Commentary
After years of leaving my children at home, or bringing the one still breastfeeding along with me to work, the unexpected gift of losing my California restaurants and watching the bureaucratic state collapse around me was this: I got to redesign my life. For the first time, I could be home with my children, even if I was still working.
But the truth is that I still cannot “have it all.” My 2-year-old often falls to the ground screaming when I walk out the door to record a podcast, check on the restaurant, or help my husband with something on the farm. Handing a sobbing child to someone else while shutting the door behind you is one of the most painful things a mother can do. And when people say, “You can have it all,” they never tell you what it feels like to walk away from your children when, from their perspective, you are their entire world.
The honesty of children is something adults could learn from. They say what they need without shame: “Hold me. Snuggle me. Don’t leave. I need you.” Imagine if adults had the same courage to say: “I feel sad, will you hold my hand? Stay with me.” Somewhere along the way, we lost that kind of vulnerability. And sometimes I wonder: Am I teaching my children to lose it, too, when I walk away from their cries in order to keep up with the commitments of life and work?
The False Promise of ‘Having It All’
Modern feminism told women that we could have it all: career, motherhood, fulfillment. But the truth is, women are often left divided between survival and mothering. At best, we are stretched thin. At worst, feminism encourages women to avoid motherhood altogether. Too many of my girlfriends, once focused on career and independence, now find themselves in their late 30s and 40s facing accidental childlessness. The biological clock ran out before they even had the chance to begin.
By the grace of God, I was able to have my children later in life, but I do not take that blessing for granted. Our culture rarely warns women about how narrow that window can be. Instead, we feed them the illusion that children can wait and that everything else should come first.
And then there is the economy, which makes even the desire to prioritize family nearly impossible. The money-slave system we live under demands its pound of flesh. In most households today, two incomes aren’t optional; they’re required. The dream of a one-income household, in which a mother could stay home with her children, has been priced out of reach.
What We’ve Lost
So we hand our children to strangers, day cares, or babysitters—not because we want to, but because we must. But how different would it feel if we lived in true communities, in which the person you handed your child to, even in tears, loved your child as well? I am lucky enough to have family members who care for my children, and it is still not easy. Even when they are in the arms of someone who loves them, the ache of walking away while they cry out for me doesn’t go away.
Once, extended family and neighbors were woven into the daily lives of children. Now, many mothers raise babies in isolation. We’ve lost the village—and with it, the support that allowed mothers to be mothers without being torn in half.
The deeper question is this: How do we remind women when they are young of what really matters? How do we train men to stand by their families and carry the responsibility of fatherhood with pride? How do we design systems in which mothers are not punished for choosing motherhood, but are honored and supported for it?
I don’t claim to have the answers. But I know that the questions are worth asking.
The Paradox of Loving Work and Motherhood
The paradox of my own life is that I love my work. I love creating. I love bringing an idea into form, whether that’s a farm-to-table meal, a new project on our ranch, or a piece of writing such as this. It gives me energy and joy.
I do not suffer because of the work itself; I suffer because of the experience my children have of me being gone. I suffer in knowing that, in their little world, my absence feels like abandonment. And yet, I am the face of the businesses we run. I am the one who carries the vision and impulse forward. If I don’t show up, many things simply don’t happen.
So I rise early. As I write this, it’s 4:58 a.m. My 5-year-old is asleep on my lap, having followed me out of bed for a few precious minutes of just-mommy time. Laptop balanced on one knee, child on the other, I do the work I love while holding the child I love even more. That is the picture of modern motherhood: balancing creation in the world with creation at home, often literally at the same time.
The Holy Trinity of Family
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Mother, father, and child form another kind of holy trinity. It is deeply important, and as long as we keep it intact—as long as we tell our children and our spouses often that we love them—I must believe that it will all work out.
The truth is, no woman can have it all. Something always gives. But maybe that’s not failure. Maybe it’s simply the reality of being human—limited, finite, and deeply needed by the ones we love most.
The question for us as a culture is not whether women can have it all, but whether we will choose to value the things that matter most. Will we build an economy and a community in which mothers can mother, in which fathers can provide and protect, and in which children can grow up knowing that the people who love them will be there?
Until then, I will keep rising before dawn, laptop on one knee and child on the other—hoping, praying, and working for a future in which we do better for the next generation.
Views expressed in this article are the opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.
