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Abstract

et Mead, women saving the day during WWII, and Roe vs. Wade.History is being made.Christine Blasey Ford. I give you a standing ovation.Voices are being heard — and those voices are loud and haunting. I raise both my arms up, in quiet excitement, as I drape fresh linens on the beds, corners tucked for the boys, untucked for the husband.Although sometimes I forget, out of habit.With every news story that comes out, I feel like things are changing — like women are slowly taking over. Enter Ms. Ocasio-Cortez, Omar, Haaland, and 12 others.We are taking over slowly because we’re more careful and innately more empathetic than some of our male counterparts who take over things in haste, driven by testosterone, not necessarily by what is just and fair.Women are gaining strength. Women are gaining power. And I feel it. I feel it so strongly like we’re on the brink of something huge.But. . .<h2 id="11ac">But Who Will Do the Laundry?</h2>But, my role is in the home. What am I supposed to do with all this energy running through my veins? Make those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches faster? Scrub the toilets harder? Fold the laundry neater?While there are more and more women becoming breadwinners in American households, there are still millions of women who stay home with traditional motherly/wifely roles.Our roles are really no different than the 1950s, minus the misogynistic magazine ads.We clean, we cook, we love — we make a home for the people who occupy it.How lucky am I? I get to spend my life doing tasks, however small or gross, that better the lives of the three people I love the most.Am I being genuine? I really don’t know.This is the structure of our family. It is what works. He provides for the life we have; I manage it. I don’t have a boss. I don’t have a dress code. I don’t need to stress if a kid stays home sick.But I don’t have co-workers for comradery, n

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or a pay raise for validation. I don’t use my college education, and I often feel inferior to working moms.As I scrape hardened urine from under the toilet seat mount, I grow sad at how meaningless each task feels individually — how lonesome and demeaning some of my days can be.But when you put all the little tasks together, my job description is remarkably long. And, some days, it feels remarkably important. Some days.<h2 id="ccdb">Raising Sons</h2>I know my boys don’t appreciate any of it, nor should they. I didn’t understand the scope of my own mother until I became one myself.Am I doing my future daughter-in-laws a disservice by staying in this role?As I scrub the grout in the shower with an old toothbrush, I wonder if my sons’ memories of me will be stationed with a vacuum and an oven mitt.No matter how self-sufficient I vow to make them, have I already set the mold for what they will expect from a partner?Is this force that I’m feeling from the recent movement inspiring me to leave my role, or is it making me feel less worth that this is my role? I really don’t know.Despite this revolution, I believe there will always be women who choose to stay in the home. I imagine that all these women — whether it be 1950 or 2050 — have moments when they have regret, knowing they are not living up to their full potential. They question their place in the world.Amanda’s children will remember her as the woman who wrangled 6,000 with three days' notice to march for a cause she was passionate about. That’s extraordinary.My children will remember me as Mom. And that’s extraordinary too.Isn’t it?Emme Beckett is a former non-profit speech/grant writer turned mommy blogger turned essayist. She’s been featured in Fearless She Wrote, The Bad Influence, The Haven, HomeSweetHome, Live Your Life on Purpose, The Post-Grad Survival’s Guide and The Ascent and several other non-Medium publications.</article></body>

Can a Stay-at-Home-Mom Be a Feminist?

Or am I just a hypocrite?

Image by Kiselev Andrey Valerevich on Shutterstock

2016–2020

Wow. What a time to be a woman. Something’s been in the air. It’s thick. It’s moving. It’s palpable. It’s getting bigger.

And it’s inspiring the hell out of me.

As I kneel here, scrubbing my kitchen floor, it amazes me that less than a hundred years ago women couldn’t even vote.

Yet, in the last election women came out in droves wearing their pussyhats marching for equality and social change.

My friend, Amanda, and three of her friends wanted to be part of that movement, but couldn’t make it to Washington DC, so they decided they’d march in their own town.

They posted it on their Facebook pages, someone shared it, then it was shared and shared and shared again.

6,000 people joined Amanda that day.

This thing has momentum and, as I stand here rinsing the dishes, I smile.

I’m proud to be a woman in 2020.

We are the Silence Breakers. We are #metoo. We are Time’s Up.

We are amidst a movement and it’s incredible, powerful. As I unload these groceries from my minivan and prepare dinner for my family, I cheer on my fellow sisters for their activism and bravery.

Women are speaking up — defending their salaries, defending their bodies, defending their worth.

This will be in history books along with stories of women’s suffrage, Margaret Mead, women saving the day during WWII, and Roe vs. Wade.

History is being made.

Christine Blasey Ford. I give you a standing ovation.

Voices are being heard — and those voices are loud and haunting. I raise both my arms up, in quiet excitement, as I drape fresh linens on the beds, corners tucked for the boys, untucked for the husband.

Although sometimes I forget, out of habit.

With every news story that comes out, I feel like things are changing — like women are slowly taking over. Enter Ms. Ocasio-Cortez, Omar, Haaland, and 12 others.

We are taking over slowly because we’re more careful and innately more empathetic than some of our male counterparts who take over things in haste, driven by testosterone, not necessarily by what is just and fair.

Women are gaining strength. Women are gaining power. And I feel it. I feel it so strongly like we’re on the brink of something huge.

But. . .

But Who Will Do the Laundry?

But, my role is in the home. What am I supposed to do with all this energy running through my veins? Make those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches faster? Scrub the toilets harder? Fold the laundry neater?

While there are more and more women becoming breadwinners in American households, there are still millions of women who stay home with traditional motherly/wifely roles.

Our roles are really no different than the 1950s, minus the misogynistic magazine ads.

We clean, we cook, we love — we make a home for the people who occupy it.

How lucky am I? I get to spend my life doing tasks, however small or gross, that better the lives of the three people I love the most.

Am I being genuine? I really don’t know.

This is the structure of our family. It is what works. He provides for the life we have; I manage it. I don’t have a boss. I don’t have a dress code. I don’t need to stress if a kid stays home sick.

But I don’t have co-workers for comradery, nor a pay raise for validation. I don’t use my college education, and I often feel inferior to working moms.

As I scrape hardened urine from under the toilet seat mount, I grow sad at how meaningless each task feels individually — how lonesome and demeaning some of my days can be.

But when you put all the little tasks together, my job description is remarkably long. And, some days, it feels remarkably important. Some days.

Raising Sons

I know my boys don’t appreciate any of it, nor should they. I didn’t understand the scope of my own mother until I became one myself.

Am I doing my future daughter-in-laws a disservice by staying in this role?

As I scrub the grout in the shower with an old toothbrush, I wonder if my sons’ memories of me will be stationed with a vacuum and an oven mitt.

No matter how self-sufficient I vow to make them, have I already set the mold for what they will expect from a partner?

Is this force that I’m feeling from the recent movement inspiring me to leave my role, or is it making me feel less worth that this is my role? I really don’t know.

Despite this revolution, I believe there will always be women who choose to stay in the home. I imagine that all these women — whether it be 1950 or 2050 — have moments when they have regret, knowing they are not living up to their full potential. They question their place in the world.

Amanda’s children will remember her as the woman who wrangled 6,000 with three days' notice to march for a cause she was passionate about. That’s extraordinary.

My children will remember me as Mom. And that’s extraordinary too.

Isn’t it?

Emme Beckett is a former non-profit speech/grant writer turned mommy blogger turned essayist. She’s been featured in Fearless She Wrote, The Bad Influence, The Haven, HomeSweetHome, Live Your Life on Purpose, The Post-Grad Survival’s Guide and The Ascent and several other non-Medium publications.