God Doesn't Care Who Does the Dishes

Young 30-something woman coexists successfully in her multiple roles as wife, mother, and business owner because she is, contrary to society's labeling obsession, capable of being more than one thing.

Dec 04, 2024

Cultural commentary about feminism, wifedom, and motherhood is giving me whiplash.

I’m currently experiencing an intense phenomenon of selective perception with regard to all things “mom stuff.” And I’m wondering if the themes floating across my internet-sphere right now are actually being held in conversation in the overstimulated homes of parents with two under two, or if the media is simply capitalizing on intangible “trends” that have no basis in reality to irrationally scare us all.

Boss Babe vs. Tradwife. I have seen five articles come across my various screens in the last three days on this “battle” apparently being waged by nobody in particular.

I think to myself, who is making these terms? We contain multitudes, we are not frivolous quips!

I’m a mom. And a wife. And a writer, lawyer, small business owner, decaf coffee connoisseur, lover of books, hater of The Office (I’m SO sorry). You’re a reader — and a thousand other selves nodding along in agreement or retreating in dissent. But regardless, you will leave this post and return to your identities and your roles and they will compound, intersect, and overlap in perpetuity offline and in your real life.

Does owning my own business make me a Boss Babe? Am I therefore the antithesis of the Tradwife, even though I’m also staying home with my child, working from the comfort and privilege of my home office? These zeitgeist terms are reductive, purposelessly simplifying the complexities of being both human and mother for those of us experiencing both existences at once.

Is there a Boyboss? A Boss Bro? A Tradhusband? A Himbo? A collective discussion about the expectations of fatherhood, or do these boxes continue to package up the women only and ship them out to sea on a rusty vessel with a leaking underbelly?

I’ve been asked more times than my husband how my work-life balance is going since having our baby five months ago. Some will say this is because it’s my “role” as a mother and wife to be the CEO of The Household. It turns out I’m indeed great at paperwork, but I’m terrible at doing the dishes.

My husband works full-time and loves to clean the kitchen. It’s his happy place. He also shares in half the responsibilities of raising our child because … she’s our child and half of his responsibility.

I feel like there’s still an overall expectation on moms, and wives, that we are to be naturally softer than our husbands. Gentler. More nurturing by our inherent nature. Quiet in our power. I’m a “loud girl” and I’m good at my day job, but I also feel gooey about my loved ones — does that make me more or less suitable for motherhood?

At some point, parts of society manipulated scriptures into arbitrary fallacies to support the colloquial assertion that “good women” couldn’t possibly put their career dreams ahead of their thoughts about having children. That roles have nothing to do with personal characteristics, specific strengths and weaknesses, or how well the children in any given home are loved and cared for by their parent(s); instead, defining the roles has become about who does the chores. The CHORES.

An unfortunate truth for the overly traditional zealots subscribing to this choosy absurdity, hijacking fragments of religion for personal performative power and trying to prevent women from ascending to true equity and equality by designating them best-suited for homemaking, is that God doesn’t care who does the dishes.

My calling isn’t Leader of The Dyson, Keeper of the Sponge, Queen of the Crevices and Dirty Baseboards. And last time I checked the good Word, the only people in the Bible specifically doing dishes are men (2 Kings 21:13 — lol). I find this hilarious.

The point is not really what historical or biblical texts say about dishes. The point is that we’ve watered down the capabilities of women so much that the discussions about a woman’s role in society has become unfortunately centered on something as stupid as the dishes. See: the Tradwife vs. Boss Babe discourse.

I have a daughter of my own now. And I will not allow her to be reduced by anyone by her ability to wield or not wield a Scrub Daddy or a Microsoft Excel Spreadsheet.

I try my best not to be rage-baited by current events, but now I see everything through the lens of my daughter. A tiny, innocent, perfect baby girl who will grow up in this world and must learn to deflect the things that bear harm. She will not know what is real and meaningful — and it is my duty to protect her from those who might attempt to dim her light, even if it’s from the dark corners of the internet. She is fragile and vulnerable and new. She does not yet have discernment.

We all remember Harrison Butker preposterously declaring at a commencement address this past summer that his wife’s life didn’t “begin” until she had a child as a passive way to illustrate his “assumption” that the women of the audience must certainly be more excited to be wives and mothers than, I don’t know, receive the degree they just spent four years earning. I listened to this speech seven months pregnant. It made me barf. Maybe it was the hormonal nausea. Maybe it was the audacity.

I don’t know if Harrison Butker ever had a baby, but giving birth was not in fact the best day of my life, my life began in 1992 when I was born, and no feminist propaganda or “diabolical lie” forced me to be a “Boss Babe.” I’m a “Boss Babe” so I can support my daughter and her dreams — and, you know, put food on the table and pay a mortgage and also have a little fun every once in a while.

I also love my husband. My home. My fiery red Le Creuset dutch oven. Does that make me a Tradwife, too?

These labels are so pointless.

It’s not that I necessarily care deeply about this NFL kicker I never heard of until he made his rounds on YouTube. It’s just that the messaging that came from his false pulpit is pervasive. I have heard, seen, and felt the words he spoke since I was 11 years old, exploring my femininity, trying to figure out what it means to be a girl, woman, person in this weird world. And now I have my own daughter who will wrestle one day with her place in it all. I hope it’s filled with more love and less judgment.

People are not aesthetics to bottled and labeled for mass consumption. We are multi-dimensional, ever-evolving. We share in collective experiences while simultaneously living entirely unique lives. It’s a travesty to try to make others believe we can only be one thing. We need to ask more questions. We need to listen to the answers. We need to stop boxing each other in.

I love being a wife. I love being a mom.

I also love making my own money. I love that my husband could support us both while I was out on maternity leave. I love that he loves being a dad. I love that I pursued higher education and I especially love that my parents never told me I belonged in the fucking kitchen while I walked across my law school graduation stage.

I hope my daughter can let preposterous expectations roll off her back and know that no matter what path she charts for herself, she has a choice. She has endless choices for her own life. Nothing is too “big” or too “small.” It is all simply hers for the taking.

I hope she grows up in a world that feels less pressured than my world of 2000s girlhood. I hope she rolls her eyes at the boys who know nothing of her being. I hope she’s more relaxed than me. I hope she cares less about things that don’t truly matter. I hope she has to fight less.

I hope she finds love and passion and joy. I hope she lives in a world that is more peaceful. I hope she reads this post one day and wonders why I was so worked up about some stupid kicker online because she’s simply with it and unaffected by all of this excess noise.

I hope, beyond everything, that she knows in her cute baby brain how much she is loved by her mom who loves motherhood and her husband and writing her silly little Substack about it all.

I hope she knows that she can be more than one thing.

I hope, I hope, I hope.

Xo,

Violet Carol

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