PS I met a group of women working for a book publisher in London. They all had children. They shared a large house, all bills, the nannies, the chores. You definitely don't need a man! But you do need a household.
Thank you, Sallie. A household of women in solidarity—that is a radical act, and a beautiful one.
But let’s not forget: it takes privilege, proximity, and often property to form such collectives.
What most mothers need is not a man or even a household. What we need is a dismantling of the conditions that isolate us, pit us against each other, and criminalise our vulnerability.
The problem is not our aloneness. The problem is a culture that punishes us for surviving alone.
And still, we find ways to reach for each other, even here. I’m glad you reached.
Yes. We need to be assured that we are full citizens. I was struck cold by the social worker saying to you that your household would be better if it were headed by a man.
Exactly. That line was the mask slipping and it chilled me too. Because underneath so many interactions with systems is that same quiet assumption: that a woman alone isn’t enough. We should be full citizens. And yet.
I am struck by your openness! I don’t know if I could overcome the shame that I would feel. But then I got to the line about your household would benefit from a man and I almost lost it!!! The blatant misogyny! I am in awe of you sharing such a personal story so we can all see how misogyny is so alive! I also appreciated the acknowledgement of your privilege in the situation. Bipoc moms and poor moms endure this so often! Thank you for sharing this amazingly open piece of your life!
This was a page-turner. so well-done. So frightening. I have one question: what became of your relationship with your black-mailing child?
I was investigated, and it was 1980. i had two children. My ex wanted custody of our 6 yr old daughter. He didn't care about my 15 y o son. He got her. Why? I was the survivor of suicides, father, mother, first husband. I was surely too damaged to raise our daughter. He'd stolen a diary, the one in which I spilled all my rage and fear. He had school teachers behind him. I sent her to school in mismatched socks. Once, no underpants. I asked her about that. She'd peed herself and thrown away the pants, sensible child that she was. It took us half a lifetime to really rebuild a relationship.
Sallie thank you for reading with such depth, and for sharing part of your own vulnerable story. What you endured is devastating. That you and your daughter found each other again after all of it—that matters more than anything.
You asked about my child. What I’ll say is this: I don’t see it as blackmail. I see a child, finding their edges, testing power, overwhelmed by feelings they didn’t yet know how to hold. That’s what growing is. That’s what childhood is. And I was the adult. Still am.
Our relationship is strong. It has roots. And it holds—not just because I love them, but because we both do what’s needed to protect our love.
This essay was about what happened to me under scrutiny—not what happened between us. That story isn’t mine to tell. And it isn’t needed here.
And I understand the real deeper question underneath: can love survive rupture? Yes. When love is chosen again and again. When we don’t reduce people to a single moment. When we make space for repair without erasing what hurt.
Thank you for being here. And for asking. Some questions deserve to be met directly.
I definitely got rid of all my books on domestic violence and the many natural healing and holistic remedy books, and anything critical of the systems..confessions of a medical heretic and anything John Taylor Gatto.
My neighbor threatened to call the system on me because my kids play outside.
When I reported the abuses at school and at their father’s house, nothing happened. No protecting the innocent. It’s meant to force compliance and obedience to the system.
Sara, the moving books—it’s wild what we start to second-guess, even on our own shelves. And the threat from your neighbour? Honestly, I’m so sorry. None of this should be normal, and yet here we are. I appreciate you adding your voice here 🙏🏻
This story held me in the clutches of quiet terror. The question at the end is excellent—which books would I hide? Food for thought! And now I’m going to look at my bookshelf, not because a visit is imminent, but because I have wondered what someone peeping my books would conclude about me.
Yes, exactly. That’s the strange tension I wanted to leave hanging—not because someone’s watching, but because we know what it means to live as if they might be. I’m really moved that the bookshelf question landed. It’s quiet, but it cuts. Thank you for sitting with it.
Michelle, your P.S. says everything. The ones who show up least often often seem to feel most entitled to pass judgement. It’s maddening and familiar to more of us than people admit out loud. I’m really glad you brought it into the open here. 🙏🏻
Holy shit Danusia. Firstly this is BRILLIANTLY written, the suspense, the chilling surveillance, that shit brown coat. Secondly, I would never have imagined you’d be a ‘suspect’ with a large family, but now I get it, of course the state would suspect a large household without a man. I’m seething!
