I am NOT a fan. Actually, that’s a lie. Your work is admirable and no one can take that away from you, but your ideas of motherhood are outdated and frankly, ridiculous. There are so many things wrong with what you have stated in your interview and I would like to address them.
I understand the culture you come from, and as a fellow brown girl, I get it. I really do. You are taught from day one that your role is exactly what your mom said to you. At home, you are “supposed” to be the wife, you’re the daughter, you’re the daughter-in-law, you’re the mother.
At work, you can be as successful as you want, even the CEO of a multi-national company. My question is WHY does the crown have to be left in the garage? Why can’t you be proud of your accomplishments at home? It isn’t as though you become a different person when you walk into your house.
Why is your role at home exclusive to the other members of your family and your relationship with them? Why can’t you just be Indra K Nooyi – CEO of PepsiCo, wife, daughter, daughter-in-law, and mother? You earned your crown, so who else should you be sharing it with?
You will argue that there isn’t enough time, for example, you even missed the morning coffees with all the other mothers on Wednesday mornings. Here comes problem number two, and it’s not exclusively your problem. The word parent is gender-neutral, so then why are the Wednesday morning coffees only geared towards mothers? This is the problem in our society which perpetuates the misconception that women take care of the children, and men go out and work.
There are thousands of children who do not have mothers and go on to become loving and successful people. They may have two fathers, one father, or maybe a single mother who just can’t take off Wednesday mornings for her children. What do they do? Maybe the problem isn’t that women can’t have it all, but rather it’s that society needs to get it out of their heads that only women take care of the children. Your husband seems understanding and loving, I seriously doubt that he would have minded going in on Wednesday mornings to your daughter’s school.
You are correct in one thing, that people usually cannot have it all. Unless someone has a time-turner the way Harry Potter did in The Prisoner of Azkaban, we all have 24 hours in a day; both men and women. If you invest more time in work, then that means less time for everything else. I completely understand the math of your point, BUT why is it that you are specifically talking about women?
Because in your mind, as well as the minds of thousands of others, we are responsible for so many things. As a wife and mother, you are responsible for taking care of your children and your husband. As a daughter/daughter-in law, you are expected to take care of their needs. BUT WHY ONLY YOU? Yes, I agree you should want to be a good mother, wife, daughter, etc. BUT SHOULDN’T MEN BE RESPONSIBLE ALSO? You explicitly mention that:
“Every day you have to make a decision about whether you are going to be a wife or a mother, in fact many times during the day you have to make those decisions.”
It’s great that you are thinking about these things, but shouldn’t male CEOs be making similar decisions about whether they are going to be a husband or a father? This problem is NOT gender specific and that needs to be known before you turn thousands of women away from leadership and ambition based on an outdated concept of the family unit.
I expected differently from you. As a female CEO and a inspiration to countless women, you owe it to future generations. I am not ignorant enough to believe that people can be the most successful in their career, while simultaneously juggling being the best mother, daughter, wife, etc.
I recognize that sacrifice is a part of any accomplishment. But all I see in this article, is you comparing yourself to other mothers who carried out the role “better” than you did. You belittled anything that your children learned from you and your husband about success, drive, motivation, and relationships because you were not a “good mother” by society’s standards.
Signed,
A future mother and future CEO
Shruti Patel is a 23 year old brown girl who has a lot of thoughts on a lot of things! She is a feminist/equal-rights advocate, singer, and Beyonce enthusiast. She hopes to use her voice to help women understand what we are capable of. :)
“Take what you want//Take everything” reflects on a time with my partner and our cat, Layla. It’s a retelling of the chaotic night I adopted her. I didn’t know why Layla hid from me. When I chased her around, it scared her more. “Take what you want//Take everything” juxtaposes our first night, filled with misunderstanding, with the rest of the time we spent together. My fond memories call back to the loving moments Layla and I shared.
Such memories defined us; they reverberated in my partnership. I wonder if my partner, like Layla, only remembers her fear of me, over our shared moments of love. The title, a Kanye West lyric, is an acknowledgment that their happiness together–without me–destroyed my sense of self. When I see their photos, I wonder if I can see myself reflected in their eyes. I wonder if they still keep kind moments of our time together.
I remember when she would look at me from behind a laundry basket.
A small simple cat with green owl eyes. She was afraid of her new home and its owner. Shit, I remember the night I got her, she hid under my bed, in the middle just out of my reach for maybe 6 hours, watching me. She didn’t eat anything the entire day. When the night fell I was afraid she’d starve or come out and attack me. I was just scared. I didn’t have a childhood pet, I’m not white, I didn’t know what to do. I picked up the whole bed and yelled that she needed to move. I chased her into the closet with a vacuum cleaner. When she ran in, I called my lover and yelled to her that she wasn’t helping enough, she needed to be there to help me. That was our first day together, me and that cat. No one will ever have that memory but me and maybe her.
It was during Ramadan, my first year fasting.
