Having spent the evening stupidly engaging with a (self-described) militant feminist, who told me outright she finds many of my most personal choices in life offensive, I did not need to hear this question from my five-year old daughter:

"Do women go to work?"

Is there anything worse she could ask me right now?


I know it doesn't mean anything. She knows I'm starting a new job in two weeks. She probably vaguely remembers me working when she was a toddler. She knows lots of women who work. And I wouldn't change my decision (and it was a choice in my case, even though it isn't for many women) not to work for the past three years since her sister was born and I was made redundant. But none of this stops me feeling like shit right now.