Auntiehood is the Real “Having It All”

Here’s the beautiful thing about Auntiehood: it lets up.

Welcome! I’m Lisa Sibbett and this is The Auntie Bulletin, a weekly newsletter about kinship and community for people who choose to help raise other people’s kids – and the people who love us. You can read my archive here.

I’m currently on a Disney vacation with my extended family. I’m so nervous about managing my energy levels with chronic illness! But I’ve got a (paid) post planned for a few weeks after, tentatively titled “How to Introvert While Chronically Ill and on Vacation with Children.” Upgrade your subscription now and you’ll get to read it! Subscriptions are $5/month or $50 for the year.

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Since I don’t have time to write this week, I’m sharing an updated version of post I really love from the Auntie Bulletin archives — one I first published during the very first week of this newsletter. At that time there were fewer than 100 Auntie Bulletin subscribers, mostly people I know personally ❤️.

I’ll be back with all-new content next week: part one of a two-part post on my plans for this newsletter in 2025. People frequently email me with requests to write about this or that, and you’re allowed to do that, too! You can reply to this email or DM me in the Substack app.

Now Let’s Get to It

In October 2019, my partner and I bought a house next door to some dear friends who have kids. We called ourselves a co-housing community, shared meals often, and had regular game nights after the kids went to bed. And then COVID-19 hit, and we figured the six of us would isolate together.

I had recently left my job at the university in order to finish my dissertation. It was a huge task but I was well-equipped and my schedule was my own. Meanwhile, our friends’ jobs had just gone fully remote, and they suddenly had no child care. Because my schedule was so flexible, I became their primary childcare support person, with my partner also doing a lot of filling in. It was very “all hands on deck.”

In those first several months of the pandemic, I took care of the kids several days a week, usually for an hour or two or three at a stretch. It was a gift to spend so much time with them — AND, as anyone who’s put in a lot of hours with small children knows, it was also exhausting. When I picture that time, I see myself standing in our shared backyard, a diapered baby on my hip, his big sister in her favorite red sequined dress with the black fringe, commanding our participation in her ever evolving games of pretend family, pretend Moana, pretend hospital. (Eventually I realized I could just tell her honestly that I don’t enjoy playing pretend, after which we did more art projects). The baby, always a guy after my own heart, loved to snuggle up on the couch and read together, invariably requesting a “truck one.” After a couple hours taking care of kids, I’d get back to my dissertation – and later, to my new (still flexible) job. Rinse, repeat, day after day, week after week, month after month. Joy, beauty, boredom, despair, back to joy again – the carework churn.

Yoda mask, 2024. By S., aged 8. Construction paper, marker, painter’s tape, human hair. Hair sourced from the artist’s head without his parents’ permission. Artist’s statement: “Wait, I thought we gave that to Teo on Chris-o-ween, with the big Star Wars gun.” Artist’s sister’s statement: “Chris-o-ween is my favorite holiday that I ever made up.”

When I talked to friends and family outside our bubble, I often reported how tired I was. The media was full of reports of the loneliness of social distancing, but I felt like I could never get enough time and space for myself. Outsiders would remark that my partner and I sure were putting a lot into our relationship with our neighbors. We were doing so much for them, but what were they doing for us?

Okay, so here’s the crux. I won’t deny that I felt overextended sometimes. Over that first year of the pandemic, our community got a crash course in intentional co-housing and clear communication. But I never doubted that, when asked to take care of kids, I would always say yes if I could. Of course our friends did not reciprocate the support we offered them – how could they? They were trying to work full time and parent full time, which is impossible. Their responsibilities were relentless. They had the need and we had the capacity. There could be no equal exchange. 

But there didn’t need to be. After several conversations with loved ones who suggested I was doing more than my fair share, I finally put my finger on what felt already more than fair about the fact that I was spending so many hours taking care of my friends’ kids. “It’s true that I’m putting in a lot of work,” I remember telling someone. “But I’m being rewarded a thousandfold. I get to have kids in my life in a meaningful way even though I don’t have kids of my own.” 

I was and remain grateful that I don’t deal with sleepless nights or early wake-ups, that I don’t have to pay for childcare or scramble to find childcare in the summer. Alongside the never-ending work actual parents do, the hours I put in at the height of the pandemic weren’t much. They always ended, and I always got to go home to my quiet house.

There is a myth in the United States that being a working mother amounts to “having it all.” Countless articles written by working moms have debunked this myth, pointing to the systemic inequalities they experience both in the home and in the workforce. For parents of any gender, working a full shift then coming home to the demands of kids and household is far from the high life. It’s hard. Working parents – especially working moms – frequently feel they’re falling short both at work and at home.

As sociologist Jessica Calarco has put it:

Mothers are blaming themselves… for “failing” to be the kind of perfect worker who doesn’t let her kids distract her from work, for “failing” to be the kind of perfect mother who sacrifices work to meet her kids’ needs, for “failing” to be the kind of perfect wife who never gets angry and always defers to her spouse.

