A standard of happiness for motherhood: “the problem that has no name”

“I had always thought this was everything I wanted. I had worked so hard to get here and now it seemed I wanted none of it.”

Those two sentences summarised in a nutshell what I thought was “wrong” with me.

I had just started reading (…ok listening to) “The Feminine Mystique” by Betty Friedan. And even though this was a book written in the 50s and 60s, it felt incredibly relevant and personal.

Not only because we still (yes STILL) live in a world with a distinct gender gap, but because it analyzed and tried to make sense of the then prevalent “unhappiness in women”, who by the standards of the day should have otherwise felt happy.

And when I was listening to that book, I felt incredibly unhappy…even though by today’s standards, I should have felt happy.

I was married, had a successful job and had a lovely 1-year-old. I had none of the deprivations experienced by those women about whom the book spoke in the 50s and 60s. Nobody had forced me into marriage or deprived me of an education. In fact, at university there were more women than men in my graduating class.

I knew, however, that this unhappiness was more than baby blues and also that it was quickly descending into a depression.

And I was not alone.

As time went on and I found the courage to talk about it more openly, I found that roughly 80% of my girlfriends who had children, were in a committed relationship and had successful jobs, had either already gone through something similar or were going through the same issue at the time.

Some of us were told that it was “normal” and that it would pass. I recall going to see my GP in tears after being referred by my midwife, only to be told, cue condescending voice: “aw, its hard isn’t it?” and being sent home with no follow-up.

At least we had each other. Although, it felt at times like the blind leading the blind. We would get together, there would be coffee, some crying and a deep misunderstanding of what had led us there. A big WHY?

Why weren’t we happy? What was “wrong” with us? With our healthy children, our successful careers, supportive partners (some of who had taken the role of primary caretakers) and loving relationships. What was missing?

As one of the counsellors who I spoke to at the time put so succintly: “what more do you want?”… I couldn’t answer.

It struck me that our unhappiness seemed eerily similar to the “problem that had no name” as defined by Friedan and yet none of the factors that she had identified remotely applied to us.

We were, in fact, the complete opposite of those young, sometimes uneducated women about whom Friedan wrote. We were their granddaughters, women that two generations down had grown up to enjoy the benefits of so many of the changes brought about by the feminist movement.

We saw ourselves as strong proud feminists and some of us had continually laughed off the possibility of marriage, that is, until we fell in love. I even recall a school friend saying “wow, really YOU are getting married?” when I announced my engagement.

Had we conformed? Did our unhappiness stem from an ingrained belief that marriage and children meant settling for something less than we had aspired to our whole lives? Were we letting the feminist movement down by having chosen such a traditional, conventional path?

The fact that we were also working full time didn’t seem to make it any better. It just meant we had triple the guilt to contend with:

• Marriage and children (i.e. “traditional settling”);
• Working mum (i.e. abandoning your child); and
• Full time job (i.e. still not being devoted to your career, because see №2 above).

I have come to think that possibly the “problem that has no name” did not stem from a number of outside factors like Freidan so neatly identified; but perhaps from a type of rite of (childbearing) passage.

One that makes you question, down to your very core, what you are doing and what you want out of the life that you have chosen to live.

Coming out on the other side may mean changing many of the core beliefs that once seemed to have defined you, as well as those “goals” you once thought you dearly wanted.

For my part, I have said goodbye to the corporate suits that I once so loved and admired. It was at the time an armour that gave me power. Now its seems more like my kryptonite. Trying to put one on, feels like putting clothing from my teenage years, awkward and inappropriate all at the same time.