I would not have called myself a feminist before I had kids. I mean, I didn’t reject the idea either, I just didn’t think about it much. I thought Latin and philosophy and political science were sexier than women’s studies in university. (Yes, if you pick your major based on what is book-nerdishly sexy you run a significant risk of becoming a blogger.)
Mostly, though, being a girl had never held me back from anything. As a young woman born in Toronto, Canada in 1978, the idea that my sex would at all impact my career choices and trajectory (outside of professional athletics, say) was completely foreign to me. Globally, of course, I knew it was a different story. But for me? In my life? Sexual discrimination was a non-factor.
And then I became a mother.
No, first I got knocked up and freaked the hell out. Of course, I was happy and excited and all that stuff too. But beneath that glow of eager anticipation and seriously thick and shiny hair was the gut-wrenching apprehension that I was not in control anymore. My maternal imperative to provide a secure and stable environment for my baby was matched only by the increasingly suffocating realization that I might not be able to.
Don’t get me wrong, I was never in danger of becoming homeless or otherwise destitute. I had a husband and a strong family network to fall back on. But I, MYSELF, suddenly had doors slamming in my face everywhere I turned. Job mobility doesn’t exist while you’re pregnant; you cling to the one you have or get a new one quick-style before you start to show.
You’d be hard pressed (Sarah Palin and Marissa Mayer aside) to find a new job halfway through your pregnancy and even the job you have is on life support. You will either take a maternity leave and have your salary slashed at least in half in most cases or go back to work and instead spend half your pay on childcare or forego that silly childhood dream of a career and just stay home. I am not trying to belittle anyone’s choices. In fact, I’ve dabbled a bit in all those outcomes myself. My problem is that pregnancy made me feel like I had no choice.
All three times I have felt a bit trapped. I didn’t want to leave my husband, but what if I should want to all of a sudden? What if something happened? I simply couldn’t do it on my own. I was in a temporary state of forced dependence — on my husband, my parents, the welfare system … anyone but myself. It eased up by the time my baby was a few months to a year old. I regained a sense of control, began rediscovering an array of options.
But that first pregnancy (echoed by the second and third) was the first real inkling I had that my womanhood could hold me back.
This post on pregnancy and feminism was inspired by International Women’s Day. I think we’re good to keep talking about this stuff for more than one day, don’t you?
Did you feel the same sense of constraint and dependency during your pregnancies? Is this a commonly shared experience?
4 replies on “Pregnancy and Feminism”
Yes! I was subject to workplace abuse while pregnant, had to leave my job at 4 months preggo and was unable to find anything else. Afraid to apply for many jobs as well for fear of misrepresenting myself and causing tension when revealing the pregnancy.
Spent the remaining months fretting whether I would receive maternity EI ( I did, luckily). Felt like the walls were closing in.
I was a feminist before, but am even more of one now.
It’s so hard to find yourself so vulnerable all of a sudden. Glad you survived!
This is such a great post. I didn’t experience any employment-related issues (my contract has great maternity leave provisions), but the general loss of control: absolutely!
I haven’t articulated this all that well, and hope you’ll write more on the subject, but what I’ve realized is that being a powerful woman (even a feminist) doesn’t mean being in control all the time. It means having the supports in place, both personally and socially, to do biological things without being reduced to a ‘mere’ body.
That’s the biggest problem with patriarchy: it privileges a false dichotomy between the mind and body, and demeans those who by virtue of their sex (i,e., the ability to get pregnant) or dis/ability are bound more closely to their bodies.
The reality, of course, is that we are all bound to our bodies, and part of a contemporary feminist (or post-feminist) project should be to ensure that all bodies — women, queer, trans, dis/abled and aging bodies — are valued and supported.
[The funny thing about pregnancy is that there is nothing more vulnerable — or more powerful — than the ability to bring forth life. Why women are not still worshiped as gods I do not know.
It takes a superhuman effort on a woman’s part to have a career of her choice AND have a family. I always wanted to have both and I do-but I’ve always had to make compromises. i wanted to be a war journalist but then what happens to my little daughter and what happens to my marriage. i love my family dearly and i love having a career though it’s a constant struggle to maintain my sanity sometimes.
I have friends who look like they have everything under control..maybe they do, maybe they don’t…
Great topic to bring up Rebecca..great post. :))