A Woman’s Role
“Write a blog,” he says.
I know my colleague’s words are kind and encouraging, yet they somehow sound like a demand. “Oh yes, I’ll put it on my list,” I reply. But where exactly on the list? Perhaps before doing my tax return, but probably after cooking dinner, cleaning the toilet, and topping up the kids’ lunch money.
There’s always a list and I am supposed to find time for all the things on it. Some are essential, some not, and others supposedly “good for me,” like writing a blog.
So here I am writing on a Wednesday morning, after making a packed lunch, emptying the dishwasher, feeding the cat, and putting away the laundry. I sit down with a cup of tea and ask myself: Why am I writing this? What purpose does it serve? Who would even want to read my words? Does it help anyone?
Then another voice, let’s call her Simone, interrupts: ‘Would a man question all this? Would a man need a higher purpose to write? Would he doubt whether his words were interesting to others? Would he think emptying the dishwasher was a higher priority?”
It’s a fair question.
As a freelance counsellor, I’ve been grappling with my sense of self-worth since my paid work was reduced, not by choice. I’ve tried to make good use of the time: to enjoy the slower pace, to create a calmer and more nourishing home life. But honestly, I often feel useless, unfulfilled, and quietly dissatisfied with myself.
There’s no increase in the bank balance for this dedication, no appraisal, no promotion. It’s the same old story: the lack of value our society assigns to a woman’s role in the home, or to care work more broadly, even when it’s professional. I hate it, I fundamentally disagree with it, and yet I’m still caught in its net.
I know I’m not alone in this experience. Many women I know, friends, colleagues, mothers, fellow freelancers live in this strange in-between space: overworked and under-recognised, endlessly busy yet haunted by the feeling that they’re not doing “enough.” We hold families together, manage details that no one else notices, and then privately judge ourselves for not being more productive, or creative or ambitious.
The paradox is that whilst I know providing love, meals, therapy, and care is priceless, I rarely feel it. When my partner asks what I’ve done today, I shrink. I feel guilty, embarrassed, even ashamed. “Not much,” I say, as if keeping the household running smoothly & tending to others’ wellbeing, whether in the family or the therapy room, were nothing at all.
So when I ask myself, “If you’ve not got much to do today, why does it feel so overwhelming to write a blog?”, I know the answer. It’s because writing feels like stealing something precious from the treasure chest of time I’ve already promised to others. It feels like a transgression.
But maybe that’s precisely why I need to do it. Writing this blog, this small and hesitant act, is a way of claiming: I have time for me, I value myself, my words are worth hearing.
Yes, the laundry is still on my list. But so is this act of self-expression. It’s not so indulgent; it’s essential. A reminder to myself & maybe to others that, in a world where women’s care work often goes unnoticed, speaking simply and honestly is a way to make the unseen visible. A reminder that our words hold value, even when no one has asked for them.
Amy Pedder, Humanistic Integrative Counsellor