The lie of maternal happiness
Women who regret motherhood do not usually admit it. On talk shows, the most you see of them is behind wigs and with a disguised voice. Sarah Fischer had enough of faking motherhood and wrote a book about her own regrets. So that her daughter can live without lies for once.
It's not easy to get an appointment with Sarah Fischer. «I only give written interviews,» she says. And only after a few emails does she agree: «Good, you've obviously really got to grips with the subject - come round.»
The author has become cautious. The media, she says, often have a preconceived image of her, which she then only has to confirm in interviews. The fact that the 43-year-old regrets her motherhood can only be because she didn't think it through properly beforehand. Because of her personality, her personal situation, because her expectations were too high. Yes, perhaps even because Sarah Fischer is adopted.
What does she herself believe? To what extent is it her personality that stands in the way of her seeing motherhood as fulfilment? What percentage is due to the difficult social conditions that she describes in detail in her book? The struggle to reconcile work and motherhood, the constant interference and know-it-all attitude of others, which begins with pregnancy? «That's a very difficult question,» says Sarah Fischer, pondering and asking that it only be answered at the end.
I love my child more than anything, but I regret motherhood. This is a contradiction that overwhelms many people.
Sarah Fischer
The author lives with her husband and three-year-old daughter in a three-room flat in an old building in a former working-class neighbourhood of Munich. The rooms are sparsely furnished. Somewhere a boiler is always starting up. You can still see that for a long time, Sarah Fischer only owned so much that she could move again at any time or go travelling. She has travelled to more than 160 countries and lived in some of them.
Before her dream child was born, Sarah Fischer worked as a passionate Mongolia expert: She gave lectures and organised TV shoots in Mongolia. She also had to and was allowed to travel a lot for this. She didn't want to change much. In the beginning, she still took her baby with her to her lectures, but that no longer worked with her toddler. You can also see that something has changed in the flat: There are so many toys in the children's room that they would need a removal van if they were to move after all. "Everything as a gift, nothing bought," explains the mum.
From expert to mother - the role that covers everything
Sarah Fischer hoped that she would be able to decide for herself what would change in her life as a result of motherhood. For example, that she could choose for herself which professional assignments she would accept. However, some clients stopped contacting her. They tacitly assumed that she no longer had time as a mother.
In their eyes, Sarah Fischer has gone from expert to mother. A role that seems to overshadow everything else. That annoys her. After all, she experiences every day that things can be different: "Nobody asks my husband where the child is when he is away on business. For him, our daughter is a fulfilling bonus - but his life goes on as before." That's why her book is subtitled "Why I would rather have become a father".
It's not Sarah Fischer's first book. In 2012, she wrote down her personal story in "Heimatroulette": How, as an adopted daughter of unknown origin, she travelled through 160 countries in search of her origins and, somehow, herself. The book was a great success and the author went travelling again: Reading tour.
Her new book is creating a different kind of buzz. It is selling well, but with an unusual result: the proportion of e-books is particularly high. "People obviously don't want to be seen in public with this title," says Sarah Fischer with a grin. The author has broken a taboo with her statements - and now prefers to be invited onto talk shows and discussion panels rather than to cosy readings in bookshops. She is the first woman to put her name and face to the statement: "Yes, I regret motherhood."
But the sentence never stands alone. "I love my child more than anything," adds the 43-year-old immediately. And this is met with confusion and rejection. Regret and love? How can you feel both at the same time? "That's possible. That's exactly why I'm so torn. I thought for a long time that there was something wrong with me," says Sarah Fischer. Having children and loving them is the norm. Mums are also allowed to moan as long as they wrap it up in a funny way. But regret?
