The Numbers Don’t Tell the Whole Story Unemployment statistics can’t capture the full extent of what women have lost.

Angela Garbes | 01 February 2021

As I was writing this, my virtual kindergartner flung open the door to my “office” without knocking. “I’m on a break,” she declared, the first of five in her school day. I knew she expected me to navigate away from my Google doc and over to YouTube, where I’d open a video of Daddy Yankee’s “Con Calma” so we could dance along. We follow the choreography of an animated moose and panda boogying amid neon fruits on most mornings, but today my plan had been to get some work done.

I cued up the video and stood up from my chair without protest. I’ve learned the hard way that getting mad at her makes everything worse, that getting mad at my spouse makes everything worse, that I will get mad at myself for getting mad at them, and that my precious solo time will vanish in a mushroom cloud of frustration that ultimately has nothing to do with this moment and everything to do with the forces pummeling women and work right now.

What is my work? I continue to call myself a writer, though I do very little writing. Last year, I pushed my second book’s deadline back a few months, then a full year. I feel my chances of making money, staying relevant, or completing a project evaporate like sanitizer from my chapped hands. I have essentially dropped out of the workforce and been absorbed into housework and caring for my children, where there are no wages, no protections, no upward path, just a repetitive circle. I am by no means alone.