I am fortunate to belong to a group of women friends who love and support one another unconditionally. They are my book club friends, but they are more than that. When we get together, we do talk about the book (well, most of the time). But we also talk about so much more. Each get-together provides a kind of sustenance that is hard to describe. Friendship is not necessary for survival, like food or shelter. It is not a means to personal fulfillment like employment or the pursuit of a passion. But it is essential in so many other ways, and if a complete and satisfying life is to be viewed as a well-balanced dinner, then adult friendships – particularly the friendships among women – are like a fine wine that has mellowed with time and provides the perfect accompaniment.
During one book club meeting several years ago, the book being discussed was I Don’t Know How She Does It, by Allison Pearson. (It has since been made into a movie starring Jessica Sarah Parker.) The title, which refers to how the protagonist, a working mother, balances her work and family life, implies both a guarded admiration and a reserved judgment. While it was a light, fluffy read, the discussion became anything but. Each of us in the group had her own unique tale to tell. Some of us worked while raising young children; others made a conscious choice to stay home and, years later, faced the difficulty of re-entering the work force. It turned into a very emotional discussion, with each of us questioning our choices now that our children were older. Were the sacrifices we made, either by foregoing opportunities for career advancement or missing out on those once-in-a-lifetime moments in our children’s development, worth it? We looked at each side of the coin we had flipped and no matter where it landed, it didn’t seem like one decision was better than the other. While once upon a time we might have judged each other’s choices, now we had the perspective to regard each other with empathy and compassion.
It occurred to me after that meeting – and I have reflected on it many times since – that women can be each other’s biggest critics. This begins at a young age. I remember being called a “green-eyed monster” by some girls in my neighborhood when I was in fourth grade. (This meant I was jealous – a crushing insult.) In seventh grade my best friends told me I “lumbered” when I walked. When I dieted in junior high school and high school, it was the girls I was trying to get skinny for – not the boys. It was their approval I sought with the clothes I wore and the activities I participated in. I am pretty sure this continued to some degree through college. And when I was expecting my first child, it was women who judged me for my choices.
“Aren’t you worried about someone else raising your baby?” one female colleague asked me while I was in the process of selecting a day care provider.
Later, when my baby was settled into her daily routine with Millie, our sitter, I wanted to explain to my work friend that as far as I was concerned, my child couldn’t have too much love in her life. Millie was one more adult who cared for and cherished her, but there was no question my baby knew who her mother was.
My friend Tori and I used to joke about the stereotypes of the working versus non-working mother: stay-at-home moms ate bonbons all day while working mothers let their nannies raise their children. She and I were in similar situations at the time, both of our husbands working as postdoctoral fellows in the scientific field, with limited salaries, both of us with young children, but we had made different choices. She had taken leave of a career in library science to stay home with her children, while I continued on a career path of sorts. We grew to know each other well enough to respect each other’s choices without judgment and without doubting our own. I might have at times envied her the activities she was able to participate in with her children while she might have longed for the adult company I enjoyed during the workday. We even talked about writing a “Hers & Hers” column for a magazine. I wish we had followed through on this, because I think we would have had some insights to offer working and non-working mothers alike (excuse me, mothers who work outside the home and those who don’t).
One of the instructions given on airplanes before takeoff is that if there is a need for oxygen masks, put on your own first before attending to your child. In other words, if you pass out for lack of oxygen while trying to take care of your child, you are of no use to yourself or your child. I believe this is a great metaphor for motherhood. Take care of yourself first; your family will be better off as a result. If you decide to stay home because you think that is the right thing to do, and you are miserable, then chances are your unhappiness will affect your relationship with your husband and children. If, on the other hand, you feel compelled to work – for financial reasons or to stay current in your field – but you end up feeling put upon and resentful, then staying home with your child is probably the better choice for you. Of course, this is a luxury not afforded to everyone, and obviously sacrifices must be made and compromises struck. You will also need a supportive husband who, no matter what course you choose, helps you strike the proper balance for the good of your family.
But whatever you do, don’t judge others for their choices. Someday you may find yourself in a group of women who forged a different path than you, and you wouldn’t want them to judge you either. I hope you will be as fortunate as I to surround yourself with true friends who, no matter what the circumstances, have the maturity, the perspective, and the wisdom to support you, guide you, comfort you, and have your back.
(An Aspiring) Happy Go Lucky Girl