Our problems had already begun by then. Enough so that I decided to fast and show retribution. I’d try to change into a more patient and understanding self. Like the Prophet (SAW) I guess. To become someone that my lover could feel safe around. Somehow, getting a cat felt like it fit into that picture. I’d be a cat dad, you know, gentle. We’d raise her. I’d fast and become New Again. Maybe I’d wrap an inked tasbih around myself and show I’m a man of God.
I don’t know how a cat remembers fear any more than I know how a lover does.
I know her body stored it. My cat’s must have stored it too. That first night, I wish I could tell her that I was afraid too. It doesn’t make sense that I was afraid really — I’m bigger, more threatening. We don’t speak the same language anyway, so how could I ever tell her? She learned to trust me though, in her own way. Her small bean paws would press on my chest in the mornings. She’d meow to berate me for locking her out some nights, or when I was away from home too long.
She lives with my lover now. They share photos with me, they’re happy together.
I saw my lover once, it was on 55th and 7th, Broadway shined blue performance lights over us. She wore a red sacral dress. She said her mental health has never been better. I think she was trying to tell me that she’s doing well, because she knows I care for her. I don’t think she was trying to say she’s happier without me. We don’t speak the same language. I actually think they are happier with just each other. And I loved them both, so it hurts. Sometimes, not all the time. And it doesn’t always hurt that bad. Other times it does get pretty bad, though. I probably owe it to myself to say that.
I look back at the photos, the ones of our life together, and the ones of their new life.
Two green owl eyes, and two brown moonlit eyes. I look for myself in them.
NAKED: The Honest Musings of 2 Brown Women was born in the autumn of 2018, when Mimi Mutesa and Selvi M. Bunce began sharing their poetry collections. It was scary, beautiful, and terrifying when they decided to trust each other with their most intimate thoughts. Not only did they feel relieved after doing so, but Selvi and Mimi also felt more seen as women of color. They embarked on their publication journey, so others may feel as seen as they did on that fateful autumn.
“Ingrown Hair” deals with the themes of societal and family pressures that are reflected throughout NAKED. Mimi and Selvi have always written for themselves. They see poetry as an outlet, and their poems exemplify their personal frustration and vulnerability. “Ingrown Hair” speaks to Selvi’s experience with the societal pressures of South Asian women, such as getting married, being a good wife, becoming a good mother, and leading a certain kind of life.
There is something strange beneath my skin
telling me to build a house,
make a home,
mother children.
I am not sure how to reconcile it.
My mother was strong
and a mother after all.
My philosophy has been to spend my time
on myself and the world.
I have always thought
I could simply address the thing under my skin
when it finally crawled out.
But when my family starts guessing
who will get married first, and my father
has been saving wedding money for years,
I begin to wonder
if I will have to pluck it out.
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
Social media has stretched a number of news headlines:
“Social media rots kids’ brains.”
“Social media is polarizing.”
Yet those most affected by social media ideals are the teenage users. Apps like Instagram and TikTok perpetuate an image of perfection that is captured in pictures and 30-second videos. As a result, many young women chase this expectation endlessly. “Her” personifies this perfection in an unattainable figure the narrator has always wished to be. These ideals deteriorate mental health, create body dysmorphia, promote a lack of self-esteem, and much more. Even so, social media is plagued by filters and editing—much of what we hope to achieve isn’t even real. Therefore, young women, much like the narrator of “Her,” strive for a reality that doesn’t even exist.
When she walked into my life
Her smile took up two pages of description
In a YA novel.
My arms could wrap around her waist twice
If she ever let anyone get that close
Her hair whipped winds with effortless beach waves
And a hint of natural coconut
Clothing brands were created around her
“One Size Fits All” one size to fit the girl who has it all
With comments swarning in hourglasses
But when sharp teeth nip at her collar,
She could bite back biting back
And simply smirked with juicy apple lips
Red hearts and sympathy masking condescension
“My body doesn’t take away from the beauty of yours”
“We are all equal, we are all beautiful”
Beauty
A sword she wields expertly
Snipping, changing,
Aphrodite in consistent perfection
Cutting remarks with sickly sweet syrup
And an innocent, lethal wink
When she walked into my life
She led my life.
My wardrobe winter trees
Barren, chopped in half
Unsuited for the holidays
Mirrors were refracted under in my gaze
Misaligned glass was the only explanation
For unsymmetrical features
And broken hands
Still I taped them fixed
Over and over
Poking, prodding
Hoping to mold stomach fat like wet clay
Defy gravity,
Move it upward
To chest
Instead of sagging beneath a belt on the last hole
In the spring
She would stir me awake at 2 AM
“You need to be me”
Lies spilled from her tongue but
Solidified, crystallized
Fabrication spelled dichotomy
And I drifted farther out to sea
When she walked out of my life,
I was drowning.
Reliance had me capsized
Others witnessed
Furrowed brows and glances away
Like spectators of a shark attack
They can watch but the damage is done
They clung to my mangled pieces
Gravestones spelled
“Stressed”
“Depressed”
But I was mourning too
Today I looked back at my mirror
But glass turned into prism
Broken pieces rainbow
Colors coating clothes
She didn’t pick
Aphrodite
Perception changing
She wasn’t perfect
Just lost at sea
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
