The Problem with "It's Not My Turn"
and thoughts on The School for Good Mothers by Jessamine Chan
I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole “It’s Not My Turn” declaration floating around Facebook. Perhaps you’ve seen it. There are different versions, different phrases, but they are all essentially the same.
This one is from Okie Sunshine’s Facebook page:
It's not my turn. It's not my turn to go where I want, when I want. It's not my turn to put my wants and needs first. It's not my turn to get butterflies on a first date. It's not my turn to plan a wedding. I've had my turn. It's not my turn to leisurely enjoy my coffee with slow mornings. It's not my turn to explore all of my interests and hobbies. It's not my turn to spend my days as I please. It's not my turn to spoil grandchildren. Hopefully, I'll have my turn. It’s not my turn to take a Mediterranean vacation. It’s not my turn to maintain a luscious backyard oasis. It’s not my turn to have abs. It's not my turn to binge-watch Netflix when I've had a hard week. Maybe one day I'll have a turn...or, maybe not. But, it is my turn… It’s my turn to have some sleepless nights. It’s my turn for late-night snacks, so I don’t have to share. It’s my turn to have my clothes stretched out by little hands. It’s my turn to have fingerprints on the screen door. It’s my turn to have Cocomelon stuck in my head. It's my turn to do laundry. So. Much. Laundry. It's my turn to keep romance alive amidst the routine. But even more than that, It's my turn to start family traditions. It's my turn to memorize the perfect squishiness of chubby baby faces. It’s my turn to let a popsicle make anything better. It’s my turn to heal boo-boo’s with a kiss. It’s my turn to cuddle and rock. It’s my turn for park days and play dates. It's my turn for first steps, first words, and first days of school. It's my turn to earn my laugh lines and gray hairs. It's my turn to soak up the beautiful, exhausting, magic of motherhood while the turn is still mine.
I think the second half of this declaration is beautiful and spot on. Yes to all of the “It’s my turn to” sentiments. I love how they encourage mothers to be present and engaged throughout the various phases of motherhood. It’s the first half of this declaration, the “It’s not my turn to” sentiments that I have a problem with.
All the “It’s not my turn to” sentiments speak directly to the image of the self-sabotaging mother who sacrifices everything for her children. It glorifies the mother who empties herself so much so that she runs ragged and dry, exhausted and depleted. It tries to convince moms that this is what the pinnacle of motherhood looks like.
The “It’s not my turn to” sentiments fuel patriarchal assertions that women should assume the role as primary caregiver, dedicating her time and energy solely to her children while the “man of the house” advances in his career, gets promoted, and benefits from the gender wage gap.
It promotes the idea that a mother exists solely for her children, even if it means—especially when it means—erasing her very existence as a human being outside of her children. It equates the role of a mother to that of a superhero who can and should be able to handle anything and everything. It erases the necessity of balance, of BOTH/AND.
The “It’s not my turn to” declaration is entirely EITHER/OR. It’s shaming and guilt-inducing for any mother or caregiver who does not or cannot live up to these expectations. It demeans the real life circumstances of single mothers, or those struggling with mental health issues. The “It’s not my turn to” sentiments exemplify the martyr complex that must be met in order for mothers to be deemed socially acceptable and meet patriarchal standards.
In all of this, I want to know, where are the men? Where are the partners and where is their “It’s not my turn” declaration? What do we expect men to give up throughout childrearing? Anything? Nothing?
I recently finished The School for Good Mothers by Jessamine Chan, a dystopian novel about the outrageous and unobtainable standards placed on motherhood. When Frida Liu, exhausted and unsupported, makes one terrible decision to leave her baby alone for two hours, she is sent away to The School for Good Mothers and separated from her baby. Frida, along with two hundred other women, become the guinea pigs for this new court-mandated training school where mothers (and far fewer fathers) learn to become “good.”
The mantra of the program that mothers are made to endlessly repeat is: “I am a bad mother, but I am learning to be good.”
Throughout this one-year program, instructors expect the mothers to expand their understanding of what’s possible, noting that “a parent should be able to lift a car, lift a fallen tree, fend off a bear” to save their child.
The School for Good Mothers is a commentary on the social expectations of mothers, and the racial disparities present between black or brown moms. A black woman, for example, is separated from her children and sent away to The School for Good Mothers because she smells like beer and the authorities assume she has been drinking, when in reality, she had been working as a waitress when someone spilled beer on her.
The book reinforces the idea that there is no room for caregivers, especially mothers, to mess up, or to be human.
While Frida’s performance in the school, despite outlandish expectations, is flawless, [SPOILER ALERT!] she does not meet the standards set in place to graduate and reunite with her child.
Frida is an exceptional mother. Caring, devoted, and attentive, but she is also overwhelmed, under supported, and yearning for a semblance of who she was before kids. She is [SPOILER ALERT!] forbidden from seeing her daughter ever again and has her full parental rights exterminated.
Mothers, we all need balance and support. We need shameless permission to be humans and take care of ourselves in addition to caring for our children. We need partners who encourage us to get away, to take that trip we’ve been looking forward to. We need an extensive support system that listens and empathizes. We need to prioritize our mental and physical health.
We need to change the script, to stop looking at what we “shouldn’t do” and start looking at what we need to do to become the best version of ourselves.
Girl, take a break. Binge the latest season of “Love is Blind” because you want to. Work for the abs you’ve always dreamed of. Spend time creating that garden oasis. Invite your kids to help you, if you want, or safeguard this time as only yours. Put your wants and needs first. A cup will quickly become empty if it only pours itself out. It needs to be poured into in order have anything to give.
We are better mothers when we are better humans. It IS your turn to embrace that truth in whatever ways you want to. You are not a robot. You do not exist solely for the delight of your children. You are a person before you are a parent (or even a partner). You exist for you. And you have needs. Validate them.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the “It’s Not My Turn” declaration. Do you love it? Find it problematic? Let me know in the comments.