoring.

If your pants don’t fit women with hourglass figures, the problem is your pants.

And finally: Listen to the women screaming at you on Instagram every time you roll out a crappy collaboration. What do they want? Natural fibers, better fit, a size range that is inclusive and reflects the general public without arbitrary cutoffs, good design, cohesive collections, solid basics, durability, functional pockets that can hold a fucking iphone, classic lines, and comfort.

If that is too much of an order, maybe get the fuck out of the industry that makes clothing for women, because there are actually companies that have demonstrated that it is possible to do it right: MM LaFleur (pricey, but excellent), Boden, Land’s End, etc. are all examples of companies that manage not to completely screw the pooch on selling clothing to women. Hell, I’ll even give you Eileen Fisher. Give me some linen and a functional pocket, Ms. Fisher, I’ll gladly look like a sexless therapist who moonlights at an art gallery.

But seriously, fuck right off with this cold-shoulder, poly-blend, lazy bullshit.

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ellivia · 7 years

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Alphabet Time

I was tagged by @edierone — Thank you!

a - age: 28 (until Valentine’s Day) b - biggest fear: death/my purpose going unfulfilled c - current time: 8:28 pm. Tell me why I just looked at the clock when I’m using my phone 😑  d-drink you last had: Alcoholic - Moscato D'Asti; non-alcoholic: Mountain Dew Baja Blast e - every day starts with: me thinking “dammit” f - favourite song: Uhhhh…pretty much any Manchester Orchestra song, at the moment.  g - ghosts, are they real: absolutely. h - hometown: Madison, Alabama  i - in love with: my husband j - jealous of: women who have the whole mom/work fulfillment thing figured out…I’m a SAHM (by choice, but I’m starting to rethink it. When the younger one starts school I think I’m gonna ditch it.) k - killed someone: only at trivia/board games  l - last time you cried: a few weeks ago, after some miscommunications with my husband m - middle name: I actually have two, but the one I usually use is Jane n - number of siblings: 2. They’re both technically half, but my sister and I didn’t find that out until I was 11, so we have never thought of each other as anything other than full-blood sisters. o - one wish: for my paralyzed vocal cord to become un-paralyzed again p - person you last called/texted: my husband. I had to tell him about a funny Reddit username I saw (it was bloodshotnipples) q - questions you’re always asked: mommy, can I have _______?  r - reasons to smile: I’m going to see David fucking Duchovny on February 27th s - song last sang: Parting Gift - Fiona Apple  t - time you woke up: 7:34ish am  u - underwear color: pink  v - vacation destination: Australia, Europe w - worst habit: probably Tumblr, honestly.  x - x-rays you’ve had: teeth, chest, and I’m sure I had some when I was going through all my thyroid shit  y - your favorite food: anything that is unhealthy. For real. Put any southern food in front of me and i'ma tear that shit up. I’m a junk food junkie, too.  z - zodiac sign: Aquarius

Umm, I’m gonna be REAL honest and say that I have no idea who has done this. So if you have, please forgive me. @puzzlingpeace, @kateyes224, @jamofappreciation, @settle-down-frohike

#about me #more than you want to know #sorry about the formatting #I'm on the app

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childrencryinncoffee-blog · 7 years

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Is Love a Priority?

Priorities.

How do we get these right? Do we ever get them correct? And how do we prioritize; as a woman? As a wife? As a mom? A human being? Which is the correct one and if we must do them all, which of the priorities is the priority?

I'd like to say I wake up every morning, grab my coffee and prioritize the day in my head or on paper. But I don't I usually have a laundry list, a to do list, an events calendar and a running calendar, as well as an agenda constantly looping through my mind.

Before I met Derrick; I was always a Type A personality. I believed in order, organization and had a plan, well, many plans.

I wanted to finish school, graduate, join the Air Force and go to college and somewhere after that I prioritized marriage and kids mixed in with a fantastic career that utilized both my smarts and my Type A personality.

Then I fell in love and priorities shifted. A lot. Everything I had planned was wiped off the table and a new, uncharted path was laid before me. I dropped out of school and didn't even remember what the Air Force was. It was late night conversations about dreams and hopes and making out until my whole face was either raw or numb. A spontaneous engagement moved things along a lot quicker than I anticipated. I moved away from home and got a job working at a fast food restaurant. I didn't even have my driver's license. But I was in love.

