A Room of One’s Own (Is Never One’s Own When Writing With Children)
By: Lindsay Hameroff
Tags: Satire, Humor, Drama, Parenting, Writing

A Room of One’s Own (Is Never One’s Own When Writing With Children)

As mothers who write, all we are asking for is one goddamn room of our own

Photo by Petter Rudwall on Unsplash

But you may say, we asked you to speak this afternoon about mothers and writing — what has that got to do with a room of one’s own? I will try to explain.

I propose, making use of all the liberties and licenses of a novelist, to tell you the story of the two days that preceded my speaking here — how, bowed down by the weight of a screaming toddler who laid himself upon my shoulders, I pondered the notion of mothers and writing and — ehem, do pardon me a moment. The childling requires a glass of milk.

Where was I? Oh yes. Here then I was, sitting upon the edge of my cookie-crumb-littered sofa as I began to ruminate. I now offer you an opinion on one minor point — that is, a mother must have at least a modicum of solitude and a room of her own if she is to become a writer.

I was in the midst of scraping play-dough off my dining room floor about six days ago (or was it just this morning?), when an idea — to call it by a prouder name than it deserved — let down its line into my stream of consciousness. Desperate to capture this metaphoric fish, I found myself scrambling for my laptop, tripping over a barking Leap Frog toy in my haste to open a Google Doc.

Instantly, my oldest child’s figure rose to intercept me. Her face expressed horror and indignation and — darling, Mommy is giving a Zoom lecture right now. Why don’t you go and use your thirty minutes of screen time?

Do forgive the intrusion. What was I saying? Something about a fish? I did attempt, with little success, to serve the children fish for supper last night and….alas, it seems my train of thought has swam away. No great harm, I suppose!

As chance would have it, a stray memory comes to mind. A few months ago, I found myself in desperate need of a moment of solitude in which to think. Here I was, at the doorway leading our home’s lone site of refuge: the guest bathroom.

The door must have creaked when I opened it, for instantly there issued a child, wearing a Spiderman mask and no other attire. Forthwith, I was reminded that a mother’s use of the bathroom is predicated on the permission of the toddler who demands to sit on her lap whilst she pees.

Is it possible, I wondered, to create a work of staggering genius amidst an unerring demand for snacks? It is a curious fact that novelists have a way of making us believe that — Can it wait? I told you I’m in the middle of a lecture. Okay, so if Blippi is over, put on another show!

Women, it seems, have always been at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to advancing our careers. Perhaps things would be different if the nature of our society had encouraged more women to lean into careers outside the home, instead of perpetuating the myth that working mothers can “have it all.” Because sure, we can have it all; so long as we also continue to bear disproportionate responsibility for the childcare and household responsibilities!

Beneath the crushing weight of societal expectations, women are expected to write successfully from home, and participate in the PTA, and maintain our figures, and acquire appropriate clothing for Spirit Week within an hour’s notice, and make dinner every SINGLE night and — Harper, get down from there! How many times do I have to tell you, no matter how high you jump, you can’t actually fly!

As mothers who write, all we are asking for is a space to think and to do creative work. Just one goddamn room of our own. Seriously, even a closet would suffice! I would happily work in the 30” X 36” linen closet in our upstairs hallway. The towels inside are perfect for sound-proofing the walls, the rolls of toilet paper would make a great barricade and — what the hell Cooper, is that FIRE?!

State of mind is simply NON-NEGOTIABLE for writers who are trying to work. The mind of an artist must be incandescent, like that of Shakespeare or a Paw Patrol night light. There must be no obstacle in it, or at the very least, it must be unburdened by demands and — seriously, how many times do I have to tell you guys I’m in the middle of a lecture?! Why can’t Mommy just have ONE THING FOR HERSELF?