The Invisibility of Motherhood
This post is Part II of my response to "How do you do it all?" Part I is here.
My mom has always been what she calls “the psychological parent.” She maintained the family calendar, made sure my brother and I went to the doctor, dentist, dermatologist, and other necessary specialists. She oversaw school and activities, and she made sure we were fed and clothed. And she did all of this invisibly.
Motherhood, I've learned, is filled with invisibility. Sometimes the hard work is taken for granted, but more often than not, it's greatly appreciated, but often quietly - with an unexpected hug, a heartfelt "thank you," a smile, or a sacrifice so that mom can get her way sometimes. Less often do moms get vociferously praised for making the ship run. Their work is invisible, despite how necessary.
I had this revelation on Christmas day, as I watched my children give handmade items to everyone in the family. They had taken their time and used their talents to create gifts that reflected each person, and everyone appreciated the sentiment. My heart filled with joy as they brought smiles to others.
It wasn't until later that I realized neither of them had given me a handmade gift. This fact didn't upset me though it made me curious. I had been the one to suggest they make a list of gifts they wanted to give. I prompted them to include their various teachers, both in school and out, and I helped them wrap the gifts. I was pretty visible, I thought, during the process. So why was I overlooked?
My thinking on this matter deepened after a conversation with my husband, who suggested I hadn't done a lot of work during the holiday. Again, I was curious. Who had purchased and wrapped almost all of the presents for the entire family? Who had planned multiple meals for our guests, shopped, prepped and cooked? Who had cleaned the house in preparation? Who had directed the church pageant? Who had gone to the store to capitalize on the after-Christmas sales?
I hadn't taken a break from the moment I logged out of my work email Friday afternoon until the conversation Tuesday night, yet somehow my work wasn't visible.
My reflection this week has allowed me to put a label on something I have known for a long time: the work of motherhood, of being a psychological parent, is often invisible work.
December is a crazy time of year for everyone, but a professor sees increased work-related stress as we finish semesters and try to complete other administrative tasks before the holiday break, when virtually everyone goes into hibernation for a week. On top of the professional stress, my life as a volunteer explodes in December. Despite the intensity, I still choose to host my family and to dig into the work of motherhood at Christmas. I do this for my children, for myself, and also for my mom, who has always loved the holiday.
When I was a child, my mom transformed our home with the spirit of Christmas. She decorated multiple trees; replaced wall hangings and knick-knacks in every room; and made sure that my brother and I had tons of presents wrapped beautifully under the tree (including underwear!). She hosted my grandparents, cooked for all of us, and played piano while we sang on Christmas Eve. She single-handedly made the season magical.
I can look back now and see all of her invisible work, work I'm mimicking as I emulate her traditions (my family gets underwear for Christmas!). I don't have her talent in decorating or gift wrapping, and I'm grateful she shares them with my children, who help her set the Christmas table and admire her beautifully wrapped gifts each year. But I dig into the rest of the work of the holiday so that I can, in some way, deliver what she delivered for so many years.
So as I continue to reflect on how I do it all, I still say "I don't." But I am able to do a lot because I embrace my invisibility, not fight it. Like Santa, or a superhero, I sneak in quietly to serve others without expectations in return. Whether at work or at home, I know that it's not about me, but about how I can affect others in positive ways. This work feeds my soul and makes the rest of it worthwhile.
Dedication
I've written before about the influence my mom has had on my life, but I dedicate this post to her as an acknowledgment for all of her invisible work.
Look for part III in this series, Finding Joy in Imperfection.
My mom has always been what she calls “the psychological parent.” She maintained the family calendar, made sure my brother and I went to the doctor, dentist, dermatologist, and other necessary specialists. She oversaw school and activities, and she made sure we were fed and clothed. And she did all of this invisibly.
Motherhood, I've learned, is filled with invisibility. Sometimes the hard work is taken for granted, but more often than not, it's greatly appreciated, but often quietly - with an unexpected hug, a heartfelt "thank you," a smile, or a sacrifice so that mom can get her way sometimes. Less often do moms get vociferously praised for making the ship run. Their work is invisible, despite how necessary.
I had this revelation on Christmas day, as I watched my children give handmade items to everyone in the family. They had taken their time and used their talents to create gifts that reflected each person, and everyone appreciated the sentiment. My heart filled with joy as they brought smiles to others.
It wasn't until later that I realized neither of them had given me a handmade gift. This fact didn't upset me though it made me curious. I had been the one to suggest they make a list of gifts they wanted to give. I prompted them to include their various teachers, both in school and out, and I helped them wrap the gifts. I was pretty visible, I thought, during the process. So why was I overlooked?
My thinking on this matter deepened after a conversation with my husband, who suggested I hadn't done a lot of work during the holiday. Again, I was curious. Who had purchased and wrapped almost all of the presents for the entire family? Who had planned multiple meals for our guests, shopped, prepped and cooked? Who had cleaned the house in preparation? Who had directed the church pageant? Who had gone to the store to capitalize on the after-Christmas sales?
I hadn't taken a break from the moment I logged out of my work email Friday afternoon until the conversation Tuesday night, yet somehow my work wasn't visible.
My reflection this week has allowed me to put a label on something I have known for a long time: the work of motherhood, of being a psychological parent, is often invisible work.
December is a crazy time of year for everyone, but a professor sees increased work-related stress as we finish semesters and try to complete other administrative tasks before the holiday break, when virtually everyone goes into hibernation for a week. On top of the professional stress, my life as a volunteer explodes in December. Despite the intensity, I still choose to host my family and to dig into the work of motherhood at Christmas. I do this for my children, for myself, and also for my mom, who has always loved the holiday.
When I was a child, my mom transformed our home with the spirit of Christmas. She decorated multiple trees; replaced wall hangings and knick-knacks in every room; and made sure that my brother and I had tons of presents wrapped beautifully under the tree (including underwear!). She hosted my grandparents, cooked for all of us, and played piano while we sang on Christmas Eve. She single-handedly made the season magical.
I can look back now and see all of her invisible work, work I'm mimicking as I emulate her traditions (my family gets underwear for Christmas!). I don't have her talent in decorating or gift wrapping, and I'm grateful she shares them with my children, who help her set the Christmas table and admire her beautifully wrapped gifts each year. But I dig into the rest of the work of the holiday so that I can, in some way, deliver what she delivered for so many years.
So as I continue to reflect on how I do it all, I still say "I don't." But I am able to do a lot because I embrace my invisibility, not fight it. Like Santa, or a superhero, I sneak in quietly to serve others without expectations in return. Whether at work or at home, I know that it's not about me, but about how I can affect others in positive ways. This work feeds my soul and makes the rest of it worthwhile.
Dedication
I've written before about the influence my mom has had on my life, but I dedicate this post to her as an acknowledgment for all of her invisible work.
Look for part III in this series, Finding Joy in Imperfection.
Thank you. I love the concept of "embracing invisibility." That is something that is very hard for me to do, even now. The title of my infrequent blog - "She always tried her best, BUT..." says volumes about this issue in my psyche. Your musings help. I love you, admire you, and appreciate so much all you do for others. Again, thank you.
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