My dream of a big wedding with all my friends and family was traded in for a ceremony with the Justice of the Peace and all 7 of Derrick's college friends as our witnesses. I didn't even have one person on my side there. I wore a simple $10 clearance dress from Old Navy and ate rice and beans for my wedding dinner feast. I didn't have a first dance or even a wedding cake. I didn't have a wedding night, nor a honeymoon. But I was in love.

Motherhood sprung on me as if I were a ripe little lamb and it was a ferocious lion. I wasn't ready for it. My husband was throat deep in college and working and I stayed home, running from the bed to the toilet 50 times a day with horrible morning sickness. I was lonely and depressed, living a whole state away from the people I knew, trying to navigate a new marriage and now parenthood. And I was doing it alone--until my mom or grandparents mailed me a calling card in the mail and I'd finally be able to call and race everything across a 15 minute short phone call and prayed they'd give me solace before the operator cut in and told me my card amount was up. I got another job; working at a sandwich shoppe across from ASU and it pained my heart every time a happy college student busily strolled in for a working lunch and I watched that dream fizzle away too. But I was in love.

I reached my breaking point when my oldest was about 6 months old and I gave Derrick and ultimatum; move us back to California or we were over. I'm sure he still resents me for taking him away from his art school, his friends, his stay-up-until 3 am-playing-video-game friends and everything he built in Tempe. I knew I was depressed and I had tried to get help; but no one told me what Postpartum Depression was, they just said I needed antidepressants and I'd be fine. I wasn't fine. But I was in love.

We somehow moved back to Arizona once again when I gave birth to our second child and life hadn't changed much for me. Derrick had all his buddies from high school around and even some of the weasels tried to get me to sleep with them. One even tried to rape me once. I wish that would've been handled differently, and though I was upset, I stayed and I dealt with it; continuing to live and work in that tiny ass city where word spreads quickly and I became even more depressed. But I was in love.

When I found out I was pregnant with my third, I was so depressed I contemplated an abortion. I was in my very early 20's, in a tiny apartment, with 2, soon to be 3 kids, no job, no schooling and living in a town where my in-laws hated me and I had no friends. I tried my damnedest to befriend my husband's friend's spouses, but they just weren't my cup of tea. Signs of Bipolar Disorder were manifesting, but I still wasn't even diagnosed with depression at this point. We moved to a bigger house on the river and I got a job working reception at the front desk of where we lived. But I was lonely and depressed. Derrick was working a lot; mostly nights at Denny's and he had this bond with the women he worked with and I was always jealous. One even professed her undying love for Derrick and how she wanted him to be her daughters dad and all kinds of shit. I was dying inside; a mother of 3, struggling, and this woman was telling me that she was going to take my children's father away from them, to build a family with him. I began to act out. I drank almost daily. I smoked. I skinny-dipped with one of Derrick's co-workers and two strange men we just met. I began having affairs. I was acting immature and childish, to MAKE Derrick finally notice just how lonely and depressed I was. And rather than working on it like mature adults; he began making plans to visit his ex-girlfriend, the model. I wanted to leave. But I was in love.

I don't know how we survived him being injured and nearly dying and me being so depressed I was suicidal and self-harming, but we did. When he lost his job and mine wasn't enough to keep the bills afloat, we moved back to California, this time moving in with my grandparents. That was...not awesome. Seven of us in a broke down, run down, shanty shack of a house with the five of us cramped in one bedroom. Derrick eventually found another job and we moved out as soon as we could and within a year, I was pregnant again. It wasn't until that year that I finally spoke with specialists that told me I had a rare allergy that allowed me to become pregnant more easily when I'm taking birth control and that really screwed with my mind. I was 28, with 4 kids. In a tiny 2 bedroom apartment. But I was in love.

When Stephanie died, a piece of me went with her and I don't know how I've been able to survive since. She was my ONLY person. She talked me down from so much. I don't know how it's been two years without her and I haven't self-harmed once, not to say I haven't wanted too. Not to say I haven't tried. I try to talk to Derrick the way I talked to her. I tried to talk to my therapist and psychiatrist the way I talked to her. Nothing. I could relax around her and NEVER feel judgment. I'm afraid of hurting Derrick, so I filter myself when we talk. And with my doctors, well, I'm afraid they'll have me committed and take my kids away if I'm honest with them, so I censor myself or I make sure I word things in a way that make me appear "more stable" than I actually am. I keep my appointments. I tend to my children. I clean my house. I see my doctors. I'm (am now) taking my medication. I wanna leave. I don't. We fight and I want to leave him and kids. But I'm in love.

