Over the past few weeks, I’ve been working on an essay for Fuller, the global newsroom focused on reporting that catalyses positive change for women and gender-diverse people. The piece just came out, entitled “The time-strapped, working mom isn’t a natural phenomenon. She’s the product of bad policy.”

I learned a lot from the process – it’s been a while since I published anything with a proper media outlet or newsroom (appropriately for the topic of my essay: I didn’t have the time over the last couple of years, because of, yes you guessed it – motherhood!). One of the things I most appreciate about writing for a proper newsroom like Fuller is the level of rigour that goes into editing, fact-checking, revising – it’s a whole process that as a result, gave me a lot of feedback on my writing style and technique that I don’t normally receive, and for which I’m so grateful.

Editors at Fuller corroborated everything I mentioned, asked for citations, and went through things I cited to make sure my representation of them was accurate. It was incredibly time-consuming for them! And a good reminder for me of the level of rigour that goes into writing like this. In contrast, I think of bitesize hot takes on social media that might get a lot of views and travel far, but which have absolutely none of that same rigour behind it.

As ever, there’s a lot that didn’t make it into that final version of my essay (and actually, the web version of the essay is just one version of it – thanks to a partnership Fuller has with a new publishing house, Full Set, a slightly longer form of the essay will be published as an audiobook and ebook, too. If you thought my last book was tiny, just wait for this one!)

One of the concepts that I came across with regards to time were the Greek understandings of time as being chronos or kairos. Chronos, as you might guess from the etymology, referring to chronological, sequential time – time that chugs along, seconds, minutes, days. Kairos being “a rupture and disconnection to lineal, process time”, a specific, opportune moment, that can be felt differently to the linear chronos.

Those two distinctions felt incredibly accurate for motherhood. The daily slog of chronos-time, the repetition, the emotional and physical labour it all requires. But then, the blindingly beautiful moments of kairos – a baby’s first steps, the sight of one child comforting another, warm hands around your neck for a hug that should never end. I found this wonderful essay in a midwifery journal entitled “Kairos time at the moment of birth” which felt like an articulation of something I’ve felt but never before seen written down: the specialness of the moment of birth, how time moves differently at that time, and the need to protect that moment.

But capitalism has commodified time to the extent that the very concept of ‘time’ being anything but worker-hours is alien to many of us, especially here in the West. I was asked a beautiful ice-breaker question recently in a meeeting: how, aside from the clock, do you mark the passing of time? People mentioned things like a tree blooming every year outside their door; menstrual cycles; the moon; shadows and more.

There are many different ways of experiencing and conceptualising time, and once I started thinking about it, there’s nothing inevitable about how we think of, for example, ‘time is money’ or seconds, minutes, hours as dominating the ways in which we lead our lives.

For me, the few weeks immediately after having my children were periods of my life where ‘chronos’ time didn’t dominate. Here in Germany, that period of time is called Wochenbett (literally: week-bed) with two months full pay after the birth of a baby covered by the state to ensure that the mother is able to rest and recover. I was lucky enough to be able to observe Wochenbett to its fullest – resting, having friends and family deliver homemade food, and (more or less) following the old adage: sleep when the baby sleeps. Even it being day or night didn’t overly matter, thanks to the thick black-out curtains we’d installed in preparation for the new arrival. 

After going through my entire life with the clock governing pretty much everything, those weeks of Wochenbett were transformative. Not having any external deadlines or appointments, with nighttime feedings just as common as daytime ones in those early weeks – time blurred into one, with my little newborn at the centre of it all. It was a complete gift, being able to reshape my days based not on minutes and hours, but on the needs of my baby. And it, of course, makes me wonder – what else could be reshaped, and how, if we had the structures and the policies to allow it?

So much of chronos time doesn’t make sense for the lives we lead – I wrote about a few examples in the essay, but there’s so many more. For example, medical research showing school start times that are earlier than 8.30am having negative impacts on adolescents. What would it look like if we let our lives (and our time) be driven by what our bodies, and what our environments, actually need?

Links from around the web

• Another Kind of Time, An Interview with Jenny Odell in Emergence Magazine

• From colonial time to decolonial temporalities, by Thabolwethu Tema Maphosa and Refiloe Makama – an academic article which introduces “alternative temporalities” as ways of dealing with trauma and healing.

• Decolonial time and flow as a birthright – a really lovely episode of Green Dreamer, with Ixchel Lunar, an Indigenous-Time Ecologist. (Side note: I’m such a fan of this podcast! I learn so much with every episode.)

What else should I be reading about time? And/or, if you know of anyone who would appreciate or feel seen with my essay on motherhood: please feel free to share!