‘Women's Work’... Ownership or Overwhelm?

Stella Hervey Birrell

Photography: Pablo Heimplatz via Unsplash, read more about ‘The Cardrona Bra Fence’ here. 

The day after speaking at a writing conference, our dishwasher hadn’t been run, so we didn’t have clean bowls for breakfast. It was also recycling pick up day. After running out in my slippers to put out the relevant boxes, I mentioned these anomalies to my partner and he got defensive and shouty.

What am I teaching my children about how domestic chores and paid work are structured, divided and managed?

I know this is not a serious allegation, despite referencing a dishwasher full of crockery. I am a walking, talking example of female privilege. Our household thrives on a single income — just because I have a writing career successful enough that I get invited to conferences, doesn’t mean that I am making any money from it. (In case that’s unclear: I’m not).

So what could I possibly have to say about Emotional Labour? Well, if it’s still not good for me, what is it like for everyone else? And more pertinently, I am the person that has the time, the energy and the words to talk about it.

Deborah Frances White, of the Guilty Feminist podcast, says ‘If you have privilege and time, then step up and be an ally where it comes to emotional labour. When I’m in a good place, I think, “I’m a white, cis, straight, middle class woman — so it doesn’t cost me to patiently explain privilege and power structures to someone who wants to learn and is asking for help.” If someone is exhausted from being marginalised they may not have the bandwidth and it’s fair and right for them to say no and walk away or throw it to an ally. It’s nice when we can catch that ball and be that ally.’

Not wanting this article to concern itself solely with my laundry woes, I spoke to some same-sex couples to ask about their experiences. One pointed out that all that I would gain from this intensive research model would be individual relationship perspectives. Another said, ‘I can’t believe anyone puts up with that. Especially the whole “Oh I can’t do DIY, I leave it to my husband.”’ As someone who does not do DIY, I wonder. Is it OK? Does my partner have ‘his’ jobs, and I have mine?

Nope. Many of ‘his jobs’ are optional, seasonal, and project based. Mine are perennial, constant, and thankless.

Him: DIY, weeding, car stuff, light bulb changing – but to be fair, also accounts, bill paying, all the money stuff, the minimalism which has emptied the house of its belongings, and the weekly shop.

Me: childcare management structures, laundry, food, making the fricking list for the weekly shop, appointments, hair teeth and nails (don’t start me on whose job nails are), cleaning and hoovering (I use the JK Rowling model of housework), school meetings and involvement, vet appointments, birthday planning, family visits for both sides, school holiday activities, homework, piano practice, overseeing chores, almost all socialising plans, and MOT and tax on my car.

I am starting to realise why I often forget my MOT date.

The constant lists hurt in a different way, too. As someone with poor mental health, I find the busyness of life difficult. As a woman, it has been bred into me that the emotional labour: the planning, the making sure it all gets done, should be a responsibility I excel and delight in.

The constant lists hurt in a different way, too. As someone with poor mental health, I find the busyness of life difficult. As a woman, it has been bred into me that the emotional labour: the planning, the making sure it all gets done, should be a responsibility I excel and delight in. But it has also been medically proven that you can’t hold more than seven things in your head at the same time. I find that details slip away with ease. With just me to make sure that the football shoes are in the school bag or there is a snack every day, I forget, often, which leads to parental guilt, anger towards my partner for not helping or even understanding, and a spiral of negative thoughts from which it takes time to recover.

My children are a huge part of the reason I don’t work for money. But believe me, I work. I did not give up paid work in order to keep my house clean, I gave it up so I could be present for my children, giving them as much of my attention as I could.

As a feminist, I don’t sit on many of the intersections. But as someone with a history of poor mental health, I spent my early twenties looking at the walls of bars and shops were I worked, and sometimes hospital corridors, not lecture theatres or graduate fairs. Even if I wanted to teach my kids that a woman can support a family financially and a man can stay home, I couldn’t pull down that salary if I wanted to. I tell people that feminism is about choice, but it doesn’t stop me feeling lazy, un-feminist, a poor example, all of those things my brain tries to sabotage me with.

As the years roll on, I realise more and more that there doesn’t seem to be an answer to the great question of ‘who is going to look after the kids?’ I know that being honest about how much we all do and take responsibility for would help. Defensive and shouty, not so much. A good start would be for all of us to come to the realisation that privilege on one side of a household leads to an inevitable disadvantage on another side.

One of the many reasons I support gender as a spectrum and not a binary is because expectations have the potential to explode and disappear in a society where woman and man are just two of several options. Nothing that makes me a woman inside or out makes me intrinsically better at being the person who hangs up the laundry.

Or forgets to put it in the machine in the first place.