I have been talking to mothers a lot lately, in part because my peers are increasingly married and starting families, but also because I am increasingly engaged in feminism and reproductive justice. Discussion about women’s rights, health, and experiences lead inevitably to motherhood and its place in our female identities—and often to conflict over what that place should be.

I myself am not a mother, nor do I particularly want to be. I am not motherly. I have always put other priorities above reproduction–education, career, activism–and besides, babies terrify me with their helplessness and fragility. Handed an infant, I hold it gingerly as I might an oddly shaped, wriggly Ming vase until it bursts into tears, at which point I relinquish it with a deep sense of relief. Nevertheless, I am assured by older female relatives that the maternal instinct will manifest, like some latent superpower, “when you have your own, of course.” I find this unlikely, and I’m suspicious of the implication that all women must have this aptitude. That if I do not have it or want to have it, there is something not quite right about me, even in this day and age. That all women want to be mothers. “Of course they do…”

But in talking to women who are mothers–feminist women, women of all generations, not just my “Gen Y”–and particularly to those who have chosen motherhood over a career, I hear, over and over, a sentiment that, at first, surprised me. That motherhood is devalued in our society–that other people, other women, look down on mothers for abandoning their career, implying that a woman cannot be a mother and a feminist. That they must work to gain respect and social status, when in fact motherhood is “the most important thing a woman can do with her life.” Even Rebecca Walker, the prominent third-wave feminist, recently had some harsh words to say about feminist devaluation of motherhood by her own mother, Alice Walker.

Knowing what I know about the abortion debate in the U.S., the ongoing erosion of Roe v. Wade, and the constant pressure brought to bear on women’s autonomy in the law, at first I couldn’t understand where these women were coming from. My experience, of course, is quite different. I see the message of exalted, sacred motherhood at every turn, at every level of public discourse. I see motherhood placed at the center of what it means to be a “real” woman, “natural” motherhood raised above all, my own choices dismissed as just a stage, an anomaly. “You’ll change your mind, you’ll see.” (And I do catch myself wondering, sometimes, what is wrong with me that I don’t want that.)

But then I took a step back, and I realized something stunning (to me.) They were right.

I even recognized a little of myself in the feminism they criticized, my feeling that I have more important things to do with my life than propagate this troubled species of mine. When that recent news story about the teenage “pregnancy pact” came out of Massachusetts, for instance, I was horrified. How could those girls destroy their lives like that? But according to the news reports, these pregnancies were no accident; they wanted to be mothers together. (Since then, follow-up reports have cast doubt on whether the pregnancies were planned at all, but that doesn’t change the context of my original reaction.)

I’ve worked with teen moms; I know first-hand that young women can and do make devoted, prematurely mature parents, better mothers than I feel I could ever be. Sure, those girl-women’s lives may be more difficult now, they may be too young to fully understand the consequences of their choices, they may not have had any options that looked better. But as my youth-rights friends would say, who am I to question another woman’s agency? Who am I to say they made the wrong choice? Who am I to say that they’ll regret it later? Odds are, they won’t. Odds are they’ll feel their child is the best thing that ever happened to them, as so many mothers do, even in hardship. But my first, instinctive response was grief for them, for lost potential–and what’s more, the media shared my horror.

So the mothers were right. If motherhood is valued by this society, it’s not real mothers, real women, who are on that pedestal, but an ideal mother of the “right” age, the “right” sexual orientation, the “right” race, the “right” marital status. (Consider the vilification of single black mothers by Republicans and Democrats alike–I’m lookin’ at you, Mr. Clinton.) Women who choose motherhood over a high-powered career do find themselves and their choices devalued, disrespected, harshly stereotyped in the media and society as lazy or unintelligent. They work hard–being a mom has to be one of the toughest jobs out there–and receive no compensation. (It’s no coincidence that women and men who work outside the home in traditionally “female” but socially crucial positions such as teaching or caretaking also get paid far less for grueling work, but the most essentially “female” job–if you go in for essentialism–receives the lowest economic value, a big fat zero.)

But at the same time, I wasn’t wrong. Women who choose not to have children and focus on a career instead find themselves bombarded with the message that their lives are incomplete, that the most important thing they can do is raise the next generation. They too find themselves at an economic disadvantage, even if they work in traditionally “male” fields such as medicine or law. In fact, women lawyers still earn $90,000 less than men on average, according to the ABA.

Still, if career women and stay-at-home-moms think we have it bad, the women who try to do it all don’t have it any better. Working mothers have their competence at both pursuits called into question. In both the US and the UK, women with children face discrimination in hiring and promotions. One study shows mothers are 37% less likely to be hired and are offered $11,000 less than women without children. Meanwhile, they encounter criticism for not having enough time to spend with their kids, being “selfish” or materialistic. The working mother therefore feels tremendous pressure to excel at her career—she must “do her work twice as well to be considered half as good,” as a favorite coffee mug of mine declares—while raising perfect angels at home. But she can only do so much; she’s only human. (A radical idea, yes?)

And then there are the women who don’t have a real choice, because they are unable to have children, because they don’t have the education to back up a fulfilling career, or because they don’t have access to affordable fertility treatments, contraception, or abortion services. In this country and across the world, “choice” is illusory for millions of women.

The “Mommy Wars” made much of in the media echo, and sometimes blend into, the debate over reproductive autonomy. As Kristin Luker points out in her excellent book, Abortion & the Politics of Motherhood, most female anti-choice activists are mothers themselves, and feel they’re fighting to protect a way of life. And many pro-choice activists, including myself, fit the stereotype of educated career women fighting to protect our own way of life. But it’s not–or it shouldn’t be–a war between the mamas and the childfree power suits, or some sort of “oppression Olympics.” Women’s lives, women’s choices, women’s identities are universally devalued. Yes, still, today, in the 21st century. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, damned if you do what you have to do. And as long as we continue to fall into the trap of putting each other down to defend the validity of our own lifestyles, we’re never going to win the real battle.

That’s why I believe LSRJ’s recent name change carries such power. Widening our vision of the movement from “choice”–which has come to mean the choice not to have children, constitutionally and politically–to reproductive justice means honoring and supporting ALL choices, the diversity of women’s experience. Not all women want what I want; not all women see abortion as essential to their freedom, because they’re busy worrying about getting good pre- and postnatal care (or any health care at all for that matter), whether they will be able to conceive, carry, and keep the child they want, or how to support themselves and their families in a flagging economy.

That doesn’t mean I won’t fight like hell to keep Roe on the books. But it does mean that the fight is far, far bigger than that. Bigger than me and my own life choices, and those of people like me. And it’s bigger than just assuring rights and access—it’s about improving educational and employment outlooks so disadvantaged women truly have viable choices available to them. It’s about giving control over the birthing process back to pregnant women. It’s about supporting women’s health, women’s safety, and women’s autonomy whether they choose to have ten kids, two kids, or none at all. It’s about liberty and justice for all women of all faiths, of all races, in every community, in all walks of life–regardless of whether they’re walking a path that seems “right” to us.

–Erin Simonitch

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 20th, 2008 at 3:31 am and is filed under feminisms, politics, abortion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.