HILLS LIKE WHITE ELEPHANTS
By Sabra Sherrow, Guest Contributor
Confessions of a hardworking stay-at-home mom and what that choice meant to her.
I remember reading "Hills Like White Elephants" by Ernest Hemingway in a short-story class I took in college. It's an impressive little story. Some people don't like Hemingway because they find him boring. I can understand that, but I find some of his work to be deeply profound and this story is one of those cases. During a stop at a train station in the 1920's, a couple discusses their relationship and the decision of whether or not to have an abortion. The overarching theme of the story is the disconnect in their relationship. They're talking about the same thing, but not really, because their perspectives are so different. The woman talks at one point about the hills she sees in the distance and how they are like white elephants to her. Again, he doesn't quite get what she is saying. The part that struck me the most was that the man seemed to think that he did understand these situations from her perspective, and I was left pondering the futility of that. How do you get someone to see your side if they are already convinced they do—even when you are certain they could not.
I feel like I run into this problem often when attempting to relate what it's like to be a stay-at-home mom. Many women—and men—stay home to rear their children, but there are so many variations of this same circumstance. I often end up in the same discussion with a woman who works part-time outside the home. She has done a lovely job raising her children, and at the same time, has been able to continue to work here and there in a field that she thrives in. She worked hard to achieve that career and I respect that she is still able to do that while remaining the primary caregiver of her children. It's quite an accomplishment. My own situation was different. As a student, the idea of motherhood seemed very foreign to me. As an only child I couldn't even imagine what you would do if you were home all day with children, besides cook and clean. I worked hard at my degree, graduating 96% nationwide of all the graduates in my field the year I finished. I obtained my dream job, but quit after only a couple of years to stay home when I gave birth to our first child. This was 12 1/2 years ago.
Leaving my career was my choice. I wasn't forced into it. I knew when I married my husband that this was something we both wanted. Yes, I wanted this even though I truly had no idea what it would entail. After much prayer and contemplation, I became even more convinced that this was the only path for me. There, of course, were other choices, but there was no doubt in my mind which direction I would go.
Making that choice, however, was like cutting off an appendage. It was taking a huge part of my identity, my source of validation, my accomplishment, and turning away almost completely from it. Doing so, I knew I might never return to those things I had worked so hard to attain, at least for another 30 years or so. What a strange and alienating feeling to find myself in this new life that I had chosen. It had nothing to do with money. It had nothing to do with being spoiled or "able" to stay home (he made nearly nothing for the first several years I was home). It had nothing to do with feeling I was making a right choice while others were making a wrong one. It had nothing to do with feeling I was a "better" mother than the women who worked.
Yet every time I try to talk with my friend and convey the emotional difficulties of being home "full-time," she commiserates about how she understands exactly and lumps us into the same category. I leave these conversations confused, with the "Hills Like White Elephants" feeling. I was sharing my perspective, not hers. To me, the emotional impact of my choice was different than hers. I don't believe it would be possible for her to understand my experience unless she had done it herself. Not turning away from that rewarding, fulfilling, well-earned part of my life for maternity leave and then going back to pick up a shift now and then—but leaving forever and never going back. The finality in it is so surreal that I often still feel surprise that I made the choice as easily as I did. I know for a fact that her choice doesn't make mothering easier. She still works hard and deals with the same complications of being a parent that we all do—potty training, tantrums, getting a child to sleep through the night, dealing with the busy schedule of school-aged children. For me, however, when I encounter a rude or misinformed comment in the community about staying home, I find myself wondering if the impact is slightly different for me than for women who still possess a place in that realm of their lives. Surely the sting is slightly different. I wonder if that feeling of wanting to defend your identity doesn't bug you as much when your identity is more multifaceted, at least as far as the outside world is concerned.
For me, I would venture a guess that I will never know. I can say with confidence that, if given the choice over and over, I would continue to choose the same. In contemplating my own "Hills Like White Elephants" feeling of being misunderstood, I see the truth that we often don't fully understand exactly what it's like to be in someone else's shoes . . . even when we think we do. Myself included.
I feel like I run into this problem often when attempting to relate what it's like to be a stay-at-home mom. Many women—and men—stay home to rear their children, but there are so many variations of this same circumstance. I often end up in the same discussion with a woman who works part-time outside the home. She has done a lovely job raising her children, and at the same time, has been able to continue to work here and there in a field that she thrives in. She worked hard to achieve that career and I respect that she is still able to do that while remaining the primary caregiver of her children. It's quite an accomplishment. My own situation was different. As a student, the idea of motherhood seemed very foreign to me. As an only child I couldn't even imagine what you would do if you were home all day with children, besides cook and clean. I worked hard at my degree, graduating 96% nationwide of all the graduates in my field the year I finished. I obtained my dream job, but quit after only a couple of years to stay home when I gave birth to our first child. This was 12 1/2 years ago.
Leaving my career was my choice. I wasn't forced into it. I knew when I married my husband that this was something we both wanted. Yes, I wanted this even though I truly had no idea what it would entail. After much prayer and contemplation, I became even more convinced that this was the only path for me. There, of course, were other choices, but there was no doubt in my mind which direction I would go.
Making that choice, however, was like cutting off an appendage. It was taking a huge part of my identity, my source of validation, my accomplishment, and turning away almost completely from it. Doing so, I knew I might never return to those things I had worked so hard to attain, at least for another 30 years or so. What a strange and alienating feeling to find myself in this new life that I had chosen. It had nothing to do with money. It had nothing to do with being spoiled or "able" to stay home (he made nearly nothing for the first several years I was home). It had nothing to do with feeling I was making a right choice while others were making a wrong one. It had nothing to do with feeling I was a "better" mother than the women who worked.
Yet every time I try to talk with my friend and convey the emotional difficulties of being home "full-time," she commiserates about how she understands exactly and lumps us into the same category. I leave these conversations confused, with the "Hills Like White Elephants" feeling. I was sharing my perspective, not hers. To me, the emotional impact of my choice was different than hers. I don't believe it would be possible for her to understand my experience unless she had done it herself. Not turning away from that rewarding, fulfilling, well-earned part of my life for maternity leave and then going back to pick up a shift now and then—but leaving forever and never going back. The finality in it is so surreal that I often still feel surprise that I made the choice as easily as I did. I know for a fact that her choice doesn't make mothering easier. She still works hard and deals with the same complications of being a parent that we all do—potty training, tantrums, getting a child to sleep through the night, dealing with the busy schedule of school-aged children. For me, however, when I encounter a rude or misinformed comment in the community about staying home, I find myself wondering if the impact is slightly different for me than for women who still possess a place in that realm of their lives. Surely the sting is slightly different. I wonder if that feeling of wanting to defend your identity doesn't bug you as much when your identity is more multifaceted, at least as far as the outside world is concerned.
For me, I would venture a guess that I will never know. I can say with confidence that, if given the choice over and over, I would continue to choose the same. In contemplating my own "Hills Like White Elephants" feeling of being misunderstood, I see the truth that we often don't fully understand exactly what it's like to be in someone else's shoes . . . even when we think we do. Myself included.
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