Geez. Thank you for this eye opening, gripping piece.
Yes. The coat, the suspicion, the slow sting of it all. I’m so struck by your surprise, because that’s exactly part of the problem: we assume it only happens to a certain kind of mother. That’s how the silence stays intact. I’m grateful you saw it, and said so. With love and admiration xx
There’s a lot going on here. Your child who made the “if you don’t do everything I want” statement will grow up to run either a Fortune 500 company or a prison gang, and for your sake, I hope it’s the former.
And the unfairness of it all. A mother like you being investigated (for what, I can’t imagine) and told what the kids need is a man in the house. Meanwhile mothers like my own, who knew to only beat me in places of my body clothes would cover) got away with it because A) she was in a heterosexual marriage, b) she lived in a middle class McMansion, and, most importantly, c) she was a master at manipulating other people (like how she convinced the nuns at my school that I dislocated my shoulder falling down the stairs, when in fact, she’d picked me up and thrown me down). There’s an underlying hypocrisy, where a poor/queer/colored/disabled/former addict/unmarried mother is seen as a bad mother, but a white, affluent,married mother is a fucking saint.
Cara, I’m holding everything you wrote especially the violence you survived and the way systems failed to see it. That kind of betrayal sits deep.
As for the line about my child—I know it was meant wryly, but I’ll say gently: that part of the story isn’t up for public analysis. What I can say is this—every child is more than a moment. And the point of my essay was never to assign blame, but to name how EASILY mothers fall under suspicion.
Thank you for reading and for speaking from your own lived place. It matters.
Oof. Mom of four, two by birth, two adopted, ranging from age 36 down to 3 years. The youngest two, ages 9 and 3 were foster babies and eventually adopted. I've been there, both as a foster mom taking in children as part of a very broken American foster system, and before as a young mother, and at times, single mother. I likely would have argued that "you should give kids what they want" because you most certainly should not (as you well understood). Mine is a chaotic, cluttered household, rarely neat, definitely not quiet. And as for what books I might hide? Of the thousands I have, perhaps I would hide the books on marijuana, while legal, could cause questions I have no interest in answering. My husband indulges, I do not, but he's far easier to live with that way than not. And with that, possibly, I would hide the 3rd book I wrote, back in 2011, The War on Drugs: An Old Wives Tale, because it would also provoke questions I see no reason to discuss. But oh, the memories and fear and stress those visits can bring! All brought back to me by your article. That lack of feeling entirely secure, in your home, your sanctuary. I remember it. It does fade, but is never erased.
Christine, your words land with SO much weight and resonance. You’ve lived through many layers of the system, from different sides, and still carry the ache of it. I recognise what you say about the sanctuary of home never quite feeling the same.
And yes, the mental bookshelf scan we all do… revealing, isn’t it?
Thank you so much for sharing part of your story here. It matters. 💖
“But understanding isn’t comfort. It’s just the name we give to powerlessness.” I had to read this a few times, because it’s so true!
What a stressful situation! I read it and then reminded myself to breathe.
We are under scrutiny, indeed. What I hate the most about being a mother is the required customer service attitude, or the smile of a showgirl. We always have to keep smiling and pretend we love being the slave of the goddamn house. I hate that part the most. Because when I lose that mask and show I am actually overwhelmed or sad or god forbid, angry, there is no forgiveness. They tell me they hate me. Nobody sees it when I stand in the kitchen, nauseous with emotion and overwhelm, but I cook anyway. They don’t understand. They think we are robots. Or they tell me: you don’t have to do all those things.
Well. Who will? Not the father, that’s for sure. Not them either, unless “I ask nicely” (read: beg them three times a day). Who ever made motherhood feel like one needs to be a martyr to be good enough, can walk a week in my shoes. I’ll leave it at that.
Oh, I feel every word of this. The smile-as-armour. The way exhaustion has to be disguised to be tolerated. That phrase—“customer service attitude”—hits too close to home.
