When I grew up, I didn’t know anyone with a mum that went to work. My aunts didn’t work. My grandmother worked from dawn to dusk (she was a farmer’s wife), but it was unpaid. Statistically, this is not surprising...

When I was small, the Australian census confirms that most women withdrew from the workforce when they had children. Around this time (rhymes with shmeventies), a societal shift was occurring. Women still left the workforce to raise small children—often with very little choice due to lack of childcare options and role-modelling to suggest a different path—but they were starting to return when their children were older. These roles were predominantly in the administrative, service and care-giving industries… which is what was on offer after 10 years out of the workforce. The man was the plan, so to speak.

What I remember clearly is the first time I realised that my mum might not be financially stable. I was a teenager when she began looking for her second job. She was lucky in that she owned her home outright following my parent’s divorce and had money invested that paid a small annual income, but it wasn’t enough to get by. She was educated at a top girl’s school, but as with many women of her generation, was encouraged to pursue secretarial college or become a mother’s help (or karitane nurse as it was known at the time). She chose the former and assisted a vet for a few years until she met my dad, got married and started a family. 

But back to that job: she landed one in a local club (with the dubious claim-to-fame of having the most poker machines in the southern hemisphere), where she put cash into tubes and then sent them up shoots. She’s a positive, resilient person, and really enjoyed it. She made good friends. It was a physical job and a fringe benefit was that she got an incredibly strong upper-body. Her arms looked incredible. 

I realised recently that I am now the same age she was then. I’m in a very different situation in many ways. I am married. I am university-educated. I am twenty-or-so years into my career (give to take several patchy years now known as “the breeding years”). However, in other ways, I’m not as well off as she was at the time. My husband and I recently signed up for a mortgage that won’t be paid off until we are 75 years old. So while I have the opportunity to earn, I also have more debt than she wouldn’t have dreamed of signing up for. 

I asked her recently if she had accrued any super in the 10 years she spent in her part-time job. Yep: 25K, she said. Suffice to say that she has been able to live a decent life in retirement because she met someone who was financially stable. Even now, for so many women, the man is the plan. 

And it all just sent me spiralling. I reflected on my thought process when I was recently offered a permanent part-time job at the end of a maternity-cover, within the same company where I worked. It was an easy enough transition, and I figured that while the job seemed much bigger than the three-day resourcing, I’d get in there and show them I was worth the investment. 

Something my boss (with the senior full-time job) said to me at the time has rattled around in my head ever since: “Three days a week is the dream.” The question I should have asked her: “For who?” I think what she meant was, it’s a dream for someone juggling work and kids. And in many ways, she is right. It does relieve pressure, having a few days at home to keep the other parts of my life running smoothly. But as I have been reflecting on the bigger picture, and the way this impacts on my other goals (like, say, the aforementioned mortgage and my ability to accrue super,) I feel like I’ve fallen for a line that trips up so many women. And that is to choose what is manageable. 

And now after several months of using my experience to cram a full-time workload into a shorter week, while trying to close the salary gap with freelance and using non-work days to do more unpaid work (I am not nearly as bitter as I sound), I’m not so sure I’m “living the dream.” I have tried to feel grateful. To enjoy the balance. But ultimately, I feel more like a statistic. And not a good one. 

So I’m making a change. I’m demanding I don’t think easing into part-time work—in my primary earning years—is contributing to the right kind of dream. When I filled out the new Australian census last week, which measure things like how much unpaid work is done by the population, I stopped at one question. Are you looking for a job with a job? Hell yes. A nice busy that pays.