Motherhood as Martyrdom
A generation of female Prufrocks fret whether they dare disturb the universe by eating a peach
Today’s Back Pages comes from Tablet’s religion correspondent Maggie Phillips.
There is an archetype in ancient myth of couples working together to defeat a monster. Ariadne helps Theseus through the Labyrinth on his quest to dispatch the Minotaur. The princess gives Saint George her belt to tie up the dragon. In yet another dragon myth, Medea helps Jason enchant the Colchian dragon in order to secure the Golden Fleece. Of course, that tale ends with a resentful Medea killing the children she’s had by Jason after he decides it’s more politically advantageous to marry someone else. Ariadne eventually found herself left behind as well, once Theseus realized he had other places to go and things to do. These stories suggest that however powerful their initial bond, couples cannot survive for long without some larger mission to provide them with a unity of purpose.
What, then, are we to make of the modern archetype of coupledom embedded in the fable of the peach that set Twitter abuzz over the weekend? It began with a comic posted by the Instagram account @momlife_comics that depicts generic man and woman figures each staring at a single peach beneath the caption “One of the [many] differences between me & my husband.” On the left, the mother thinks that she will save the last peach for her children, while on the right the father decides to use the peach in his daily smoothie. While the scenario was not uncommon for the kind of content posted by the momlife_comics account, which typically features stylized, faceless cartoons detailing the mundane tribulations of modern upper-middle-class parenting, something about it touched a nerve.
The peach discourse has its detractors, including fellow Scroll contributor Katherine Dee, who tweeted yesterday, “I know it’s fun to pontificate about how broken the Millennial Mommy is, but I don’t think it’s that deep.” But I, for one, come neither to bury nor to praise @momlife_comics, or its creator, Mary Catherine Starr. As a Millennial Mommy myself, I’m more interested in the audience she attracts.
While the Twitter cognoscenti were busy analyzing the comic’s gender dynamics according to the latest ideological fashions, on Instagram, among the account’s audience, the reception was quite different. The Instagram comments on the peach comic offer variations of “Haha relatable!”; “The fact that he uses it for a special treat irks me the most”; “Sometimes it’s like you’re secretly living my very same life”; and “Are you secretly married to my husband?”
“[momlife, marriage, + overwhelm],” reads Starr’s Instagram bio. Just underneath it appears a collection of photos entitled “Eat the Peach.” After the original comic resonated, Starr asked her followers to send her evidence of small indulgences they’ve allowed themselves, and they obliged. “Eat the Peach” is a slideshow of moms who have sent her photos of the little treats they’ve snuck for themselves: “I cut one up FOR MYSELF,” one woman says of a bowl of nectarine slices. “I drank the juice!” “Eating the berries today!” “Ate some of the chocolate reserved for the boys.”
Each submission is a mild yawp in defiance of … what, it’s not clear. What external force, exactly, is turning these women into a generation of female Prufrocks who fret whether they dare disturb the universe by eating a peach?
In most cases, these submissions offer a performative martyrdom that is common on Mom Instagram. There’s no real joy or higher purpose to parenting in the content these accounts post, at least beyond vague notions of “raising good humans,” teaching children to “be kind,” or sometimes just “survive.” Collectively they depict a kind of family life as a series of rote tasks carried out by downtrodden zombies: parents going through the motions, reverting to atavistic cultural gender roles like the aloof slob and put-upon, self-sacrificing housewife.
Overwhelmed self-denial is not the only default setting for moms on popular Mom Instagram accounts—so is keeping a running catalog of resentments toward spouses and children. The underlying modus operandi seems to be that making a lot of quiet, unasked-for sacrifices is the meaning of mothering. But, of course, being quiet and unasked for, these isolated sacrifices often go unnoticed, creating a cycle of resentment to share with an online audience that is always ready with a “Haha relatable.”
Comedian and mother of six Jen Fulwiler does a lot to counter these narratives with her comedy, frequently reminding parents that historically, children were raised in large networks of trusted adults and extended family for whom hard work was a daily fact of life. Her larger point is frequently that moms place too much pressure on themselves to live up to unrealistic ideals, creating a lot of guilt. In a similar way, communities of supportive “mom tribes” are a big thing on Instagram, as are posts about how you know you’ve found “your people” as a mom when the other mom is similarly disorganized and unkempt. They excuse this state of being because it’s in service to your children.
But what of the actual tribe, of the family? What unifies parents raising children together in 2022? Popular Instagram parenting accounts appear to have little to say on the subject beyond offering a shallow commentary on gender stereotypes and ersatz matriarchal mom communes. Modern parents’ unity of purpose mostly appears to be shielding their children from the dragons and dangers of the world rather than equipping them to take on the daunting challenges, without which their future lives risk feeling pointlessly burdensome.
“It’s the small acts that you do on a daily basis that turn two people from a ‘you and I’ into an ‘us,’” goes a quote from the Lubavitcher Rebbe. But in the world of Mom Instagram, there is no “we,” there is only an overworked, anxiety-ridden martyr. Those small daily acts are mostly an exercise in solipsism. Americans aren’t getting married or having as many kids, and from the popularity of accounts like @momlife_comics, it appears that the ones who are can’t offer any compelling reasons why the ones who aren’t should. Meanwhile, there is no shortage of monsters. Just who will remain to challenge them, however, remains an open question.
Maggie Phillips is a freelance writer and former Tablet Journalism Fellow.
Sounds more like the difference between mothers and fathers regardless of the generation. I would have given the peach to the kids my husband would have eaten it and we're boomers