I have always seen myself as a feminist- not the literal way, not the protester with a poster type- but I always believed that women earn respect, freedom and dignity as men. That the time, the body, the work of a woman, should be as important as that of a man.
I believe that women should not be reduced to their ability to give birth to children. I believe that motherhood should be a choice, never expectation and that a woman with or without children is complete, that her value is not tied to her body.
And yet I still wear a soft, almost sacred admiration for motherhood in my heart. Although he knows how society has Gender -specific and stressed the role I can’t deny the beauty that I see in the bond between a mother and her child.
It feels strange to admit it loudly, because a feminist means to question the structures that glorify motherhood and do not give women any real support.
Even after reading how motherhood is romanticized to catch women in unpaid work, even after he has learned how mothers are held responsible for every mistake their children make, even after they understood how unfairly and see the load – somewhere in a calm corner of my heart, motherhood still feels like magic.
It feels strange to admit it loudly, because a feminist means to question the structures that glorify motherhood and do not give women any real support. It can be seen that fathers may often be far away, applauds that mothers are mercilessly assessed for every tiny thing. It can be seen that motherhood is often a lonely, ungrateful, exhausting journey, which is disguised in pastel colors and lullabies.
And yet I still find something gentle, almost holy in it.
When I see a mother who wears her sleeping child on her shoulder and patties her back in soft rhythmic movements, I feel something in me. When I look for her mother in a crowded room for her mother and relax immediately, I feel something warm in my chest. When I think about how a mother seems to know what your child needs before the child can even speak – I have impressed!
I know that part of this bond is built by an unfair system that women are often forced to be the “primary” parent. That fathers still “help” today when they have parents, while mothers are only expected to do it as a natural part of their being. I know that women are celebrated because they only sacrificed themselves – their bodies, their dreams, their time – in the name of motherhood.
I hate that the world expects women to give up everything for their children, while men can keep their ambitions, their free time, their individuality intact.
I hate that the world expects women to give up everything for their children, while men can keep their ambitions, their free time, their individuality intact. I hate that women have feelings of guilt to believe that “good motherhood” means to completely disappear into their child’s needs.
And yet after the hatred I find everything the connection between a mother and her child admire. It still feels nice for me how something that goes beyond what the world tries to pack and sell.
I think part of the conflict is due to what I grew up. In my family it has always been the mothers who remembered everything – birthdays, school projects, medication, favorite dishes. It was the mothers who stayed awake, who woke up early to pack lunch boxes early, who noticed when we were sad, even when we said we were fine. It was the mothers who gave without counting.
And even though I now understand how unfair it was that it always fell on her, love does not do less real. The system is deeply faulty, but the individual actions of care, patience, the violent unconditional love – these are not wrong or ugly.
In fact, I think what makes motherhood so beautiful for me is that it thrives despite the injustice. Even though mothers are exhausted, they sing sail songs; Although they were underestimated, they kiss scratches and remain by fever and although they have been stressed, they still find ways to love loud and gentle.
Of course, I know that all of these complications in the name of motherhood have always been glorified and that it brings resentments, loneliness and frustration. It can be a life -changing experience that not every woman wants, and not every woman enjoys it. And that is also valid. Maternity should not be romantized to a perfect fairy tale like femininity.
But somewhere deep inside me I still see something powerful in tenderness that mothers offer – not because they decide every day, but because they choose it.
The feminist in me would like to change the world so that motherhood is not a trap, no obligation, no burden on the sole. I want a world in which fathers are expected to be granted parents with the same tenderness and responsibility. Wherever motherhood is supported, not isolated and the decision not to be a mother is respected, and it is celebrated to decide one without idealizing the victim.
I don’t think that the cladding of motherhood makes me a bad feminist. Instead, it makes me a person who sees the depth, pain, the victim and the incredible beauty of something that society has often turned to its own advantage.
But until this world arrives, I live in this chaotic reality. A reality in which I can act against the injustice of motherhood that is treated as a “duty” of a woman – and still softer my heart when I braid her daughter’s hair in the early morning. A reality in which I can criticize the system – and still admire the beauty that individual women create in it.
Maybe what it means is to be a feminist: to want better for women – not because what you do now is worthless, but because it is so valuable that it deserves recognition, respect and real support.
I don’t think that the cladding of motherhood makes me a bad feminist. Instead, it makes me a person who sees the depth, pain, the victim and the incredible beauty of something that society has often turned to its own advantage. Loving women and all the worlds they carry within them without expecting them to be perfect. Fight for their freedom – and honor their decisions, including those shaped by a difficult world.
Perhaps it is possible to ancient the system and still be moved by tenderness that grows in it. Perhaps it is possible to be a feminist – and still believe that the love of a mother has a little sacred.
Anushka Bharadwaj is a graduate of journalism at SCMC Pune. She is an intersectional feminist with deep interest in gender, caste, politics and mental health. If she does not write or reads, she is usually lost in poetry, dances to her favorite songs or discovers new music – always thinking about the world after stories.
