The Myth of the Unencumbered Writer

On motherhood, fiction writing, and the quiet rebellion of imperfect balance

Between deadlines and daycare pickups, a writer learns that motherhood isn’t the end of creative ambition but the radical redefinition of it.

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Who knew that writing a novel with a toddler would be harder than writing one while six months pregnant during lockdown? I should have. But motherhood has a way of testing every theory you once had about time, ambition, and your own capacity to hold it all together.

Of course, I should have known better. I was juggling several roles: mother of a young child, remote full-time researcher, freelance journalist, and an aspiring novelist. Yeah, there were many balls in the air. Of course, I was going to drop some of them.

Who, What, When, Where and Why of Motherhood

One of my big worries was what my editors and sources would think if they knew I had a young child. Would I get fewer articles assigned? Would sources not take me seriously? Simply put, I was afraid of what would happen to my career if people knew I was a mother. I was worried that I’d be passed over for assignments or I’d be judged harshly for any mistakes or errors I made. I feared sources would not want to talk to me. Society isn’t kind to working mothers, especially those in the creative fields. I learned quickly that motherhood was something to hide — at least in professional settings. Sociologist Mary Blair-Loy calls it the myth of the “unencumbered worker”: the ideal employee who has no sick days, no daycare pickups, no child’s voice bleeding into a Zoom call. It’s a myth built on an even older fantasy – that women can “have it all” without losing anything in the process.

So, for the first few years, I didn’t bring my daughter up unless it was absolutely necessary. I took it to an extreme accidentally at times; in 2020, I gave two virtual presentations for a professional conference and didn’t tell the organizer or my partner that I was pregnant…until I realized that the conference was 3 weeks out of my due date. While I told them that I would be able to present as long as I was not actively in labor, I felt embarrassed for not telling them sooner. I’m sure they were not happy at the news too. Thankfully, I presented without an issue and went into labor five days after the second presentation. But that was a seriously close call!

It was extremely helpful that my husband also worked from home, but he too was juggling multiple balls as a lawyer, consultant, and clown. We’d coordinate so if I had an interview, he’d watch her and vice versa. But occasionally, we’d have scheduling kerfuffles. 

For instance, one time he had a virtual hearing before a judge and I was scheduled to interview the CEO of a tech company. It was bad timing for both of us. I knew rescheduling at the last minute would not work, but my husband could jeopardize his client’s case if he showed up to virtual court with a toddler in tow. So, I decided I would watch her during my interview. I turned on the television to her favorite show, hoping it would be enough to distract her for 30 minutes.

But once I signed on to Zoom for the interview, my daughter, having grown up with Zoom as a constant feature, decided to join us. I had no choice but to fess up to her existence and apologize about the situation. To the CEO’s credit, he was charmed and amused by my daughter. Still, it was a bit mortifying. 

In time, I grew dissatisfied with this strategy. Part of it was the guilt of pretending she didn’t exist when talking to my editors and sources; part of it was hiding a big part of my life. I was a mother with a young child. She was also getting older and needed more attention than before. And finally, I also told myself that if an editor was unhappy because I had a child, I really didn’t want to work with them after all. 

And sometimes things would happen that necessitated bringing her up. Most recently, I accidentally missed the deadline for this essay since I was overwhelmed by hand, foot, and mouth disease that my daughter brought home from her first few weeks of Kindergarten. I was ashamed for missing the deadline; despite how bananas my life got, I always made my deadlines. Of course, my editor here knew I was a mother; she read my pitch and assigned the article. I just didn’t think this essay would be so on the nose!

Dropping the Ball with Fiction

But what was most unexpected was how raising a child would impact my fiction writing. I had managed to write my first novel while pregnant during the lockdown. I attributed my success to having a thorough outline. When I sat down to write every day, I knew exactly what I needed to do. When it was time to write another book, I expected it would work the same way.

That was a mistake. The conditions for writing my first novel were significantly different than for the second. There were far fewer distractions because of the lockdown with the first book. I was lucky I worked from home even before the pandemic and didn’t have to leave the house except for doctor’s appointments. I also had a story that had been tumbling in my head for several years, which meant I had a sense of the plot and the characters before I sat down to write.

But with the second book, I was working on an entirely new idea. There were distractions in the outside world. And of course, I had a toddler who needed to be entertained and watched. Of course, it was not the same at all. Finding time to write could be hard with childcare and working my two other jobs, as well as doing things for my mental health, like exercising.  

I just hadn’t expected that it would be fiction-writing in particular. When I started working on my new novel, it became very quickly apparent that I couldn’t concentrate if my daughter was in the house. Even if I wasn’t the one watching her. Somehow my brain couldn’t make things up if my daughter was around. It was frustrating that I couldn’t concentrate long enough on the task at hand. I was so used to working in busy environments—barking dog, noisy coworkers— but someone having a child changed the game for me. 

On the other hand, I had few issues writing articles based on my research and interviews even if she was around. One would think making things up would be easier to write about than writing things based on facts and multiple sources. Not for me. Reporting required facts, structure, deadlines. Motherhood had already trained me in that kind of discipline. But fiction — invention — asked for a silence that no longer existed in my house, or in my mind.

Thanks to my mentor’s advice, I tried writing in the first work hour in the morning after my daughter went to school or daycare. I knew there were people who wrote entire books in 15-20 minute chunks when they had a moment to themselves. An hour in the morning should be nothing, right? I made some progress, but work and article deadlines always came first. I tried some elaborate schemes, like working out at 6am and waiting until my daughter napped to write fiction. But I was too tired to make the former work and the latter was less effective when she stopped napping regularly.

As of today, I still haven't found the right mix to make things happen. I always had something else to do than write my book. The only reason I finished my second novel was because I got laid off. But the novel was a real boost to my mental health. I had a project that structured my days so I wasn’t just despairing while applying for jobs. But I’m not sure what I’ll do when I hopefully get a full-time job again, especially since it may be in-person.

But that’s okay. I’ve learned that motherhood is all about adaptation. And not just with writing. Getting something done is sometimes enough. I should celebrate when I can write a page here or there; or when my daughter learns how to put her shoes on the right feet, sometimes. Little victories. 

Before I became a mother, I thought I could be the exception:  the tireless journalist, the devoted researcher, the present mother who never dropped a single ball. But that promise of balance was always a kind of marketing copy, sold to women to make an impossible structure feel aspirational. No one tells you that “having it all” usually just means doing it all — and then blaming yourself when something falls.

So I’m learning to let the balls drop sometimes, to stop measuring my worth in perfect days or finished chapters. Not being able to do everything is okay.  That’s something I’m working on accepting; I know it’s healthier and better for me and my family in the long run.

The Stories Continue

But one of the greatest surprises of being a writing mother has been my daughter’s love of stories. She has created own world called Superhero City, which brings together all her favorite franchises into one place. My husband and I tell stories to her almost every night. Sometimes we bring in stories we’ve read or watched over the years. Some stories are silly adventures while others try to impart some small nuggets of wisdom about being kind to others or the importance of brushing your teeth. 

It’s exhausting but it’s also exhilarating to come up with these stories on command. So maybe writing a novel is hard with my kid around, but it doesn’t mean I’m not telling stories any more. 

And who knows? Maybe those stories may evolve into something; much like J. R.R. Tolkien's stories turned into The Hobbit.

Maybe I’m not always drafting novels at my desk. Sometimes, the stories happen elsewhere. But every bedtime story, every improvised plot twist in Superhero City, is a rehearsal for the writer I’m still becoming. It turns out motherhood didn’t end my storytelling; it reshaped it. And it’s only just the beginning.