Grazia (UK)

Is ‘having it all’ simply making us miserable?

Being a working mum is an assault course of responsibi­lity juggling – yet we still feel we have to sugar-coat the truth, says Christine Armstrong, whose new book lays it bare…

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it’s not easy being honest about parenting, even when what you say isn’t being made public. Someone I know, when talking privately among friends, says her toddler is a ‘total arse’. Which sounds terrible but just reflects his enthusiasm for running towards anything dangerous – playground exits, roads, rivers – because he knows it forces her to get up and chase him. Naturally, if you met her and asked about him, she would describe him as ‘funny’ and ‘full of energy’.

It reminds me of those early days of parenting, when there always seemed to be a mum boasting that her six-week- old slept through the night until 7am. Later, when we knew each other better, she would say, ‘I mean… she kind of did but I did give her two bottles in the night…’ Or, ‘ Well, she did once, but the little bugger has never managed it again – and she’s four now!’

We can understand that positive messages reflect well on the parents. The child sleeping through, whizzing through potty training or walking early conveys good things. ‘She must be a good mother.’

When I wrote recently that many senior corporate women find it difficult to be honest publicly about how difficult being a working parent is, I got an email from a woman I’ve never met: ‘I am absolutely guilty as charged in being portrayed as a high-flying executive who balances a stressful job while successful­ly juggling being a parent to three children, when in reality most of the time it’s utter chaos and I spend my entire time feeling guilty about not having enough time to devote to my job, husband, kids, family, friends, so always dropping the ball on one of them’. But I didn’t just get that email – I got hundreds. All of them saying that it’s not working.

Over the years, having interviewe­d many working women (and men, but that’s a different story for another article), I’ve generally seen three levels of what mothers are likely to share. Publicly, we tell stories about the challenges of being tired, grumpy and self- critical: the house being a mess, sleeping badly, needing a glass of wine to calm down. Privately, we easily complain about the role of others in making things worse (our nightmare boss, feckless partner, other bitchy mums at the school gate, the useless childminde­r/au pair/nursery/nanny). In absolute pain- ofdeath confidence, we whisper about the raw moments: losing control of our rage, regrets about having got parenting horribly wrong, deep and genuine concerns for one of our children.

Stories like this one: ‘It was a Monday morning, we were running late. As the school bell edged closer I was getting louder and crosser and crosser as I barked the kids towards the door. Finally getting them out, in a sweat, we started off down the street, only for the oldest to announce sullenly that she’d left her book bag on the kitchen table. I stormed back to the house, grabbed the bag, slammed the front door in a rage and threw the bag at her. It smacked her right in the face and gave her a MASSIVE nosebleed, which gushed blood while she howled in the middle of our street. I then had to deliver them to school and admit that, yes, me, the school’s special educationa­l needs teacher, had done this to my own daughter.’ Realising something had to change, she signed herself up to a parenting course.

I know that I too have been guilty of airbrushin­g the truth. While I was on maternity leave after having my second child, a friend introduced me to someone training to be a life coach and suggested she practise on me. The woman spotted that I was struggling to combine full-time 

work and one child ( let alone two) and tried everything she could to persuade me to change tack. But I wouldn’t: I would barely accept how hard I was finding it. Eventually, the poor woman gave up. Looking back, I am forced to wonder why I refused to see what was so obvious.

My hypothesis is that a lot of it comes down to being conditione­d to succeed. Many of us learned through our education that to comply was to do well. Then we went to work and did the same. Seeing ourselves as equal, competent, capable. We took pride in our visible achievemen­ts: a promotion, a pay rise, a little bit of management, people telling us we were doing well. We got a buzz from working hard. We played by the rules of the game we were in – dedicated to work, always on, always helpful, always fixing things. We saw that those who did rock the boat – complainin­g too much and being too challengin­g – were pushed aside. We didn’t really question the rules.

Until, perhaps, we had a child. And what had worked before didn’t work as well. We wanted to be good at work and good mums: we know good mums are gentle, present and kind, not ‘ bagthrowin­g nutters’ ( her words). But being good at work was in conflict with those things. Either we kept going, because we had great support and the income that made it possible. Or something triggered us to make changes. Like the woman about to return from maternity leave who went in for her annual appraisal only to find she got a low score for her project because she hadn’t finished it. Surprised, she explained that she hadn’t finished it because she’d had a baby. The man appraising her looked at her and said, ‘Sure, but you didn’t finish the project so you get the lower mark.’ She is dreading going back to work and is looking for other options; there’s a good chance she is someone else who will step out of the workforce.

Those who do keep going, despite the set-backs, often shy away from admitting the real challenges. Keeping going, justifying all the hours, all the stress, all the dedication for the kids, the house, the nice holiday. But really, perhaps, because we just didn’t know any other way to do it and we’re not sure who we would be without it. When it gets hard, many of us simply stiffen our resolve to work harder, get up earlier, do Pilates, be better organised, sink a sleeping pill, prioritise better.

Those who make it through this assault course often then find themselves being appointed the poster woman for successful women in business. With good intentions of encouragin­g others and avoiding that special place in hell (for women who don’t help other women), when asked how they did it, they say, ‘I worked very hard, was well- organised and had a lot of support.’ Knowing as they say it that things were much more complicate­d than that.

When I asked a very senior woman why she couldn’t be more honest about how hard it is in her organisati­on, she sighed. ‘It’s like Stepford Wives, we’re all smiling and making it all look easy in a world that, quite honestly, was created by men for men. If any of us said what we really thought we’d be booted out and probably wouldn’t work again.’ The question for her isn’t why do we lie – it’s why would we ever tell the truth?

Another working mum-of-two who makes it look effortless puts it like this: ‘My weakness is being a people-pleaser. It’s like a death warrant, it’s a massive failure. I say yes when, honestly, I should be telling people to F off. But the truth is that I get so little sleep, because I’m trying to get everything done, that I often cannot think rationally and clearly. If anyone at work knew how exhausted I am, it would totally be used against me; no one would give me any responsibi­lity. But if I told anyone how I sometimes lose it with our kids, they would be shocked and think I was insane.

‘ You don’t mean to but you can be so awful to them it’s stomach-wrenching. To tell the truth about any of it, I’d have to admit either that I wasn’t good at my job or that I’m not a good mum. Probably both. Who would want to do that?’

The problem is that unless some of us do start admitting to at least some of how hard this battle is, then we have a whole generation of women thinking that everyone else can do it and that they are the failures. If #Metoo made us confront the reality of workplace harassment, then perhaps we need #Thebattle to talk about what modern business life is doing to our families. ‘ The Mother Of All Jobs: How To Have Children And A Career And Stay Sane(ish)’ by Christine Armstrong is out now (£13, Bloomsbury)

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