“Tradwives” have been in the news quite a lot of late. Everyone, it seems, has something to say about them. A few months ago, reading up on the latest controversy, I found myself contemplating a question. Do I personally know any tradwives?
It’s a curious thing. On the internet, the tradwife phenomenon is huge. Articles and think pieces are written about it; Twitter battles rage. In real life I know many deeply religious women with large families, and one would think these to be prime candidates for tradwifery. But they just don’t fit the stereotypes at all. It makes one wonder. Are tradwives real people? We’re confident they’re not bots? Where would one go to meet a tradwife in the flesh?
Admittedly, there is some ambiguity here. What is a tradwife? Is she by definition a media personality whose work revolves around domesticity and traditional-gender-role apologetics? Or does the term properly describe any wife who embraces a traditional domestic role, foregoing a job or career (unless as a media personality!) in order to focus her full attention on homemaking and caretaking?
I’m not quite sure, and the question is further complicated by the implication that for tradwives, the embrace of a traditional domestic role is deliberate, chosen, and embraced in an overt way. She is “owning it,” a proudly domestic woman. Some see tradwife life as an important witness. Others see in it an element of cosplay, which is understandable when popular blogs and YouTube channels tout the value of “Embracing the Art of Being a 1950s Housewife in the Modern Era.” Ballerina Farm is charming in many ways, but also pretty obviously a lifestyle choice, which one naturally files away in the same category as the tiny house movement, extreme minimalism, or other deliberately countercultural life paths. Many public tradwives are also aggressively submissive, happily wielding their poison pens against feminists, girlbosses, anyone not eager to see women assigned to a protected, domestic class. There’s clearly a culture-war component to the movement.
When you’re climbing that crag, there’s no time for cosplay. There’s no money for period wardrobes.
I’m really not sure which of these features define the concept itself. But it does definitely seem that the tradwife combines traditionalism with a more modern approach to identity (or platform). She embraces a traditionally feminine role within her family or community, but she also cultivates a traditional-woman persona, which may be used to garner clicks, sell books, or lead culture war charges. It’s clear from the cultural commentary that outsiders see both elements. They picture women vacuuming in heels and pearls, decorating adorable cupcakes, and still finding the energy to judge and ostracize women who don’t meet their exacting standards. Maybe there really are women like this. There do seem to be, on the internet at least. But outside the virtual realm, I’m not sure I’ve ever met one.
But I do know many women with big families and strong religious commitments. I move in social circles where it is largely assumed that married couples respect the Church’s teachings, foregoing contraceptives and welcoming children as the natural fruit of the marital relationship. No one directly asks, of course. But unquestionably, our communities have many children. I myself have five, which is of course an enormous family by modern standards, but among my kids’ friends, our family looks thoroughly average. We know lots of people with six, eight, or eleven children. I think it is important to note that I know many women with fewer children than they would like, or none at all, because they understand that artificial reproductive technologies are unethical and an attack on human dignity. People make many different sacrifices in their efforts to live out their married vocation. However our families happen to grow, we do of course realize that mainstream America has no understanding of our religious commitments, and tends to see us as freaks. Are we tradwives, though? We sure don’t look like tradwives.
If we are not, that’s an interesting commentary both on the tradwife phenomenon, and on American life more broadly. Most Americans would surely expect religiously devout mothers of eight to be tradwives. What could possibly persuade women to embrace such a liminal lifestyle, except an aggressive revanchism? Who but a tradwife would consent to a life so dramatically oriented around her reproductive potential?
Here’s what I actually see among the traditional women I know. They’re practical. They’re hardworking. And they’re positively entrepreneurial about taking advantage of new technologies, tools, resources, or opportunities to meet their family’s needs. They have close, cooperative relationships with their husbands, working in tandem on a day-to-day basis to get it done. This is simply necessary, because traditional Catholic families are attempting something very difficult in a broader cultural climate that is often deeply unsupportive. We want our kids to thrive, just like everyone else, but we’re trying to raise many children into healthy, well-adjusted, marriageable and employable adults, with limited resources. When you’re climbing that crag, there’s no time for cosplay. There’s no money for period wardrobes. Who cares about such silly things? We’re focused on the task at hand: raising honorable men and women who are prepared to serve the Lord.
