Episode 97: the scream // Monday, July 13

This past weekend, I pulled an all-nighter for the first time since college. My work on this podcast has often meant that my family eats dinner without me, but this was the first time I saw the sun rise before I went to sleep. 

For over a month, I’d been chipping away at Saturday’s episode, which featured the thirteen women of FIERCE: Essays by and About Dauntless Women. I’m proud of the work, and my conversations with these thoughtful women were a gift.

But the project reminded me of what I’ve known all along: in this new pandemic life, it’s nearly impossible to get ahead on anything. Most of the time it takes a series of small miracles just to get caught up. Daily life is stretched taut and ready to snap. The amount of things we’re supposed to be able to do in a day has increased exponentially, but those stubbornly constant 24 hours refuse to expand. 

Last week, I read a story by Deb Perelman that perfectly encapsulates what I’ve been feeling during this pandemic. You might recognize Deb Perelman as the author of Smitten Kitchen, a food blog that I used to turn to often back when I cooked delightful things--back when I cooked at all. Deb’s story is called, “In the Covid-19 Economy, You Can Have a Kid or a Job. You Can’t Have Both.”

The story begins with the news that New York City schools have announced that kids will attend school one week out of every three this fall. Friday, we got news that the Oakland Public School system would begin its academic year with a month of distance learning--after that, who knows? Which is to say, I don’t think our kids will be going back to school this fall. Maybe not this year. I’m increasingly pessimistic about these things. 

Deb writes,

“At the same time, many adults — at least the lucky ones that have held onto their jobs — are supposed to be back at work as the economy reopens. What is confusing to me is that these two plans are moving forward apace without any consideration of the working parents who will be ground up in the gears when they collide. Let me say the quiet part loud: In the Covid-19 economy, you’re allowed only a kid or a job.

Why isn’t anyone talking about this? Why are we not hearing a primal scream so deafening that no plodding policy can be implemented without addressing the people buried by it? I think it’s because when you’re home schooling all day, and not performing the work you were hired to do until the wee hours of the morning, and do it on repeat for 106 days (not that anyone is counting), you might be a bit too fried to funnel your rage effectively.”

I reread Deb’s story on Saturday, after I’d slept for three hours--it was impossible to sleep longer with my kids thumping around our little house like small elephants--and I wanted to let out that primal scream--but I didn’t, because I was too tired. 

Deb does not dismiss concerns about COVID-19. She acknowledges that this is a complicated issue. But it’s one we need to figure out--and fast. She writes, “We are burned out because we are being rolled over by the wheels of an economy that has bafflingly declared working parents inessential.”

When I read Deb’s words, I can’t help but note that this problem is eerily familiar. It’s the same problem we face when we talk about the wealth gap, or systemic racism, or education, or immigration, or really any other issue that spikes my blood pressure these days. Our parents are not adequately supported for the same reason our schools are not adequately funded. The same reason we have people living on the streets and going hungry. The same reason COVID-19 has ravaged some populations while others go unhindered.

As a nation, individualism is our cultural foundation. We’ve mistaken selfishness for empowerment. 

We’ve forgotten that when we look out for number one, we do so at the expense of others. We might have the luxury of not seeing those consequences, but until we decide that the problems of our most disadvantaged neighbors are our problems, the divide between us will only deepen.

Like Deb, I’m shocked that our state and federal governments have not come up with any solutions to support working parents during this time. I’m equally shocked that none of our huge corporations have blazed the trail in rethinking work-life balance. I think change needs to come from the top, and if I can ever find a moment when I’m not quite so exhausted, I’ll write those letters to my representatives. But I also think it’s worth pausing to ask ourselves what, exactly, the goal is. Because if it’s simply to go back to the way things were before, then I don’t think we’re really solving anything.

Our family, like most families we know, was struggling to keep up with life long before the pandemic. We were overworked, financially stressed, and spent a disproportionate amount of time rushing out the door to some activity or obligation. Even though we had consciously resisted overscheduling our kids, a typical week included church, a standing dinner date with several families, Cub Scouts, piano lessons, and school expos. Often there was an activity every night of the week. We didn’t call our parents or siblings often enough, failed to send thank you notes, forgot the birthdays of the people we love most. No matter how hard we worked or how much money we made, life was passing us by and we could not keep up. 

Prior to this pandemic, I’d been the primary caregiver of our kids for eight years. This was more about pragmatism than passion; what I really wanted to be doing was writing full-time, but even with an MFA and a Fulbright scholarship on my resume, I couldn’t make a living writing, and since we couldn’t afford full-time childcare Nate worked while I stayed home, squeezing in writing where I could. 

