A Google search unearthed the opinion of a professional feminist, which I’m not exactly sure what that is, other than someone I’m not likely to agree with often, but by golly I agree on this one:
” . . . personally, I think there are some days when I am [happy], some days when I’m not. This isn’t a race. There isn’t a shortage of happiness in this world, and the way people are splitting ‘The Motherhood’ into two camps just [bleeps] me off.”
Something else is annoying, though, beyond the dubious utility and the arbitrary division.
Who likes it when other people think they know best? So when I hear this:
“lead author . . . says the real message of her study is this: get a job, whether full-time or part-time,”
my reaction is, don’t tell me what to do.
The vagaries of life haven’t offered me much in the way of universal truths, but one thing I can say with certainty: staying at home doesn’t make me unhappy, and likewise working wouldn’t make me unhappy, either.
I make myself unhappy.
That’s right, I cause my own unhappiness–and sometimes outright misery–no matter what my daily circumstances, which have varied greatly in the last forty years, I might add, and through all those changes I have always managed to maintain an impressively unhealthy level of worry, anxiety, insecurity, and general malaise.
Furthermore, no amount of scientific study, psychological profiling, or helpful advice will decrease said level of worry, anxiety, insecurity, general malaise, and outright misery. I’ll lower the levels when it suits me, if it suits me, on my own time, and in my own way.
Just so we’re clear on the matter.