And yes: when we drop the mask, even for a moment, we’re met with punishment. Or silence. Or blame.
I see you standing there in the kitchen. I really do. Thank you so much for naming what so many feel and rarely say aloud. 🙏🏻
Your writing is exquisite and keeps you tethered to the page, I could hardly breathe as it was as if I was with you in it. The man in our minds and how we perform for him is also a concept that I just read about in Women who run with the wolves.. it’s interesting how this keeps coming back, makes me also think about the saying ”big brothers watching you” which obviously can have many connotations and interpretations both externally and internally. You’re incredibly brave for Sharing your story this way, I salute you for being such a force in not giving up despite how unfairly the shit-brown coat now lives in your spine. Sending you ❤️
Elin, I’m really grateful for this. That you noticed the thread between the man in our minds and Big Brother, that’s exactly it. The surveillance isn’t just institutional, it becomes intimate. Internal. I think many of us live with that watchfulness, quietly rearranging ourselves around it. Thank you for reading with such care—and for your fierce loving kindness 🫶🏼
Wow! The writing is spare but the emotion behind the words bleeds onto the page. The piece made me realize how, even if they are not a "case", mothers are scrutinized and judged by society. We are constantly looking over our shoulder, trying to project perfection when we are just imperfect humans.
Linda, thank you. That phrase “just imperfect humans” says so much. That’s all we are. And yet the scrutiny demands sainthood. I’m so glad the piece landed with you. Your words reflect exactly what I hoped it might stir. 🙏🏻
Kim, thank you, what a kind and generous message. I haven’t raised all ten children solo, though there’ve been long stretches where I’ve parented without a co-parent in the home. It’s not quite the same as doing it alone, and I really want to acknowledge that.
But what you said about wondering if we do it “right” or just the best we know how? Yes. Because so often, mothers aren’t allowed to be human. We’re meant to be machines of devotion. And still we keep showing up. I’m so glad you were here for this one.
This article made my stomach flip and had me holding my breath the whole way through. My greatest fear described in your words, the constant niggling worry 'would my mothering stand up to scrutiny? Be deemed 'good enough'?' Every year undisturbed a result. My own fears of speaking afainst my skns Dad in case the tables are turned unfairly in me. What a thing to go through, what a memory to carry. Thank you for your honesty in sharing.
Chloe, thank you for reading so closely and for naming what so many of us feel but rarely say out loud. That question: would my mothering stand up to scrutiny? is one I carried in my gut for months, and still do. I’m holding your fear, your memory, and your caution. You are not alone. 💕
Julie, thank you. I don’t take lightly what it means to break that silence and I’m aware of how many can’t, or won’t, for good reason. If this voice carries anything useful for others, I’ll count that as worth it.
Moms don't generally need outside scrutiny when we are so good at scrutinizing ourselves. And who does the caseworker think raised all the men he thinks every household needs?
Exactly Leslie. We do the watching, the second-guessing, the nightly reviews, no clipboard required. And yes to your question: the very men held up as stabilisers were raised by women (often under scrutiny and tough conditions). The irony isn’t lost on us. Thank you for your words. They made me smile and grit my teeth, in solidarity.
An absolutely stunning essay. Had me feeling and reeling. Reminds me (unfortunately) of the dystopian book, “The School for Good Mothers.” Eager to read more from you, Danusia!
Wow, thank you so much for your compliments Sonya, that means a lot to me.
Ironic you mention the book too as before it was published I was already hosting a v popular podcast called School for Mothers. I rebranded it to Parents who Think publication here and podcast.
Laura, I’m so glad this was your entry point. Thank you for seeing the essay in all its intention~feminist, urgent, and a little bit chilling. There’s more where this came from. I’m glad you’re here.
PS I met a group of women working for a book publisher in London. They all had children. They shared a large house, all bills, the nannies, the chores. You definitely don't need a man! But you do need a household.
Thank you, Sallie. A household of women in solidarity—that is a radical act, and a beautiful one.
But let’s not forget: it takes privilege, proximity, and often property to form such collectives.
