Do moms deserve others’ respect?

Earlier this month, I posted an excerpt of a column by Mary Ann Miller. Though it was written decades ago, it still rings true, especially when she said, “It’s true that modern ideology still advocates free choice, but somehow the choice of full-time homemaker doesn’t garner the same respect and interest as choosing to be an astronaut.”

One commenter took issue with this statement:

And what sort of respect and admiration do you expect to get when the ones to benefit from the choice you made are your immediate family, as compared to someone whose choices benefit many hundreds of people? In other words, if your choice is to be a full-time mother, you can expect to receive the respect and admiration of your family because they are the ones who benefit, but why would you expect to receive any acknowledgement from other people who gain nothing from your choice? If your choice is to be an astronaut, you can expect to receive the respect and admiration of everyone whose life your work touches.

I responded in the comments there, but the more I think about this, the more this type of thinking bothers me. Let’s set aside how very ego-centric it is to only respect those who do something to directly benefit your life. Let’s look at the standard here—and I’m not trying to pick on this commentator, but using this comment to illustrate a pervasive, destructive thought pattern that undermines mothers.

Here’s our logic:

• Astronauts can expect to receive the respect and admiration of everyone whose life their work touches.
• Mothers can expect to receive the respect and admiration of only their children and husbands.

Seeing it yet?

In this line of thinking, a mother can only receive respect from someone who she works with directly, her immediate family. An astronaut, on the other hand, can “expect” to receive admiration from “many hundreds of people,” who benefit from her work (and here’s a niggling point: this argument says astronauts should get respect for everything anyone in their profession has contributed to society—but not so for mothers).

So what, exactly might that benefit be? Can you name one thing an astronaut has done to make your life better?

Now name one thing your mother did to make your life better.

Now name one thing her mother did to make your life better. A friend’s mother. Your child’s friend’s mother. Another mom in your neighborhood.

So why is it that a mother can only receive respect from the people she serves directly, but an astronaut can receive respect for all of her colleagues’ collective contributions to society? Why can’t we take mothers as a force, too?

Mothers do not only benefit their own families. Having a mother at home can benefit the neighborhood—mothers can touch the lives of their children’s friends—mothers can influence generations. An astronaut doesn’t teach children to get along, to share, to read, to write, to sing, to love, to laugh, to live. We influence our children, and through them, all they come in contact with for the rest of their lives. A mother is the most influential career any of us could have.

Or, as G.K. Chesterton put it in his “guest post” here:

How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the Universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone?

So yes, I suppose I do agree that all mothers deserve the respect of those who have benefit from any one mother’s time, effort, talents, love. Has your life benefited from any nurturing woman?

Photo credits: astronaut—Brian Talbot; globe—Sanja Gjenero