On motherhood, redefining success, and walking away from elected office
It's time to let go of the notion that success can only be found in your achievements.
Welcome to Delightfully Difficult! My name is Allison and I write about motherhood, midlife, and everything in between. You can learn more about me and what to expect here, as well as connect with me on Instagram. Thanks for stopping by!
When I first started telling people I wasn’t running for re-election, I got two equal and opposite reactions: Utter confusion or fully getting it. The ones who got it were usually moms, either the ones who had somewhat recently been in the trenches of early motherhood battling the forces working against them at work and at home, or they were grandmothers cheered by the prospect of me focusing on my child, not realizing I'd still need to work full-time, just not doing this work.
On the flip side there was confusion, mostly from men. Married men, to be more precise. Men with wives who carried the mental load of parenting, doctors appointment, child development, and who, because it was a pandemic, were generally also de facto teachers and healthcare workers on top of their regular jobs. Men who had someone to do the invisible labor so that they could "focus on their job", not giving any thought to the fact that this was a deeply problematic pattern in our society but also, I didn't have that support, anyway.
Confusion because I was achieving the standard definition of success that we are conditioned to strive for. I was in elected office, worked on hard complicated issues, and passed a lot of laws. I had mostly decent relationships with most people on both sides of the aisle. Plus, before becoming a mom, there was never any question about me running for re-election and/or higher office down the road. It was a given.
Politics can be nasty and navigating a pregnancy in the public eye isn't something I wish on anyone. I found out I was pregnant at the same time some of my colleagues were spreading lies about me (and others) designed to rile up extremists. I retreated as best as I could given the role I was in, trying to keep the stress at bay so that I wouldn't risk my pregnancy. None of them knew, but I also suspect they wouldn’t have cared. History had not shown me that they would.
At seven months pregnant, I had to write my own maternity policy, publicly discuss its merits, and ask my colleagues to vote for it on a public livestream. It was humiliating and, in hindsight, infuriating to have to justify my need for accommodations to some of the same people who would later use my pregnancy and baby against me to score political points. Everyone loves a pro-mom tagline (run for office! Do hard things! Be superwoman!) but rarely in politics does that translate into systemic changes to support those same moms.
By the time I gave birth just a few weeks into lockdown, I had an inkling I might not run again. I brushed it aside, though, instead choosing to focus on the here and now. Everyone told me not to make any major decisions in the first six months after becoming a mom, anyway, so I had plenty of time.
The pandemic was life-changing for everyone, and I was part of the small sliver of us who spent our entire pregnancies thinking we would have the "normal" experience only to have everything upended in the last few weeks. The family we planned on visiting couldn't come. The in-person doctors visits to check our stitches or our mental health never happened. The mommy and me groups vanished. For a short time, we didn’t even know if our partners would be allowed in the hospital room with us. And the thing is, we didn't go into it prepared to become parents alone. The opposite, in fact. For the past 6 months, we were told to ask for and accept help and to rely on friends and family, but then suddenly that planned structure of support disappeared.
From the outside, people assumed I was fine. Meetings were virtual so I was able to participate and fake it. Or at least I think I did. For safety reasons, most people didn't know that my husband at the time worked overnights and that I was solo-parenting a vast majority of the time. The challenges we were facing on Council were monumental and devastating, so thinking about how I was struggling felt selfish and shameful so I just..... didn't.
There were glimpses, though, and those who knew me could see something wasn't right. I lied to them, too, reassuring them that all was well, knowing that if word got out that I was struggling, I’d face even more public backlash than I did for daring to have a child while in office in the first place. Those who didn't know me assumed the worst, that I didn’t care or was distant.
In hindsight it's so very clear how our systems failed mothers by forcing them to be America's safety net, but at the time we were all just doing our best, and also doing it wrong. Celebrated but not supported. Criticized but still.... not supported.
It wasn't until a year and a half later that I was diagnosed with fairly severe postpartum depression. I knew the signs. I'd done the research. And yet.... it was still a surprise. That it was a surprise still surprises me.
Before giving birth, I thought I'd be the one who breastfed on camera and took my kid to all of the official events, convinced I'd be one of those moms who would prove we could do it all. But once he arrived, things changed. I didn't want to build his Internet profile on his behalf, creating a string of political content that would follow him into adulthood. I didn't want to leverage him to make a point, even if that point was valid, because it was mine to make, not his. Even today, I don't post his face online because that's a a choice I want him to make for himself. Simply put, my priorities had changed.
Which brings me back to the beginning - the two equal and opposite reactions to not running for re-election. Because during all this time, when I was isolated and at home, I had a lot of time to think about how I defined success. I never did land on a definition, but I did know that what I was doing wasn't it. Sure, I was hitting the achievements that society deems successful, but I was also deeply unhappy.
Now, nearly three years after leaving office, I've come to realize that the definition of success is fluid. Motherhood may not have changed me for the better but it has changed me. It changed how I move in this world, what I prioritize, and how I interact with other people. It also changed how I want to advocate. (Amanda E. White wrote about this on
, which I recommend checking out).Because being in office is messy. Yes, it's a vehicle for change but it can also result in gridlock. It can be rewarding, but it can also decimate your mental health. It will, at times, bring out the worst in you no matter how hard you try not to let it. It gives you a very public platform from which to advocate, but it also makes you a target for anyone with a keyboard (and let me tell you - people really hate women who use their voice).
So I left. I walked away from the career track I had defied the odds and broken records to achieve because my definition of success no longer aligned with society's. What mattered wasn't the title or the power, but that I am mentally healthy and present for my son. That I am able to pay the bills. That I am modeling healthy and compassionate relationships. Even if I felt I could have achieved all of these things while serving a second term, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be “on” 24-7. I didn’t want to be “super mom”. I was still fired up about advocating for change, but knew that I needed to re-evaluate how to be the most effective in a way that better aligned with where I was in life. It’s possible I would have felt differently if I had more support at home, but that’s a road I’m nervous to go down so I simply don’t.
But here's the thing - advocacy comes in all shapes and sizes. Yes, we need more moms in office, but despite all of the pro-mom rhetoric on both sides of the aisle, very little is actually being done to set up systems to help them be successful and remain in office (more on that soon….). So we also need moms who talk open and honestly about their experiences, who push their local officials to include them in the conversation, who challenge the status quo that upholds existing structures that keep moms out of leadership positions. (If this is something you’re interested in, check out Moms First or Chamber of Mothers, to name a few).
And that’s where I’m at right now: sharing my experiences in order to effect change and continuing to challenge the status quo. Sure, it may not meet the achievement-based definition of success, nor make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to me.
I know that how I plug into the process will evolve over time, especially as my son gets older, but each and every one of us has the capacity to create change in our communities right now - all we have to do is drop the expectations of other people and find what works for us.
Note: If you got to the end of this essay and thought to yourself, “Wow! She glossed over some big, complex issues, such as postpartum depression, moms in office, political systems, divorce, etc.!”, just know that I’m with you. It’s impossible to tackle an entire life shift and the systems that contributed to it in one go, so rest assured I’ll be digging into each of these issues in future posts. Thanks again for reading (and if you made it this far, perhaps you might want to subscribe?).
Your story is my story. Just replace elected office with academic career. I'm tired of being a part of something where everything will be OK as long as I expend superhuman energy at all times.
Thank you Allison for capturing this experience and being brave to run for office, have a baby while in office, and to walk away from it, redefining what is best for you! I especially liked the section on advocacy taking many forms. You continue to serve the community but in a different way. Super proud and inspired by you!