Last week, I spent three glorious days in Chicago, the city I once called “home.” I was there to present at the American Historical Association’s annual conference. I went to Chicago by myself, no husband or kids, and I stayed with my best friend from graduate school. I hung out with other graduate school friends and professors, and I spent an afternoon with my dear cousin, whom I hadn’t seen since 2019. For three days, I remembered what my life was like before motherhood, and it was…nice. Really nice. My dream is to take my kids to Chicago someday and show them where their mami used to live, but that will happen later. This time, it was nice to be alone. I desperately needed the mommy break.
It was a wonderful trip, but it was also really strange. It made me realize what a black hole these past six years have been professionally, especially because of the COVID-19 pandemic. My job as a professor requires me to travel regularly for research and conferences, and I used to travel 2–3 times per year across the U.S. and Mexico. Conferences are where you meet other scholars, learn about the latest research, get feedback on your own work, and stay relevant in your field of study. But the pandemic and my pregnancies ended all of that for me, and before last week, the last time I traveled for a conference was in January 2020. I was actually supposed to do research in Chicago in mid-March 2020, but then the world shut down.
On top of that, I was pregnant in late 2020, so I had to teach online and remain isolated at home to protect myself and my daughter. As the world opened up around 2022–2023, I was pregnant again, had a toddler, and still had to limit my travel. My presentation last week was the first time I’d traveled for a conference in six years, which can be a career killer for a college professor.
This trip reinforced for me what I’ve always known and am currently experiencing: that our society is not designed for mothers to have a career. Those of us who do are forced to make some very difficult decisions. For example, college professors seeking tenure must fulfill the requirements within a certain time frame. The “clock” doesn’t stop if you have children. What does this mean? That many women wait until we earn tenure to have children, putting us in our late 30s/early 40s. Our colleagues who become fathers don’t have to deal with the same ramifications of pregnancy and childbirth, lose time for recovery, etc. And at least in the field of history, where travel to archives is necessary, the responsibilities of motherhood, especially with young children, make it harder to publish research projects.
I’ve spent years working on the same book, and it just doesn’t get finished. Without that book, I can’t apply for my next promotion. Last year, one of my colleague friends (“Alice”) went up for that promotion. I lamented to my colleague “Jane,” “Wow, Alice and I started our jobs the same year. Alice is already a full professor, and I’m not even close.” Jane responded, “Yes, Nancy, but Alice doesn’t have kids.” I know Jane was trying to make me feel better, but the weight of it all hit me at that moment. Motherhood has hurt my career and long-term earning potential. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. But does it sting? Absolutely.
I see so many of my women friends around my age doing amazing work in academia. I admire, and envy, them for publishing consistently, setting up centers to help students at their universities, and engaging their communities, all work that I wish I could do right now. Then I remember that they don’t have kids. That’s the difference. I made my choice, and the time I used to spend on that academic work is now consumed with school drop-off and pickup, trips to the playground, figuring out what my daughter will wear for Spirit Week, reading bedtime stories, tickling and playing peek-a-boo with my son, watching cartoons, learning my daughter’s “wiggle dance,” doctor’s visits, changing diapers, Saturday morning pancakes, and helping my two little humans find their way in this world. It’s the best, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sacrifice career advancement for it.
This recent trip to Chicago wasn’t just about presenting at a conference or having a mommy break. It was about getting my career back on track now that my kids are moving past the toddler stage. It was about remembering why I love being a historian and deciding that it’s time to pursue my career goals again. And believe it or not, I look forward to my kids being a little older and joining me on these conference trips. They have already been to my classes and met my students, so one of these days they’ll get to see their mami in “conference mode.” My career is not what I imagined at this stage in life, but I hope I can at least find a way to finally get past this professional rut I’ve been stuck in for years.