Naturally, the people who choose to put their lives on the internet will always be the most visible, so it’s not surprising that they form people’s assumptions about traditional women. But it is unfortunate in many ways, because it’s quite misleading. Here is an example. Reading tradwife debates on the internet, one would easily conclude that the old “mommy wars” are raging as hot as ever. Moms are absolutely tearing one another apart over the question of whether they should work. But the real Catholic moms I know, whether they have two children or twelve, don’t seem energized in the least by those tired old questions. They may have been of interest to us when we were seventeen. But now, we’re too busy worrying about the meal planning, the bills, the shower mildew, the games, concerts, and dances, and that funny sound the van has been making. We’re trying to hang on through the maelstrom of parenting. In the midst of that, who has time or energy for evaluating everyone else’s work-and-family arrangements?
Even if we wanted to, it’s hard to judge other women’s career paths. Who even understands them? The labor landscape for Catholic moms has become positively bewildering. Some moms still have recognizable jobs (for instance, as doctors, lawyers, or schoolteachers), though they may work part-time or full-time, often leaning out for months or years at a time. Some moms have jobs you may or may not have heard of, which they may do from their home, the gym, the car, or a traditional office. Some work in parishes, schools, or other institutions, perhaps on a volunteer basis, but maybe also as paid employees. Who can tell the difference? Why would we need to? Many moms engage in creative labors of various kinds, as artists, potters, seamstresses, musicians, or writers. This may earn them a little money, or a lot, or they may do it for love. From the outside, you just never know. It would be exhausting to try to keep track of everyone’s changing work situations. Fortunately, there’s no need to.
We’re focused on the task at hand: raising honorable men and women who are prepared to serve the Lord.
Catholic moms in my experience have a strong sense of solidarity. We’re doing something hard, and we’ve shared certain struggles that no one else understands. We’re in it together. We know how it is. Of course, moms are humans, and I’m not suggesting that we’re immune to selfishness, envy, prurient curiosity, or other familiar human failings. But in general, we have the mentality of fellow soldiers working the fields together, not rival competitors for Mrs. America. This is what one would expect of people who share a serious vocation, but perhaps that’s the core of the misunderstanding. Mainstream America doesn’t really view maternity as a vocation. It’s seen more as a lifestyle choice and, in some respects at least, the tradwife phenomenon only serves to reinforce that view.
Maybe there’s no help for it. The women I have in mind are rarely interested in parading their family life for the world to see. Why would they want to do that? Why should they have to? The subject does make me a bit wistful though, because the “real” traditional women I see in my parish and broader community are pretty amazing in ways a Hannah Neeleman clip won’t capture, and that commentators like Harrison Butker only obscure. They’ve made serious commitments, and they’re trying to live them. They’ve got hard challenges in front of them, but they’re figuring out ways to make it work. Younger women could learn a lot from the women I see doing the groundwork in parishes and communities close to me. But in general, they probably won’t.
Admittedly, it’s been encouraging to see the success of my friend Catherine Pakaluk’s book, Hannah’s Children, which profiles “real” traditional women in very revealing ways. Some other worthwhile conversations are happening, for instance at the website Fairer Disputations, where I am a contributor. But it will take a lot more such efforts to make a concerted, effective public witness. Most young women will get their ideas about “traditional women” from the internet. And what they will find there are tradwives.
I don’t like to lay heavy burdens on my fellow matrons, who are already carrying so much. Just think about it, perhaps? Our culture wars are claiming far too many casualties, and at some point it may be up to us to enter the field, not necessarily as combatants, but as witnesses to the truths we know.