When did we lose our love of motherhood?
As a new study reveals a generation of women is shunning having children, Cristina Odone explains what has changed for them
My first CV cost my parents £50. Back in the Eighties, this was a substantial gift – but worth it, they assured me, because my fate lay in that single printed page. Mum and Dad were ambitious for me, and I was groomed to value academic and professional achievements. Coming out top in any competition and obtaining financial independence: these were goals to aim for.
I bought into this mind set, encouraged by teachers, bosses and peers. Then I had a child. And, as I slipped into a baby-centred routine of feeding, bathing and coochy-cooing, I realised that nothing in my upbringing had prepared me to appreciate motherhood.
Figures published this week show that one in five British women in their early forties is now childless – twice as many as in the Nineties. I am not surprised: motherhood has become a foreign land. Its customs are out of kilter with an increasing number of British women in 2018, who are busy relishing their newfound power and influence. But such victories have been won by female activists and career professionals who display extraordinary self-confidence, single-mindedness and competitive spirit – not traditionally seen as maternal qualities.
The winners in these high-profile battles against misogyny in the bedroom and the boardroom now occupy centre stage. Many see their chief role as leading others, rather than rearing children. Mothering could not be more different: even the vocabulary surrounding it denotes its self-effacing nature. Mothers “rear” children, standing at the back of the queue when goodies like high status and great bonuses are handed out. Mothers must deal with “domestic drudgery”, “household chores”, and the “burden of childcare”.
When your existence is couched in such Cinderella terms, no wonder so many mums feel like everyone else is having a ball. Indeed, a recent study found that one in four new mothers is suffering from post-partum depression. While, in Norway, a survey found that the majority felt
No one is taught how to find satisfaction in qualities we associate with mothering
less confident and more unhappy after the birth of their child.
Any educated woman born since the Sixties will have been taught to take pride in her school record, job – even her looks. But no one seems to have taught her how to find satisfaction (or even pleasure) in caring, nurturing, self-sacrifice, humility, or any other quality we readily associate with mothering.
A case in point: on the all-female series of Celebrity Big Brother this week, journalist and mother of three Rachel Johnson admitted that, to her, devoting decades to child-rearing seemed dreary and unfulfilling. “I have friends who have never worked and I sort of project myself on to them and I think what will they think when they lie on their deathbeds, won’t they have wanted more?” she told Ann Widdecombe.
But the character traits associated with motherhood are innate, and therefore no measure of personal achievement. They are also seen as counter-productive in the workplace. “Caring and sharing” is used to dismiss a softie, likely to underperform. Patience is rewarded, but not as much as go-getting. Self-sacrifice is interpreted as lack of confidence. David Brooks, the bestselling American author, has written that there are CV values and eulogy values: in our culture, the former trump the latter.
Today’s women have been raised to believe in the superiority of CV
values. A crayon-scribbled picture or a goodnight kiss melts the heart – but somewhere in the back of my mind is my French teacher Mademoiselle Spittler, hissing: “Really? Is this what you were educated for?”
The answer is no – nor were most women I know. When I interviewed over 100 parents, educationalists and psychologists for my book Concentrated Parenting, I met new mothers who felt they had won an important prize – but then found no one else seemed to agree.
If you have been schooled to measure success in terms of a good salary, how do you rate your ability to silence a toddler? When your parents expected you to be top of your field, how can you expect them to cheer your potty training prowess?
“Our school,” says Nicola Slater, a lawyer and mother of three, “taught us to think we could be astronauts and lawyers. We were proud that there was no “domestic science”. There was no value attached to raising children or building a home life.”
Simply, we live in a non-maternal world. Witness the shelves of parenting books aimed at middle class, well-educated women. They interpret the foreign sounds and strange expressions a baby makes. In the past, stay-at-home mothers and extended families would have initiated the newbie into her role. Now, Granny is likely to live in another city and, in any case, to view this stage of her life as “me time”. Most families are small, autonomous units, rather than big broods where future mothers (and fathers) can practise nurturing.
Dolls, too, have virtually disappeared. A friend turned on me when I offered to buy her daughter the “baby” she had asked for. “We don’t do dolls. Get her a chemistry set.” I did as I was told, but felt I was depriving her of a chance to practise tucking baby into bed, and wiping her plastic face clean. But then, empathy and nurturing: what are such qualities, in comparison with knowing how to use a Petri dish?
At university, career advisers talk about the importance of building skills and networks, not staying sane with someone who sleeps, weeps and eats all day. Job interviews encourage putting yourself forward, not placing others’ needs first. All around us, celebrations of celebrities and moneymakers send out the message that this is what matters, drowning out the rare plaudits for homemakers.
Anne Fennell, chairman of the organisation Mothers at Home Matter, recalls how difficult it was to give up her job in a publishing company to raise her six children. “I struggled with self-worth: I had not lived up to my own expectation of myself. No one could believe that I found personal fulfilment in something other than professional success. No one told me that what I did was really valuable.”
“Mothers receive little encouragement,” agrees Juliet Neill-hall, children and families strategic lead for Surrey County Council. She was struck by how rarely she was praised for raising her five children: “If I hadn’t always worked part-time, I would have spent 20 years feeling under-valued.”
Sarah Darton, acting CEO of emotional health charity Family Links, believes that schools are key. “They can create a climate where mothering and personal relationships are valued.” The charity has devised a new online module to teach children that “jobs change, finances fluctuate, but an enduring relationship can sustain you through it all”.
Rachel Grigg thinks this could prove invaluable. A mental health campaigner and author of Walking on Sunshine: 52 Small Steps to Happiness, Grigg suffered two depressive episodes in her thirties. “In the future, I would like our education system to give pupils far more information about the mental health implications – both for children, and for parents who are juggling multiple roles. I would have found it helpful if there had been more of a celebration of parenthood.”
A sense of perspective could help, too. Anne Fennell says: “When you look back over your life, what you are going to regret is not the promotion you failed to get, but the moments you didn’t spend with your children.”
Career advisers should take note: perhaps they should be inviting girls to consider motherhood, as well as a job – and to work out how raising children can be built into their career trajectory. They could teach that mothering is, as Fennell puts it, “a phase during which you can slow your pace, and discover things about yourself – emotionally, physically even intellectually”.
Now that’s something truly worthy of putting on your CV.
Celebrations of celebrities send out the message that this is what matters