We Raised a Generation and Were Met With Silence

The erasure of women in industry

This fall my youngest started kindergarten, a moment that I have (without guilt) looked forward to for the last 13 years. Finally a chance to stand up and shake hands with old colleagues and prepare for my welcome back into the industry, the corporate world, the land of grown-ups and deadlines.

In the meantime, I kicked ass at the whole parenting thing. Sure, everyone says that it's just as good to leave your kid in daycare and head to the office after a quick 12-week break to figure out how to keep an infant alive, but we all know they mean stay home, breastfeed, make organic food in the Baby Bullet, read bedtime stories, bathtime stories, all-the-time stories, and spend every waking minute in MOPS, PEPS, co-ops, Montessori, library story times, and survival coffee-playdates with other rock-bottom breastfeeding, all-day-reading mothers.

I tried to have it both ways, after quitting my job at an engineering firm in a Seattle high-rise. Babies are wonderful, but I like cheese, too. I like being able to put gas in my car and pay for said coffee. I didn't care for the middle-of-the-night panic attacks when our one income ran out a week after payday. So I decided to start a business. And no, not essential oils, not candles, not belly wraps. Not a manic network-marketing Facebook page where I exploited my kids and sold chocolate diet shakes. Okay, I did that too, but only for a little bit. No, I started freelancing my ass off, learning to transcribe interviews and edit documents for water-quality departments and small film companies. Eventually it turned into a full-fledged business, and after two months of panic-emailing every major media conglomerate on the internet I had a small handful of clients in journalism, film, podcasts, legal, and academic institutions on both coasts.

Three years later and a fridge full of cheese I found myself working with people like Harry and Megan (the Royal ones), Mia and Dylan Farrow, Patton Oswalt, Jon Stewart, Pete Buttigieg, and Michelle and Barack Obama. I had projects with my name in the credits on Netflix, Apple TV, HBO, Prime, Hulu, and A24.

Jodi Kantor and Meghan Twohey called me to help work on Harvey Weinstein's downfall, for which they received a Pulitzer and wrote a subsequent book, She Said.

The New York Times

In fact, most of my work has come from the New York Times, in every department. In 2023 I even attended the DealBook Summit in New York City, witnessing Elon Musk's notorious 90-minute meltdown live on stage.

But now my kid's in kindergarten and I don't have to be the media's virtual assistant anymore. Now I can put on some nice clothes, ride the train into the city, order Starbucks from my phone, and sit down at a desk covered in stacks of paper and coffee rings. Right?

It turns out that when they send you home to raise your kids the "right" way, it's good-bye, not see you later. Small business or no small business, you don't work here anymore. ("Here" translates to "anywhere.") And even the endless subject-less emails after dark begging for deadlines before dawn, on weekends, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, a day-old newborn wrapped tight to my chest for another all-nighter in a chair, don't seem to count for much when it's my turn to ask.

I've spent the last weeks and months calling in a favor from everyone I've ever worked with, applying for their teams and departments, positions for which I'm fully-qualified and have lists of high-level client references (including themselves) and years of experience. My resume is tight, and clean, and perfect, as if they even need it when they seemingly know me and my abilities so well. Ask me how many have returned my calls.

We have implored mothers to single-handedly raise every generation since the beginning of time, to nurture, feed, protect, teach, and prepare them for life in every way possible. We ask them to be every role, down to sacrificing their bodies and their health for the sake of their families. If they go to work, they do it on top of all-nighters, scheduling hell, algebra, haircuts on the kitchen floor, sick kids, fights over screen time, and complaints 3 meals a day, 365 days a year.

But now we're back; the school bus is pulling away. We're in line, qualified, and knocking. The last few years weren't a sabbatical on a beach somewhere; we were pushing out the watermelons that will sit at your desk someday and keep our economy afloat. So take our resumes. Read our cover letters. Answer our calls. And give us our damn jobs back.

Ellie is an author, editor, and owner of Red Pencil Transcripts, and works with filmmakers, podcasts, and journalists all over the world. She lives with her family just outside of New York City, and is represented by Vicki Marsdon at High Spot Literary.