Can Motherhood Offer Us Freedom?
For a long time, I rejected the idea of white feminism. I know, it’s ignorant of me to have done so. But I’m a believer in the power of transparency in order to affect real change.
I rejected the idea of white feminism because if it were true; it meant that the feminist movement that I followed for so long — that I upheld my values to — was harmful, elitist, and racist. And I did not want to be related to a movement that was related to those abusive traits.
I started to identify as a feminist somewhere around high school. It was a time when I realized boys were condescending towards girls, they were mean to girls they liked, and they ultimately judged us based solely on a number rating. It wasn’t the power as a woman I felt that drove me towards feminism, it was the outsider feeling I felt by not being good enough as a girl — for the boys.
I know, kid stuff. Locker room talk. I’m a sensitive liberal snowflake.
But hear me out.
As a budding feminist, I started to blame men for the oppression of women. It was men who forced women to become moms and wives; it was men who didn’t want us to succeed in life. It was all men’s fault. Women were victims in an oppressive system that needed to change. The patriarchy needed to be smashed. I didn’t read any feminist literature apart from Jane Austen and Kate Chopin. Both white women born in a different century where slavery and dowries were still very present.
Token white feminist.
So I read old novels about women who didn’t want to marry. It wasn’t until college that I discovered Maya Angelou and was introduced to a more nuanced version of womanhood, of blackness, and of a world that I was unfamiliar with, even though it was happening while I was alive.
But still, I held on to the ideals that white feminism promotes. As I grew up, I decided that my career and my art would be the sole purpose of my life.
Dolly Parton sang in her hit Working Girl,
“Some find her too aggressive / She don’t know how to stop / ‘Cos she’s the kind that won’t look down / Until it’s from the top.”
I wanted to live by these words. I ignored the repeated chorus:
“She’s a working girl / She is single and free / She’s a mother and wife and / She’s proud to be / A working girl.”
To me, I could not be single and free while also being a mother and wife. Everything that I taught myself about feminism dejected that idea. The idea that if I were to be a wife; I’d submit to a man. And if I were to be a mom; I’d submit my body, my life, and my identity to my child. Freedom, I told myself, was worth more than marriage and motherhood.
This thought process helps misogyny grow into a boiling vat of hatred. It draws deeper chasms between men and women. Between mothers and non-mothers. It keeps the idea that men are above us; that they can bend us and shape us with our own choices. It is absurd.
Feminism is the idea that all women choose the life they live; free of judgment from others. Feminism uplifts all women; not just the women who choose to follow similar paths as us. Feminism is hard work because it is about love, acceptance, humility, and listening, even when we don’t agree. It is not about rage, hatred of men, politics, or professional success.
Feminism is a belief system, not an identity.
Being a wife and a mother and being single and free are both possible. Sacrifice and compromise are not takers of freedom. They are tools to set boundaries; tools to develop freedom and agency in the decisions we make in our lives. The ability to decide whether or not to bring a life into this world is freedom. Raising a child into an adult can give us agency in our lives for generations.
Dolly Parton doesn’t believe in feminism. Like most women who don’t identify with the belief, she believes it is exclusionary of men. To some, this can be identified as the root of feminism. In a world that encourages women to tear each other down; I still think the core belief of feminism is about the camaraderie of women, not an exclusion of men. But whether or not we believe in feminism is not the point.
When I listened to Working Girl shortly after getting engaged, I gripped my steering wheel at a busy red light and cried at the chorus.
“She’s a working girl / She is single and free / She’s a mother and wife and / She’s proud to be / A working girl.”
I cried for my grandmothers, my mom, my aunts, my friends, every woman I know who has been the example I refused to see. That marriage and motherhood were not life sentences, but a chosen avenue toward deep, spiritual growth and womanhood.
I ignored all the examples in my life, and it was Dolly who helped me realize my truth.