I read and read and read and listen to so many different sides and view points on priorities these days; on the news, in magazines, in books, on blogs, podcasts, vlogs, and I'm always left confused. When did my priorities shift? When did I no longer make my own list? I'm not even on my list. I have one version in my ear and in my head telling me that I MUST keep a clean house and it must be pristine because I am a SAHM and that's my job: clean house. Healthy kids. That's it. Then there's others telling me; don't worry so much about the house; spend time with your kids making memories; take them to events, craft with them, take them on expensive vacations so they have things to share. Then there's another voice telling me that my husband should be my priority because he works the hardest. He makes the income. He's gone all day. He provides; so keep his castle clean, make sure his laundry for work is fresh, keep his magazines in the bathroom, don't complain about his gaming because that's his outlet. Stock the fridge with beer because he deserves it. And I do that. Because I'm in love.

And then there's the feminist-ic viewpoint. Make myself the priority. Break glass ceilings. Venture out. Demand a tribe. Join the resistance. And I can't because I feel like I am denying my husband of a wife and my children of a mother. And yet, I sit here, thoroughly unhappy, listening to a wailing baby in her mamaRoo, who wants to nurse again, even though I've already nursed her twice while trying to write this. My older kids are disappointed I said no to dessert. They think I'm being mean. Truth is; no one is doing their chores and honestly, I haven't been grocery shopping and I really don't want to go. There was barely enough chicken to feed the kids dinner, so I came in here to write while they eat. And I'm saving yesterday's leftovers for my husband because he's worked all day and still has to work again tonight, so he deserves a meal more than me. Because I'm in love.

I can't look in a mirror without being disappointed. Both physically and mentally. I am a hard person to love, even for myself. I can honestly say I do not love myself. I love my husband and my children and I'd do anything to make them happy. But for the love of all things, I cannot bring myself to love myself. I argue with myself a lot too. I talk myself out of a lot of things too. I miss running; but I know the baby will need nursing, so I can't be too far away--and I can't take her along because a month later, my stroller is still broken in the garage. I was supposed to go on a bike ride today with Maverick, but Derrick had to work, so I had to cancel those plans. I wanna relax and read a book but either the baby cries or I'm just so dead tired, reading ANYTHING puts me to sleep. And even though I am tired, I force myself to stay awake when Derrick comes home because he's been gone all day and I want to show him my appreciation for him working so hard. I feel bad that I zone out sometimes when he talks about his day; but I am just so tired from the lists that keep repeating in my head. Beating me for all the things I didn't get to. So I sit, awake, listening to him, watching the shows he likes in bed, because I'm in love.

And this is my worry. When the kids all grow up and move out and have lives and priorities of their own, and it's just me and Derrick left behind, will he still be my priority? Am I actually in love or am I prioritizing love because that's what a wife is supposed to do and honestly, because I'm terrified of ending up like my mom. Do I love him out of guilt; he's a great dad, a great provider, a decent tech guy and from what I witness, a good friend to his friends, and I am constantly reminded how I'm the lucky one to get such a good one? Is he not lucky to have me? Am I a priority for him? Or is he just working his ass off to provide for his kids, so he's nothing like his father? Are we actually in a happy marriage, or are we terrified of doing anything else because we see how the outcome was for our predecessors? If we didn't have all these kids, can we actually say we're still together because we're in love?

We hear and read the stories all the time, about the parents that are super hopeful about their kids growing up and moving out, and how they're excited to be "empty nesters" and they can go out and travel and rediscover each other. Is that a myth? Or are those future plans just a hopeful priority? It really isn't fair to say I have to wait and see. I don't want to "rediscover" my husband later. I might not like him and I know he won't like me. I am no where near the girl I was when I was 16 and hopeful. I am tired and worn and constantly telling myself that "Lots of women get their shit together by 40" and that I'll lose the weight, and my tits will perk back up and all these kegels are actually doing something. And then the kids move out. And the house is quiet. And empty. And it's just me, him, and his Playstation55 or some shit. Will the resentment and loneliness I've experienced for all these decades going to eat us alive? I won't be bombarded with a constant list of remembering to wash work uniforms and PE clothes, and who has what papers signed for school, and tracing ABC's and 123's before dinner, or scheduling doctors appointments and planning events and activities and trips between Girl Scouts and play dates. Then what? Go back to school? Why? I missed my opportunity to enjoy getting an education with a youthful and sponge-worthy mind. Too old for the Air Force and even if I wasn't, I'm nowhere near in shape. And sex isn't even a priority anymore. So that's rarely talked about either. I've been a mom for a decade and a half. I have nothing interesting to say. And even if I did have something interesting to talk about, and I've tagged Derrick in it to have him read it so we can talk about it later, he ignores it and I ignore him ignoring it and he sips a beer and I mind my coffee and cigarette and we do this until bed time because we're in love.

