Motherhood: Labour That Is Celebrated Yet Invisible
Actually, what really struck me was how the book touched my heart. As a mother of two, the way the author was able to portray a mother’s inner world in such a simple yet powerful way stayed with me for a long time. Some texts don’t move you with long sentences, but by resonating with your own life. That’s exactly what this book was like for me.
What prompted me to write this piece today was the way a reading group managed to bring together book lovers from different parts of the world and Turkey, all sharing the same sentiment. One of the books that reached me through that lovely spirit of solidarity—where we sent each other books and little notes to mark the New Year—was Kjersti Skomsvold’s Child. It was a slim volume; perhaps the page count was low, but the emotion it left within me was profound.
For this reason, I would first like to thank the dear ‘Migrant Book Lovers’ group, because in a world where speed and consumption are so highly prized, taking the time for another person is, in my view, still one of the greatest forms of labour. Thinking of someone, choosing a book for them, slipping a little note between the lines, sharing the time you’ve set aside with them… All of these things are incredibly precious. The group administrators and members did exactly that; by thinking of one another, putting in the effort, we sent our books and notes to one another. Perhaps that is why the weight of every book that reached me was far greater than its cover or the number of pages.
What moved me whilst reading “Child” was neither the book’s plot, nor its flow, nor its language. In fact, what moved me was the way the book touched my emotions. As a mother of two, the way the author could describe a mother’s inner world in such a simple yet powerful way stayed with me for a long time. Some texts don’t affect you through long sentences, but by touching on aspects of your own life. This book was exactly that for me.
On the other hand, I’ve been thinking about the debates surrounding an advert released in Turkey for Mother’s Day. In particular, the comments surrounding the advert made me reflect once again on what society still chooses to see—and what it chooses to overlook—when discussing motherhood, because we often confine motherhood to a realm where self-sacrifice is romanticised. We honour mothers with kind words once a year, but when it comes to discussing policies that would actually alleviate the real burden of motherhood, we fail to show the same generosity.
Yet motherhood must, above all, be possible within a safe life. A safe pregnancy, a safe birth, postnatal psychological and physical support, women’s free access to healthcare… All of these are fundamental rights. When a woman decides to become a mother, she must first feel safe; she must be able to make decisions about her body without fear, must not be subjected to pressure, and must not be judged based on her choice of birth method.
I felt this very deeply during my own journey into motherhood. At a time when I was not suitable for a natural birth due to a previous operation, I had to have a caesarean section. For me, this was not a choice but a medical necessity; however, the fact that caesarean births have become a constant topic of debate within political discourse, particularly in recent years, and the way women are almost forced into a single type of birth, has created significant pressure on many women during this process. Judging a woman based on her method of birth, making her feel inadequate, or forcing her to explain herself is deeply hurtful, because a woman’s body should not be a tool of politics. Decisions regarding a woman’s body, her birth, her motherhood, how many children she will have, or how she will give birth should not be debated in public without her consent. Every woman’s body, story, medical history and emotional experience is different. Yet, the reduction of these deeply personal experiences to mere slogans creates invisible trauma for many mothers.
Another issue is the equating of motherhood solely with giving birth. Yet motherhood is not merely a biological bond. Devoting oneself to a living being, raising them, protecting them, caring for them, worrying about them, and nurturing love are all part of motherhood. Many women who cannot give birth or choose not to can still harbour a deep maternal feeling towards a living being in their lives—a child, an animal, or another person—because motherhood is not merely a physical bond, but sometimes a bond formed through the heart, and only a woman herself can decide whom she regards as her ‘child’ and how she nurtures her love.
Moreover, the issue is not merely about the method of birth. In this country, there are girls forced to become mothers whilst still children. There are young women left to cope with the burden of care, domestic responsibilities, and sometimes lives they did not choose, without ever having had the chance to experience their own childhood. The stories of women who were not even given the opportunity to build their own lives before becoming mothers often remain unseen. Yet it is in these silent stories that a society’s treatment of women and children is most clearly revealed.
On the one hand, women are told how many children they should have, yet there is insufficient discussion about how those children should be raised, how the burden of care should be shared, or how women should be supported from pregnancy through to the postnatal period. The fact that a woman who becomes a mother is often forced to return to work shortly afterwards, frequently lacks adequate maternity leave entitlements, and faces a lack of understanding from her workplace is still considered perfectly normal. Motherhood is treated as if it were merely a personal choice, yet raising children is not a matter that can be left solely to a woman’s shoulders; it is a social responsibility.
Today, many women bear a heavy burden, both financially and emotionally. Sleepless nights, invisible care work, inequalities in the workplace, financial anxieties, inadequate childcare facilities, the lack of reliable social support mechanisms – and amidst all this, women are expected to be strong, patient and capable of managing everything. Yet truly valuing mothers is not merely a matter of uttering sentimental phrases; it is only possible through laws that protect women, safe working conditions, adequate maternity leave, safe pregnancy policies, accessible childcare, and social support mechanisms. For motherhood is not merely an identity to be sanctified; it is a real sphere of labour that must be protected, understood and supported. Any discourse that does not make women’s lives easier, however beautiful it may be, remains incomplete.
Perhaps that is why I did not feel like writing a piece today that merely praises mothers. I wanted to reflect on motherhood through a woman’s eyes—on the new emotions it awakens within a person, and the burdens it creates—because sometimes a single sentence in a book opens the door to thoughts that have long been waiting to be spoken.
Today, what opened that door for me was a slender book and the existence of people who still value the effort of supporting one another.
Thank goodness you’re here, Migrant Book Lovers, and thank goodness for literature!
