Never nothing, always something.

Tetyana Denford - 16 Nov 16

So, my husband and I had a meeting the other day with a business advisor, discussing how to progress our online retail shop that we founded four years ago. Retail is a tricky business, and it relies heavily on pushes through social media, yet there are always shifting goalposts. Anyway, I’ll spare you the boring details.

During the course of the conversation, no idea what prompted it, but we were talking “financials”, and the advisor was filling out paperwork, asking Tom about his main business, the media consultancy. He then turned to me and said “So, and you…” — but I didn’t let him finish.

Instead, I blurted out “Me? I don’t do anything. I’m a housewife.”

Arrrgh. I know. So cringey.

He was a bit taken aback, as was my husband. The guy just stared at me for a second (I swear time must have stopped) whilst my face burned. My husband turns to me and says “Hey, hey. Don’t be silly.” (Even more cringey.)

Why the hell did I even say that? Is that something buried deeper that I need to address?

I didn’t bother with the heavy self-analysis at the time (bit too much for 9:30 on a Monday morning), I just brushed it off, laughed and displaced it by rattling off random questions about sole trader status affecting shareholders, etc. We moved on.

Later, I thought about that sentence: I am *just* a housewife. I don’t do anything. I don’t normally act so martyrish (not in public at least), so this was an annoying and unexpected reveal.

Sure, I think it’s a common thing, if you decide to stay at home (even if you work from home), to not feel “valid” in this weird way (thanks, modern society!). I compare myself a lot to the woman I used to be, in New York and London magazines and creative companies, working 8:30–6:30 for and pocketing a healthy salary, going to work events and saying smart things (semi-pissed) to clever people (who are also pissed) . I also compare myself to the man that my husband *still* is, because let’s face it, fatherhood doesn’t really mess with a man’s identity and career, at least not on an existential level. For him, it’s just going to work on the train. For me, it’s skipping onto the train headed to Busy London with a Golden Ticket to meet with like-minded driven humans, to drink at lunch without judgement, to meet for a beer after work and navigate a buzzing, lively crowd and meet Big People from Famous Brands whilst knowing that his children are cared for and happy without him even having to think twice about any of it. I see him as being wildly lucky — and although I never resent it, I do envy it sometimes.

So, in comparison, because what I do now is starkly different to what I feel “conventional society” likes to reward, I invalidated it by saying it’s “nothing”. I agreed to stay at home because it was a joint decision and it made sense for the time being, but I started to see it as “nothing”, compared to other people’s “somethings”.

So, here’s my “nothing”:

My husband is rarely home, and we have very little help as far as family, so it’s me taking care of 3 kids on my own (all close in age which means I was pregnant 3 times in 6 years). School runs, grocery shopping, cleaning the house, chauffeuring to various after school activities, doctors’ and dentists’ appointments, random house stuff (like dealing with insurance and estate agents as well as doing DIY), car stuff, oh and I also do the family finances/budgeting. In between all of that, and if I have time to have a sip of cold coffee (and yes, I only shower on weekends, thanks for asking), I’m resurrecting my writing career that I used to have in the twilight of my youth (I used to write freelance for fashion mags in NYC), and trying to write a book. Yes, that’s right. A whole book, which I have never done before, so I have nothing to measure my success against; no plan or “way” to do any of it. Oh and I’m also trying to keep our retail business afloat by generating some eyes on it via social media channels, as well as having conversations with our accountant to keep our accounts up to date so that I’m not kicked out of the country back to Brooklyn.

Why does that translate to “nothing”, in my head? Because the retail business doesn’t generate that much money for us (we put in loads of our savings into it, which is slightly terrifying), and the thing that I am desperate to be paid for, writing, I currently earn zero money at. I also have no boss patting me on the back telling me that I’m doing well and ‘hitting my targets’ (my achievements are now my own voices in my head telling me not to buy that second cup of overpriced coffee at Starbucks and if I listen to the voices, I WIN AT LIFE THAT DAY). It’s all down to my own sheer determination and confidence encouraging me forward. I’ve written almost 150 pages of my book and I’m proud of it, and yet I feel like a total nobody. I don’t have an agent, I don’t have fans, I don’t have a YouTube channel, I’m not a beauty/fashion blogger, I’m not a mummy-blogger-internet-sensation, I’m rubbish at Snapchat and have no idea what the fuck Periscope is. I’m just a little person trying to believe in my voice and that my words are relevant.

It’s painful, and there are days where I scroll through the Xanax-filtered social media windows and I want to give up and just be someone else. Do a ‘proper job’, where you get pay rises and roll-y chairs and a lunch break. Look, other authors are getting published, and you’re still at your first edit. I hate those voices. Those voices get me nowhere.

And yet, despite all of the above, I can’t imagine my life any differently, because ultimately, my kids are seeing me create, and fear, and work so hard at trying to stay true to who I am. I know I’m meant to be here, now, doing what I’m doing. I think so, anyway. It’s what gets me excited, and scared, every morning: my laptop and another handful of pages to write. It’s not nothing. It’s something. Something important.

I hate the fact that I feel like justifying my choices and apologising to strangers who I’ll probably never see again. I hate the fact that I feel like everyone else has the answers and I’m still walking around scratching my ass.

But maybe this is what I need: a cold slap in the face to respond to a question with “Oh sure, I can tell you what I do… take a seat. How much time and paper do you have?”

Tetyana Denford

Tetyana is a Ukrainian-American mum of three, married to an Englishman, living in NY. She's written for Elle and Vogue magazines, and her first novel 'Motherland' is available at Amazon. She hosts a YouTube show called The Craft and Business of Books, translates for Frontline PBS news, and writes freelance.

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