What most mothers need is not a man or even a household. What we need is a dismantling of the conditions that isolate us, pit us against each other, and criminalise our vulnerability.
The problem is not our aloneness. The problem is a culture that punishes us for surviving alone.
And still, we find ways to reach for each other, even here. I’m glad you reached.
Yes. We need to be assured that we are full citizens. I was struck cold by the social worker saying to you that your household would be better if it were headed by a man.
Exactly. That line was the mask slipping and it chilled me too. Because underneath so many interactions with systems is that same quiet assumption: that a woman alone isn’t enough. We should be full citizens. And yet.
I am struck by your openness! I don’t know if I could overcome the shame that I would feel. But then I got to the line about your household would benefit from a man and I almost lost it!!! The blatant misogyny! I am in awe of you sharing such a personal story so we can all see how misogyny is so alive! I also appreciated the acknowledgement of your privilege in the situation. Bipoc moms and poor moms endure this so often! Thank you for sharing this amazingly open piece of your life!
Very true.
This was a page-turner. so well-done. So frightening. I have one question: what became of your relationship with your black-mailing child?
I was investigated, and it was 1980. i had two children. My ex wanted custody of our 6 yr old daughter. He didn't care about my 15 y o son. He got her. Why? I was the survivor of suicides, father, mother, first husband. I was surely too damaged to raise our daughter. He'd stolen a diary, the one in which I spilled all my rage and fear. He had school teachers behind him. I sent her to school in mismatched socks. Once, no underpants. I asked her about that. She'd peed herself and thrown away the pants, sensible child that she was. It took us half a lifetime to really rebuild a relationship.
Sallie thank you for reading with such depth, and for sharing part of your own vulnerable story. What you endured is devastating. That you and your daughter found each other again after all of it—that matters more than anything.
You asked about my child. What I’ll say is this: I don’t see it as blackmail. I see a child, finding their edges, testing power, overwhelmed by feelings they didn’t yet know how to hold. That’s what growing is. That’s what childhood is. And I was the adult. Still am.
Our relationship is strong. It has roots. And it holds—not just because I love them, but because we both do what’s needed to protect our love.
This essay was about what happened to me under scrutiny—not what happened between us. That story isn’t mine to tell. And it isn’t needed here.
And I understand the real deeper question underneath: can love survive rupture? Yes. When love is chosen again and again. When we don’t reduce people to a single moment. When we make space for repair without erasing what hurt.
Thank you for being here. And for asking. Some questions deserve to be met directly.
I definitely got rid of all my books on domestic violence and the many natural healing and holistic remedy books, and anything critical of the systems..confessions of a medical heretic and anything John Taylor Gatto.
My neighbor threatened to call the system on me because my kids play outside.
When I reported the abuses at school and at their father’s house, nothing happened. No protecting the innocent. It’s meant to force compliance and obedience to the system.
Sara, the moving books—it’s wild what we start to second-guess, even on our own shelves. And the threat from your neighbour? Honestly, I’m so sorry. None of this should be normal, and yet here we are. I appreciate you adding your voice here 🙏🏻
Thanks for starting the conversation!
This story held me in the clutches of quiet terror. The question at the end is excellent—which books would I hide? Food for thought! And now I’m going to look at my bookshelf, not because a visit is imminent, but because I have wondered what someone peeping my books would conclude about me.
Yes, exactly. That’s the strange tension I wanted to leave hanging—not because someone’s watching, but because we know what it means to live as if they might be. I’m really moved that the bookshelf question landed. It’s quiet, but it cuts. Thank you for sitting with it.
PS - I am a single mother of two and their father loves to critique me from a distance. He sees the children about once every year and a half.
Michelle, your P.S. says everything. The ones who show up least often often seem to feel most entitled to pass judgement. It’s maddening and familiar to more of us than people admit out loud. I’m really glad you brought it into the open here. 🙏🏻
Holy shit Danusia. Firstly this is BRILLIANTLY written, the suspense, the chilling surveillance, that shit brown coat. Secondly, I would never have imagined you’d be a ‘suspect’ with a large family, but now I get it, of course the state would suspect a large household without a man. I’m seething!
Geez. Thank you for this eye opening, gripping piece.