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coffeeandtoastmama-blog · 7 years

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Five years.

That’s how long it took me to fully embrace my role as a stay-home mum.

I stopped being the worst critic on myself, my choice & my lifestyle.

A fixed mindset since childhood played an enormous factor in my judgemental inner voice, together with my search of new identity in a world that does not value the contributions of a stay-home mum.

My own struggles of a stay-home mum were really about my self-worth. My own expectations, parents’ expectations, the world’s expectations…

Before we go further, all mothers, whether you are a working mum or stay home mum, both have their own set of challenges and rewards. No judgement on which choice a mum makes because either way, we are all on the journey of parenthood and giving the best we can to our children.

I’ve been a stay-home mum since my first born. I don’t represent ALL SAHMs but I can share my own experiences for the past 5 years as one.

Here are some sample quotes I’ve heard since I decided to be a stay-home mum:

“Huh, you’re a degree holder? Wasted.”

“Your husband is the sole bread winner. Aren’t you worried?”

“Tsk, it’s a career suicide. Don’t stay home for more than XXX years. If not, it’s near impossible to re-enter the work force.”

“How long are you planning to be a sahm?”

And the ultimate “So, what do you do all day?”

To be honest, I don’t blame anyone for such comments. Yet again, the insecurities are REAL. I spent the last few years afraid I can’t integrate back into the workforce, wondering whether I will become obsolete, whether I’d wasted by education, whether I’d made the right choice for my family financially…

So, for the longest time, I’ve been letting my own guilt eat me up from the inside.

Was I happy raising my kids? Yes.

Then I came across this quote that summed up my pivotal moment:

“Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually considered an eccentric, if not a subversive. Ambition is only understood if it’s to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success. Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a flake. A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise children is considered not to be living up to his potential — as if a job title and salary are the sole measure of human worth.

You’ll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you’ll hear about them.

To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.” ― Bill Watterson

The Rise Of the NEW Modern Day SAHM

I decided to be part of the revolution of the modern day stay-home mum. The one who gave up a career to stay home. The one who chose to stay home to contribute significantly in cultivating & educating her children. Most of these stay-home mums are well-educated. They read extensively on early childhood education, doing their utmost best to give their children a homeschool environment in the early years. They babywear, cook, clean, get their hands & knees deep in shit every.single.day.

I’m glad to be able to witness every single milestone, being there for both my baby’s firsts, wiping each tear off their faces, encourage them each time they fall, capturing their smiles at the end of the day.

The ‘work’ that modern day stay-home mums do at home is the sort of quiet sacrifice does not yield immediate satisfaction or results that the world expects.

FIND JOY AS A SAHM, A LETTER TO MYSELF & TO ALL SAHMs

Dear Mom,

Firstly, know that you are more than enough.

It’s easy to fall into a trap thinking you are failing as a mother. You see pictures of other mums doing intricate crafts, Montessori, RIE, Reggio, STEM, homeschool, baby sleeping through, reaching milestones & you wonder whether the problem is you.

No.

You are more than enough.

You struggle to breastfeed, not to breastfeed, to put your precious one to sleep, survived sleepless nights, hear stories of other babies sleeping through yet yours is waking up every 2 hours, endure the mess of weaning your baby, whether to do BLW, not to do BLW (baby-led weaning).

And then the baby gets a fever & all parenting rules go out the window.

The tough times will pass.

Loving your child is the best thing you can do. A hug, a kiss, a song, a cuddle.

Enjoy your children.

The days are long but the years are short.

Make memories with them. Simple, joyful memories. Children do not need expensive holidays (though travelling with them is great if possible.) toys nor do they require constant stuff to keep them occupied.