A few days into this pandemic Nate lost his job. Because he’d been working as a contractor with no benefits, there was no severance package, and it took a while to figure out that he was eligible for unemployment. The writing I got paid for was too part-time and inconsistent to qualify for unemployment. And of course my work as a caregiver did not count for anything at all.

Deb writes,

“The long-term losses for professional adults will be incalculable, too, and will disproportionately affect mothers. Working mothers all over the country feel that they’re being pushed out of the labor force or into part-time jobs as their responsibilities at home have increased tenfold.”

This last line hit me especially hard. It took me eight years and several bouts of depression to realize that I was at my best as a mom when I was writing. When I began this podcast on March 17, it was a revelation for all of us. I felt like I was a seed that had been buried under the dirt and had finally sprung up a shoot. I hadn’t realized the life above ground I’d been missing.

While we all agree that the idea for a daily podcast six days a week was way too much--something I never would have taken on if I’d thought it would go longer than three weeks--it’s shown me just how much better my mental health is when I’m not caring for my kids full-time. It’s the reason why Nate decided to go all in with me on the podcast rather look for another job--if he could even find one right now. 

What this project and this pandemic have revealed to us, is that while this life is not sustainable, the old one wasn’t either. The goal is not to go back to the old way, the way that prioritized independence, that left the burden of responsibility to each individual family to figure it out. Our new goal is not independence, but interdependence. We are choosing to work less and make less money, but have more time to care for each other and those around us.

We’re looking to our community to show us the way. For the past couple of months, a dozen mom friends from our kids’ school have pooled together money so that our friend Elena, who is a single mom and delivers meals to people as a side hustle, can make us dinner once a week. Those meals of rice and beans and chicken tostadas or enchiladas get us through most of the week. 

A generous friend has been paying an unemployed preschool teacher to watch our kids for part of each weekday so Nate and I can work together to try to make a living. 

On the hard days, of which there are many, it’s the support of others--including you, our listeners--that gets us through. We are surviving on fumes and generosity.

This week, we’ll conclude season one. We’ve made it 100 episodes because of you, our listeners, people who have reached out to support us financially and to share this podcast with friends. Whether or not we get to season 2 in the fall will depend on whether or not we can generate enough support to pay our bills between now and then. 

It’s our anniversary today, and this past weekend, Nate’s sister gave us a staggeringly thoughtful and extravagant gift: she took our three kids overnight and treated us to a hotel. It was the first time we’d been without our kids in over five months. The first time I’ve slept well. The first time I felt rested when I awoke the next morning. It reminded me that while we do need big systemic changes, in the meantime, our survival depends on each other.

After months of being supported by our community and by so many of you, we’re thinking about how we can work enough to survive, but also find ways to support others. There’s a lot we still haven’t figured out. Our preschool has opened again, but we don’t know how we’ll afford it. Even for our older kids, distance learning meant that one of us always had to be hovering over them, supervising to make sure that they were actually on their Zoom call and not watching YouTube trailers of Frozen. We’d been about to get our son evaluated for ADHD when schools closed in March. We’ve continued working through the summer just to get him to grade level. I have no idea if we’ve succeeded.

Deb writes,

“When learning plans for children with special needs could not be followed appropriately this year, academic gains for many students were quickly wiped out. Remote learning has already widened racial and socioeconomic achievement gaps because of disparities in access to technology tutors. As parents are crushed by the Covid economy, so are the children who need the most support. It’s no wonder the American Academy of Pediatrics released a statement this weekend urging that students be physically present in school as much as possible this fall.”

As we approach this school year, the daily sanity I’m finding, that I invite you to embrace with me, is to prioritize interdependence over independence. This will likely mean that we give up something. That we don’t accomplish quite as much. It might mean picking up the slack for someone else who is struggling, or speaking up for a coworker who has kids even if you don’t. Most of us don’t have to look far to find someone in our life who could use some help.

With less than a month before school starts, we’re dreaming about forming a co-op with other families at our school. We’re imagining a system where we could also take on some kids whose parents work minimum-wage jobs, or are undocumented, or are single parents who can’t afford childcare. A system that would help others, whether or not they could return the favor. 

The only way we can see to do this is to work four days a week instead of six. To work less. To make less. To let the scream become a rallying cry. Maybe it’s how we should’ve been thinking about things all along.

If you’ve been listening, then you may have noticed that we’ve been including Easter eggs at the end of some of our episodes. Often it’s a personalized thank you to our supporters. Sometimes it’s a little something to make you laugh. If you’d like to hear your name in the credits, you can support us for as little as $5/month at shelterinplacepodcast.info.