Mothering from The Void
The Mother-shaped hole in the networking world
Welcome to Getting Better. My name is Miriam, and I share weekly personal essays to offer moments of pause and reflection from a place of hope and joy. My pieces touch on motherhood, loss, chronic illness, human nature, and more. I share all my work freely right now. Subscribe for free, or upgrade for the price of an oat milk latte — my favorite / unequivocally the best drink on any menu 🥰 Sign up here:
Our minds are such wily little beasts!
I read this week that it’s hard to get into a firm like McKinsey or Goldman Sachs, with so many people competing for the prestige of few spots. This is hardly a newsbreak, but the whisper to my younger self’s ambition is all it takes to rattle my insecure mind.
Once upon a time, I had a Goldman Sachs job. 10 years later, I’m unsalaried and unclear on if I’ll ever pick up another traditional career — I’m a stay-at-home-mom. What was I thinking, giving up something so prestigious? I romanticize the life — specifically, the salary and status — I could have had if only I’d stayed. At the same time, I hear my honest, bewildered self. What on earth are you saying? That’s not your dream!
Goldman was never my dream, but at least I could point to my value. And that’s something that feels sorely missing from life as a mother.
I feel the strangest dichotomy: the deepest fulfillment and alignment between my work and my life, and the least amount of care or investment by the world in my growth and development in this role. For the first time, when the stakes are at their highest, I feel like the world couldn’t care less if I do a good job.
Within society at large, since choosing to spend my days with my boy, I occupy some strange void. I know I’m in good company alongside millions of other highly capable, ambitious women, but it feels eerily silent here. It’s especially eerie because I know I’m not alone; I sense the presence of all these mothers around me, but I can’t find ways to reach them. I crave their knowledge and wisdom and company.
I seek out my people — friends, families, small local gatherings of mothers like me — but the void swallows us whole and the stream of news from the outside world drowns out our voices. There’s a live feed announcing all the value others are adding to the world, whilst we sit just quietly at home (in our lives of quiet luxury; who would be brazen enough to ask for more?).
I open Instagram and see inspiring mothers all around the world who are homesteading and homeschooling, or running major corporations, or anything in between. I can relate to a lot of their motherhood content, but the people feel so far away from me (even the locals!). (And I’m not making videos about my motherhood experience, so somehow it feels like maybe they do feel less isolated from society than I do. Does that even make sense? Could it be true? Or do they, too, feel the void?)
I close Instagram and open LinkedIn. The celebrations of new roles and promotions feel like Facebook with baby announcements when you’re trying to get pregnant. I don’t even know what I’m doing on LinkedIn anymore. I awkwardly hold onto my last job title in the hopes no one notices. “Stay at home mom” updates don’t get claps or insightful light bulb icons — there’s no celebration for pausing a career —but getting off LinkedIn altogether feels like dooming myself to oblivion. But why do I care and what’s the alternative?
“After 6 months of hard work, I’m proud to share I’ve been offered a promotion! As of this January, I have gone from wiping cute, sweet breastfed-baby poop off my babe’s bum to taking on his massive, adult-sized dookies. I wouldn’t be here without the support of my husband, who cooks so many fragrant meals for our sweet little angel. And, of course, my little angel himself. Thank you for trusting me with your excrement. Onward!”
I loved LinkedIn when I was hungry for career development and eager to put myself out there to see what opportunities might arise. Ironically, I’ve never been more excited to share what I’m learning in my new role, but I now feel like an unwelcome guest in these spaces.
I’d love to connect with a network of mothers across the globe — to lift each other up, to take on challenges as a village, and to swap inspiring stories and supportive resources. But there’s no LinkedIn to connect us and celebrate our milestones or our new company headshots. Instead, I’m in the bowels of Reddit, burrowing deeper into tunnels filled with questions on ingesting fecal matter, grateful for the anonymity of it all.
It’s not the Goldman job that I miss, it’s the mutual understanding between myself and the world that I’m worth something in that role.
Why is my role as mother so devoid of value and status that I hear a silent “just” before “stay at home” every time I say it out loud? Why do I long to be able to share a big career update, when I don’t long for that at all? Because I long for all that comes with being seen in a role others feel is worthy of celebration and support.
I’d love the richness of a world that’s invested in supporting my growth and development as a mother. Why do we care more about lifting me up as a financial analyst than lifting up our next generation through the power of intentional, collaborative, celebrated parenting? There’s important work to be done along both paths, but the value seems to rest overwhelmingly with the former.
Even for mothers working outside of the home, the job others recognize first and foremost is not the job of mother. Our identity as a mother may come up in the workplace, or not at all. But any mother’s work outside of the home is inevitably influenced by her identity as a mother and all the work she takes on inside her home as well. Acknowledging this foundational identity of motherhood allows us to apply the richness and texture of motherhood to all our endeavors. Ignoring it feels like we all miss out on the fullness of our experience and abilities.
I’m considering pivoting the name of this space to a version of “Motherhood Collective” to invite in more reflections and mutual support over time. I’ll continue to share a full range of what’s on my heart that week — but it feels more authentic to name explicitly that everything on my heart now links directly back to my role as a mother. Some identities can be more easily picked up and put down. I was once a Financial Analyst, and I was once a Founder; I’m often a Reader, and sometimes a Writer; I’m a little more German in some spaces, and a touch Puerto Rican in others. But Mother does not come and go. It’s the breath that gives new life to whatever other identities I embody in life.
I’ve already met and connected with so many inspiring mothers here on Substack in just a few short weeks — readers and writers, creatives and businesswomen. I want to continue nurturing these spaces of shared wisdom, acknowledgement, and support through motherhood.
I think that’s part of why many of us are in this space, after all — whether as readers, writers, or both. We crave to feel seen and heard, and it feels so good to offer that resonance to others (this is true for all humans!).
If you’re here as a mother, I’m curious to know: do you feel fully seen in your role as a mother? How has your identity as a mother influenced the way you show up in any of your other identities? I pray you feel seen and supported, but if you don’t, I’m here with you and I see you.
I know there are many voices, spaces, and platforms that hold space for the village to come together and share knowledge. If you have any favorites, please share them in the comments! I would love to hear where you feel most welcome, seen, and supported in your development.
I was in the motherhood void for 8 years, having previously been a highly paid freelance programmer. I felt utterly devalued by everyone, including my husband, who started treating me as his domestic slave. After leaving him I built a new life piece by piece; the life of my dreams. Now I am a writer and teach creative writing at a London university. Motherhood can be a time for changing direction. I suspect that without the void, and finding myself officially ‘deskilled’, I would never have achieved my dream of being a writer. I hope you, too, find the void becomes a helpful pivot. And maybe the community you seek is here, on Substack.
I remember sitting on the front hall bench at my mother’s house, I was 30, holding my baby who was about a month old. Our whole extended family was gathered together, and my husband and I were so proud to show off our new baby. I still wince at the memory of my successful brother looking at me holding my baby and saying, “So, Karen, have you thought about what you’re going to do with your life?”