A trip to the beach, the park, the zoo, reading with them and preparing a simple meal. Or even lying down together doing absolutely nothing on a weekday afternoon. No agenda, relishing that chill weekday afternoon because you are a SAHM and you absolutely deserve it!

Create beautiful memories for your children that will last a lifetime.

Distractions like household chores can wait.

You are a SAHM for the kids, not to do housework 24/7.

These are not important. And they are neverending anyway.

As C.S. Lewis said,”Children are not a distraction from more important work. They are the most important work.”

Take Time For Yourself.

A mere 10 minutes is better than none. Of course, I’m not talking about taking an entire day for yourself because that requires help either financially or relationally which I understand some mums simply do not have enough of such help.

I’m talking about daily time outs that are necessary for mum-survival! LOL

It really depends on the individual. Some prefer to zone out, watch Netflix, take a walk or take a nap.

Mine’s chilling over coffee breaks & night time binge TV.

It’s never easy looking after one, two or four kids. I’ve yet to reach a stage where I hide in the pantry for some solitude.

Find out what works for you and your children. My boys love tea breaks. They’ll quieten down over snacks which gives me a few minutes of much needed down time.

Find Purpose In What You Do

Whether a Mum chooses to work, had to work or quit to stay home, embrace that choice!

This quote by Judith Warner sums it up:

“I found that when women were able to act in line with their natural inclinations and ambitions — whether to work or stay at home — they were generally happy, and generally felt that their children were happy too. Whereas those whose natural inclinations and ambitions had been thwarted — whether they were working or stay-at-home mums — were sure that they and their kids would be better off if they changed course, and either went to work or went home. The morality of the situation– whether they felt it was good or bad for their children— derived, not from some external sense of the morality of their “choices,” but from the amount of happiness generated by any given arrangement.” ― Judith Warner, Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety

It’s tempting to think about the ‘What Ifs’ or look across and wonder whether the grass is greener on the other side. But trust me that often than not, another Mum is wondering the exact same thing while looking over yours.

It has been a journey of faith as I stay home to raise my boys hands on. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Xoxo,

Jingyi

Finding Joy as a SAHM Five years. That's how long it took me to fully embrace my role as a stay-home mum.

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wittymommy-blog · 7 years

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Can SAHMs be feminists?

Ever since I was a little girl, I was taught that I could do anything I wanted. I was expected to go to university, get a degree, and a great paying career I would love.

My father left us when I was two years old. My grandma and my mother raised me. I was expected to work hard for what I wanted, but I was also expected to become a mother one day.

So, that’s what I did. I went to University of Toronto and got a Bachelor of Commerce degree specializing in Human Resources. If that was not enough, I continued my studies and got a Masters degree in Industrial Relations. I finished school with over $40,000 in debt and minimum payments of $700 a month. Only two years had passed since the 2007/2008 financial crisis and I really struggled. As I was getting rejected from even volunteer HR position, I very quickly found out that education level did not really matter that much. I worked as a receptionist for almost a year, so I could make my student loan payments on time. So building on that, I secured a contract position I liked, which was promised to become permanent for years, and it finally did. A week later, I found out I was pregnant.

Naïve me. I thought that I would come back after maternity leave and everything would be the same. I would enjoy my role. I would get promoted or get hired for a better role by another company. I would finally get to use all that knowledge and education I have been lugging around.

I used every penny from my newfound permanent role to pay down my student debt. Just a few weeks before I gave birth, I was debt free and it felt great.

I gave birth. One year of maternity leave flew by. I went back to work and reality hit me hard. With my husband pursuing his career as well and, like many business professionals, coming home late. I found myself working round the clock. Day in and a day out I started by dropping my daughter off at daycare: sometimes alone, sometimes with my husband. I worked. Then, I picked my little one up, brought her home, fed her, bathed her, snuggled her, read her books, put her to sleep. Most of the time she slept by 8 PM. After she was asleep, I did laundry, cleaned and cooked until I went to sleep. Sometimes I spent hours putting her to sleep. That meant that chores would not get done. Sometimes my husband came home at 8 pm, sometimes at 10pm. He did what he could. Sometimes we both would just said, “Screw it” and collapsed on the couch.

