Zelma Tuthill
BIO
Assistant Professor of sociology and women's gender and sexuality studies at the University of Houston (US). Mother of two toddlers.
Instagram: @oyarvidezl
Twitter: @profesorazelma
Zelma Tuthill
“I find myself helpless to the pandemic and see my goals for the academic year become harder and harder to reach.”
I was born in a small town in Mexico nicknamed “the gateway to hell.” Driven by violence and corruption, my family swam across the Rio Grande River to the United States in hopes of a more predictable future. I became a first-generation college graduate and the only person in my family to obtain a PhD. I have battled significant constraints to become one of the few Latina assistant professors in my university. This has been one of my greatest accomplishments to date.
During graduate school, I became a mother. I was elated. My son became my constant companion during the final years of my PhD. I would bring him to campus and sit him down by my feet during lectures so he could absorb all the knowledge that it took me decades to get access to. Since I could not afford full time daycare, this was both a blessing and a necessity.
The love people showed my son during my graduate studies will stay with me forever. I was lucky to have been in a PhD program surrounded by supportive mentors. When I defended my dissertation, my son was with me, and I was pregnant with my second child.
I am proud and what I have accomplished but boy am I TIRED. By the time I began my tenure track job, I was already exhausted from years of trying to balance motherhood, familial responsibilities and being an academic. I started my academic job in the Fall of 2020, amid a harrowing pandemic. The pandemic has deepened the constant challenge to balance motherhood with my academic career. Any illusion I had about work-life balance was shattered before I even set foot on campus. Most days I feel as if I am swimming against the current. Forget thriving, I am just trying to stay afloat. I often feel like a shell of myself.
As I continue my second year at my institution, I am not where I thought I would be. The never-ending cycle of surges, exposure and daycare shutdowns have created an unstable schedule that has quickly halved my productivity and reserve of energy to put towards my research. It is deflating. It is discouraging. It is almost painful. I constantly find myself having to make choices between motherhood and the academy. Should I cancel the meeting or attempt to hold it with my toddler and infant? How many classes is “too many” to cancel in a semester due to a “family emergency?” (A rather accurate description of unexpected daycare closure) Can I meet the deadline of this grant? In the end, my schedule, choices about what projects to work on and what collaborations to say yes to center around my unvaccinated children.
I find myself helpless to the pandemic and see my goals for the academic year become harder and harder to reach. I am no longer an academic mother; I am a mother who is trying to be an academic.
The pandemic has highlighted for me what so many working parents in this country are feeling. While so many people are ready to “move on” with “business as usual,” many of us (especially those with young children) simply cannot. In a period of 4 weeks my children attended daycare for less than 7 days.
The irony of it all is that I am a health researcher. I am trying to contribute valuable knowledge about pandemic but am unable to do so.
Yet, despite the cloud of uncertainty that hangs over me, I have found a sense of community. I have been embraced by women in my institution that provide solidarity, guidance, and a space to vent my everyday frustration. I have also found digital support on social media platforms. I realize how many parents feel like I do. I understand that my frustration is not due to my personal ineptitude, but to a system that doesn’t recognize that I cannot compartmentalize motherhood into scheduled tasks on TEAMS - especially during a pandemic. Through virtual spaces that connect academic mothers to one another, we have found a way to be understood, to be sympathized with and to just be seen.
I don’t have solutions to how to remedy the systemic issues that were created long before I came to this country. What I do have is support. I also have love and appreciation from those around me that see the day-to-day struggle as a working mother in STEM.
I have solidarity from others whose own experiences mirror mine. I have platforms like these that allow me to open the door to that part of my life that society asks that we keep separate and invisible. What I can do is choose not to navigate these challenges in silence but to share my experiences and create much needed transparency.