And the difficulty for working mothers in the United States is massively exacerbated by the lack of social safety nets like universal health care and childcare. 

Here’s who I think might come closer to having it all: Aunties. The (childless) author Glynis MacNichol was on a book tour this summer, then wrote in The New York Times about visiting the kids in her life:

Since June, I’ve spent time variously spooning avocado into a toddler’s mouth and answering questions about what it’s like to get your period. I’ve been taught new card games. I balanced myself in the surf as a 6-year-old clung to me screaming with joy, trusting me not to let go. I attended a children’s performance of “The Little Mermaid” starring one 9-year-old who, as a 9-week-old, I held in my arms while I did an interview for my first book. Summer concluded with my driving a bunch of teens and preteens to one of their many sporting events while I cajoled them to look up from their phones once in a while and talk to me.

I love reading about MacNichols’s sweet times with these important kids in her life. And I also love imagining that, when she got tired during her tour, she went back to her hotel room and had a long shower and watched TV. Odds are, on some occasion during her summer, a toddler’s after-dinner meltdown was her cue to leave. Perhaps she felt a little thrill of freedom as she headed out into the night.

Here’s the beautiful thing about Auntiehood: it lets up. In between the snuggles and books and bike rides and trips to the beach, we go about our lives without kids in tow. We may even find time to do nothing at all.

Our dear co-housing friends no longer have the urgent childcare needs that they once did, although we still spend a lot of time together. I’m grateful for the increased spaciousness in our lives since things like daycare and school have returned to normal (more or less). I’m grateful we’re no longer in a bubble where the six of us are the only people available to meet each other’s needs.

But I’m also grateful for my time of intense care work in 2020 and 2021. My relationship with these kids grew deep, deep roots by virtue of all the hours we put in together — all the time they spent in my arms and in my lap. They still routinely snuggle up against me or climb onto my lap at the dinner table. They know, in an embodied way, that my partner and I will be there for them. I love loving these kids and being loved by them.

I believe there are a lot of us Aunties out there — indeed, almost a hundred people who are total strangers to me have signed up for this newsletter this week alone, on the strength of very little advertising. (Ed note: Now we’re well over 4,000!) Yet, as MacNichols rightly observes, Auntiehood “is not an experience I see reflected back to me in culture.” My hope with The Auntie Bulletin is that we Aunties can start sharing our stories more widely, with each other as well as with the wider public. I hope our culture will come to understand that we don’t have to be parents to be deeply embedded in networks of care.

Related Reading from The Auntie Bulletin

Maybe Auntiehood Isn't the Real "Having It All"

The Limit-Embracing Auntie

Why Sensitive, Neurodivergent Introverts Make Great Aunties

Coming Attractions

Monday’s Kinship Snacks (for paid subscribers) will share my favorite trick for getting awesome videos of the kids in your life — videos you’ll cherish forever and want to watch over and over again. Other how-tos coming up soon:

• How to burst into song

• How to hold a newborn (simple yet profound!)

• How to befriend your elders (we’re branching out, baby! kinship is intergenerational!)

Then, next Friday and the following, I’m rolling out the Auntie Bulletin Strategic Plan for 2025 and Beyond. I’m stoked. I don’t know about you, but I love a good strategic plan — and don’t worry, it’ll still have stories and bad jokes and stuff.

For the Love for Our (Childless) Elders: New Auntie Collective Survey!

Going forward, I hope to write monthly essays informed by input from Auntie Bulletin readers — because you are wise and wonderful. Our Collective Wisdom post for the end of January was “The New Baby Bill of Rights.” For February, I’m planning a post about loving and caring for our elders as we ought. What would it look and feel like for all of us, regardless of whether we have children, to be supported by intergenerational communities of care as we age?

To be clear, this is a totally selfish agenda on my part: I want a community who will care for me all of my days — even though I don’t have kids. I want all Aunties to have that. I want all people to have that, whether they have kids or not and whether those kids are in their lives or not. (After all, having kids is no guarantee that they will care for us when we’re old).

So I’ve got another survey for you, Aunties. I want to know:

• Have you or anyone you know received excellent, loving support during a time of need in adulthood? What happened?

• What are your hopes for yourself or your loved ones as you/they age?

• Have you or anyone you know received inadequate or no care during a time of need in adulthood? What happened?

• What are your fears for yourself or your loved ones as you/they age?

Be warned, these are open-ended questions, so they’ll take a little more thought and time. Feel free to think broadly and creatively, answer expansively, and answer the questions you wish you’d been asked rather than the ones I actually asked you.

I’ll be collecting your ideas all this month. Click below to share your perspective – and be entered to win a 12-month paid-tier subscription to The Auntie Bulletin!

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