Sarah Fischer was relieved when she heard about the Israeli study "Regretting Motherhood" in 2015. In it, 23 women admitted their regrets under the protection of anonymity. She was met with a storm of indignation on social media. It was unnatural! And who would think of the poor children? Sarah Fischer is also familiar with these arguments - from the nasty emails and comments on her book. She has been labelled a slut, and one person even threatened to stab her. Since then, she looks around carefully when she leaves the house. But what hurts her more than the hate comments are the insulting and destructive accusations that she is doing wrong to the person she loves the most. That she should have thought it all through beforehand. "How could she? I was 39 and had experienced enough. But unfortunately you can't try motherhood."
In the mailbox day after day: angry insults, but also thanks, relief and encouragement.
That is precisely the dilemma: of all things, there is no trial period for the only life decision that you are not allowed to regret publicly. No one could have told Sarah Fischer in advance how much a woman has to give up in motherhood and how it feels when everyone expects you to shine at the same time.
Sarah Fischer wrote the book for her daughter
However, the many positive emails the author receives show that she is far from alone in her disappointment about her situation. Mothers spend pages and pages telling her their own stories, seeking understanding, some even friendship. Fathers also write to Sarah Fischer: they see how their own wives are suffering and ask the author how they can help. And on the review platforms for the book, one sentence appears again and again: "Thank you - finally someone says it!" One reader writes that she wept with approval.
"As long as we are led to believe that motherhood is a great happiness, all those women for whom motherhood is not absolute fulfilment must feel bad. I don't want my daughter to grow up in a world like that. If she ever becomes a mother, I want her to be able to express all her feelings and be more supported," says Sarah Fischer. This is precisely why the book is dedicated to her daughter.
And yet: even in Sarah Fischer's immediate environment, many people don't quite know how to deal with the revelation of regret. "I understand exactly what you mean, but you're not allowed to say that out loud," whispers many a mother to her. A neighbour meets her in the stairwell and says: "I've seen you on TV!" After that, he knows nothing more to add. Sarah Fischer has noticed that many acquaintances have been conspicuously absent lately. And when they do meet her, they put a caring hand on her arm, look deep into her eyes and ask in a low voice: "How are you?" A bit like Sarah Fischer was very ill. "I'm fine - but I also want to be able to talk about what's wrong with me," she says.
The mum doesn't necessarily see herself as a feminist. But the demands for political solutions in her book are. Closing the gender pay gap, abolishing tax disadvantages for dual earners, improving the childcare situation - all these measures could ease the burden on mothers, says Fischer. Of course, she is not alone in making these statements. But she emphasises them with her own story.
She kisses her daughter on the forehead, laughs, explains, sighs. Just a normal mum.
Sarah Fischer's daughter now goes to a private parents' initiative so that her mother can work during the day. However, the organisation also expects commitment from the parents. So Sarah Fischer's husband cooks for 23 children in the evening, she then has to take everything to the kindergarten herself, and some of her working days consist of supporting the carers as a stand-in. In summer, Sarah Fischer is a city guide in Munich. "I don't just work to fulfil myself, as I'm often accused of doing. Families today need two incomes!" she emphasises.
She hardly gives any more lectures - as a mother, she doesn't have the flexibility for that. Instead, she advertises for a colleague and tries to get his lectures into the halls. She currently only organises shoots in Mongolia from home - and misses her nomad friends in what she feels is her homeland.
After a few phone calls, media enquiries and emails, it is already just before 5 pm. Sarah Fischer slips into her jacket, not wanting to be the last one at the children's group today.
Is she looking forward to seeing her daughter? "Very much today! It always depends on how much I've done and how much I still have in my head," she says. Her daughter hugs her in the kindergarten. But she doesn't want to put on her jacket. Neither do her shoes. But she does want to eat the pretzel that she really wanted in the morning and then didn't touch all day. At the exact moment when she gets on her balance bike and needs both hands. Sarah Fischer explains patiently, kisses her daughter on the forehead and laughs when she says something absurd. Every now and then she sighs. Just a normal mum. But one who also likes to leave the nursery when an important number appears on her mobile phone.
"I think it's 30 to 70," she concludes. It's 30 per cent her personality and 70 per cent the framework conditions that make motherhood so difficult for her.