You are truly marvellous 💜
Sarina, thank you hugely for this. 🙏🏻
Yes. The coat, the suspicion, the slow sting of it all. I’m so struck by your surprise, because that’s exactly part of the problem: we assume it only happens to a certain kind of mother. That’s how the silence stays intact. I’m grateful you saw it, and said so. With love and admiration xx
Yes indeed, I would have assumed only a certain type of mother. Gosh this piece will stay with me, as many of yours do 💜
There’s a lot going on here. Your child who made the “if you don’t do everything I want” statement will grow up to run either a Fortune 500 company or a prison gang, and for your sake, I hope it’s the former.
And the unfairness of it all. A mother like you being investigated (for what, I can’t imagine) and told what the kids need is a man in the house. Meanwhile mothers like my own, who knew to only beat me in places of my body clothes would cover) got away with it because A) she was in a heterosexual marriage, b) she lived in a middle class McMansion, and, most importantly, c) she was a master at manipulating other people (like how she convinced the nuns at my school that I dislocated my shoulder falling down the stairs, when in fact, she’d picked me up and thrown me down). There’s an underlying hypocrisy, where a poor/queer/colored/disabled/former addict/unmarried mother is seen as a bad mother, but a white, affluent,married mother is a fucking saint.
Cara, I’m holding everything you wrote especially the violence you survived and the way systems failed to see it. That kind of betrayal sits deep.
As for the line about my child—I know it was meant wryly, but I’ll say gently: that part of the story isn’t up for public analysis. What I can say is this—every child is more than a moment. And the point of my essay was never to assign blame, but to name how EASILY mothers fall under suspicion.
Thank you for reading and for speaking from your own lived place. It matters.
Oof. Mom of four, two by birth, two adopted, ranging from age 36 down to 3 years. The youngest two, ages 9 and 3 were foster babies and eventually adopted. I've been there, both as a foster mom taking in children as part of a very broken American foster system, and before as a young mother, and at times, single mother. I likely would have argued that "you should give kids what they want" because you most certainly should not (as you well understood). Mine is a chaotic, cluttered household, rarely neat, definitely not quiet. And as for what books I might hide? Of the thousands I have, perhaps I would hide the books on marijuana, while legal, could cause questions I have no interest in answering. My husband indulges, I do not, but he's far easier to live with that way than not. And with that, possibly, I would hide the 3rd book I wrote, back in 2011, The War on Drugs: An Old Wives Tale, because it would also provoke questions I see no reason to discuss. But oh, the memories and fear and stress those visits can bring! All brought back to me by your article. That lack of feeling entirely secure, in your home, your sanctuary. I remember it. It does fade, but is never erased.
Christine, your words land with SO much weight and resonance. You’ve lived through many layers of the system, from different sides, and still carry the ache of it. I recognise what you say about the sanctuary of home never quite feeling the same.
And yes, the mental bookshelf scan we all do… revealing, isn’t it?
Thank you so much for sharing part of your story here. It matters. 💖
“But understanding isn’t comfort. It’s just the name we give to powerlessness.” I had to read this a few times, because it’s so true!
What a stressful situation! I read it and then reminded myself to breathe.
We are under scrutiny, indeed. What I hate the most about being a mother is the required customer service attitude, or the smile of a showgirl. We always have to keep smiling and pretend we love being the slave of the goddamn house. I hate that part the most. Because when I lose that mask and show I am actually overwhelmed or sad or god forbid, angry, there is no forgiveness. They tell me they hate me. Nobody sees it when I stand in the kitchen, nauseous with emotion and overwhelm, but I cook anyway. They don’t understand. They think we are robots. Or they tell me: you don’t have to do all those things.
Well. Who will? Not the father, that’s for sure. Not them either, unless “I ask nicely” (read: beg them three times a day). Who ever made motherhood feel like one needs to be a martyr to be good enough, can walk a week in my shoes. I’ll leave it at that.
Oh, I feel every word of this. The smile-as-armour. The way exhaustion has to be disguised to be tolerated. That phrase—“customer service attitude”—hits too close to home.