Daycare did not work for us either. My happy little baby girl started to turn angry and sad. Like both my husband and I, she was also stressed out. I noticed that she pulled her eyelashes before I put her to sleep at night. I was not happy with the level of care my little monkey was getting. She took 10-20 minute naps or no naps at all. She got sick all the time, so did we. Our takeout bills skyrocketed; our budgets were going down the toilet. With the huge cost of daycare and enormous food bills, what I was keeping from my pay cheque, became negligible when considering how utterly exhausted, tired, and unhappy I was.

Oh fights, I need to mention the fights with my husband over whose job needed more attention. I made less than him, but less was not expected of me. I could not give less. I was raised to give my best to the task at hand. I could not slack off. So, the feeling of guilt, every time I was late or every time I had to take leave work to tend to my sick child overpowered me. I felt guilty, guilty, guilty. Guilty because I was not the mother I wanted to be. Guilty because I could not dedicate myself to my career like I used to. I worked from home while going through Hand Foot and Mouth disease for crying out loud. I was being stretched too thin. My child was too little. So, we made a decision as a family.

I quit. I quit my job to be a stay at home mom. Oh how happy was I that I paid off that student debt. Now that I am on this side of the ‘fence’, it hurts me beyond belief to see how little society thinks of stay at home moms/dads. Somehow growing a business is an achievement, but growing a human being is devalued and neglected.

The expectation from moms these days is preposterous. We are expected to devote our 100% at home and 100% at work. We must climb up the corporate ladder, so we are not judged for our “lack of ambition”. It is not understood that getting a toddler out of the door in the morning itself shows ambition.

Jokes aside, when there is no time to prepare food for example because both parents are working, we tend to default to take out or food from the freezer section of Costco. This food is not really high in nutrients. This decreases parents’ energy and patience. What happens next? They fight. They fight over who will do what around the house. They fight over who will take care and when of the child. They actually fight over anything and everything. Well, they fight in the best-case scenario. This scenario allows for issues to be identified and resolved. In the worst-case scenario, the more dominant parent will take a leading household role. She or he will do it all for long as she or he can do it. In both cases the spouses grow apart and end up resenting each other. Both of them end up wrapped up in their stress and emotions, too busy to pay attention to their child. Who will grow up in a blink of an eye, leave the house and only maybe come back for Christmas.

So can stay at home moms be feminists? Absolutely. They absolutely can believe they could do everything that men are doing and shatter all the glass ceilings if they chose to do so. In practice though, there is only 24 hours in a day. Something will give. Be it marriage, nutrition, sleep, children, career path – one of these is bound to collapse when a mother of a young child is trying to do it all. Don’t get me wrong. The Internet if flooded with ‘successful’ females. I want to puke when I see a working mother (#soblessed) in a business suit smiling ear to ear and holding her happy little six months old. This is not real. Being a working mom of young children is a shit show.

So there you have it. The girls these days are raised for a career and maybe to be a mother on the side. We have women like myself who invest years into their career just to face the hard reality of life when they have their babies. There is an inherent problem with society's very basic expectations.

As moms, no matter which path we chose, we are at risk of mental illness and depression and society is to blame. Working moms are always in fight-or-flight mode. She flies from a business meeting, to daycare, to the grocery store. With adrenaline constantly pumping, no wonder so many working moms turn to overeating and smoking. Being a stay at home mom is not so glamorous either. The constant need for mental stimulation and self-fulfillment makes us feel like we are wasting our precious time which can also lead to depression, smoking, overeating.

The solution is to stop society’s feminist expectations of mothers and start appreciating motherhood in itself. We need to stop teaching little girls that being a mother is a secondary unimportant task. We need to stop judging stay at home parents for their choices. Instead, we need to thank them for selflessly devoting their time to their children. We need to reassure them that they made a right decision. We need to stop stereotyping working mothers as a super-heros who do it all with a smile on their faces. The truth is that they are super-heroes, but there is plenty of tears and struggle. We, as mothers, need to admit that no matter what the situation is. It is hard. We need support each other in our choices. Some of us have to work to feed the family and need a hug just to get through the day, week, year, years. Some of us gave up all our hopes and dreams in favor of making sure that our babies are well fed and tended to. These moms, sometimes, too need a hug to get through the day, week, year, years.

Yes, as I said before, it is a shit show now. There are toys everywhere and some kind of weird jello thingy dried to kitchen floor. But, the years will go by fast and the house will be quite again pretty soon. Both working moms and stay at home moms will remember and miss the laughter, the cuddles and the fresh baby smell. The memories are all that we will have left with us. So why not make them judgment-free and pleasant?

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