And yes: when we drop the mask, even for a moment, we’re met with punishment. Or silence. Or blame.
I see you standing there in the kitchen. I really do. Thank you so much for naming what so many feel and rarely say aloud. 🙏🏻
Your writing is exquisite and keeps you tethered to the page, I could hardly breathe as it was as if I was with you in it. The man in our minds and how we perform for him is also a concept that I just read about in Women who run with the wolves.. it’s interesting how this keeps coming back, makes me also think about the saying ”big brothers watching you” which obviously can have many connotations and interpretations both externally and internally. You’re incredibly brave for Sharing your story this way, I salute you for being such a force in not giving up despite how unfairly the shit-brown coat now lives in your spine. Sending you ❤️
Elin, I’m really grateful for this. That you noticed the thread between the man in our minds and Big Brother, that’s exactly it. The surveillance isn’t just institutional, it becomes intimate. Internal. I think many of us live with that watchfulness, quietly rearranging ourselves around it. Thank you for reading with such care—and for your fierce loving kindness 🫶🏼
Wow! The writing is spare but the emotion behind the words bleeds onto the page. The piece made me realize how, even if they are not a "case", mothers are scrutinized and judged by society. We are constantly looking over our shoulder, trying to project perfection when we are just imperfect humans.
Linda, thank you. That phrase “just imperfect humans” says so much. That’s all we are. And yet the scrutiny demands sainthood. I’m so glad the piece landed with you. Your words reflect exactly what I hoped it might stir. 🙏🏻
I don't know how you raised ten kids alone, but you rock in my book!
I enjoyed this, like a secret to be taken to the grave.
You only get one chance to do motherhood, do we all wonder if we did it “right” or just the best we knew how?
Kim, thank you, what a kind and generous message. I haven’t raised all ten children solo, though there’ve been long stretches where I’ve parented without a co-parent in the home. It’s not quite the same as doing it alone, and I really want to acknowledge that.
But what you said about wondering if we do it “right” or just the best we know how? Yes. Because so often, mothers aren’t allowed to be human. We’re meant to be machines of devotion. And still we keep showing up. I’m so glad you were here for this one.
This article made my stomach flip and had me holding my breath the whole way through. My greatest fear described in your words, the constant niggling worry 'would my mothering stand up to scrutiny? Be deemed 'good enough'?' Every year undisturbed a result. My own fears of speaking afainst my skns Dad in case the tables are turned unfairly in me. What a thing to go through, what a memory to carry. Thank you for your honesty in sharing.
Chloe, thank you for reading so closely and for naming what so many of us feel but rarely say out loud. That question: would my mothering stand up to scrutiny? is one I carried in my gut for months, and still do. I’m holding your fear, your memory, and your caution. You are not alone. 💕
Thank you for speaking out about this. Giving voice to many who are silenced by the system.
Julie, thank you. I don’t take lightly what it means to break that silence and I’m aware of how many can’t, or won’t, for good reason. If this voice carries anything useful for others, I’ll count that as worth it.
Moms don't generally need outside scrutiny when we are so good at scrutinizing ourselves. And who does the caseworker think raised all the men he thinks every household needs?
Exactly Leslie. We do the watching, the second-guessing, the nightly reviews, no clipboard required. And yes to your question: the very men held up as stabilisers were raised by women (often under scrutiny and tough conditions). The irony isn’t lost on us. Thank you for your words. They made me smile and grit my teeth, in solidarity.
An absolutely stunning essay. Had me feeling and reeling. Reminds me (unfortunately) of the dystopian book, “The School for Good Mothers.” Eager to read more from you, Danusia!
Wow, thank you so much for your compliments Sonya, that means a lot to me.
Ironic you mention the book too as before it was published I was already hosting a v popular podcast called School for Mothers. I rebranded it to Parents who Think publication here and podcast.
I hope to get to know you. 🪴
Danusia, this is my first exposure to your work. What a compelling, beautifully written, chilling, important feminist essay. Thank you.
Laura, I’m so glad this was your entry point. Thank you for seeing the essay in all its intention~feminist, urgent, and a little bit chilling. There’s more where this came from. I’m glad you’re here.