Contents
Acknowledgments
Research and writing are messy endeavors. There are fits and starts. Life happens. Our plans fall apart. We arrive at a polished manuscript only through the combined efforts of our unseen supporters, who are there through the good, the bad, the ugly, and the utterly ridiculous. I owe a debt of gratitude to my family, my friends, and my feminist communities for keeping me going. Thanks for listening, for encouraging me, and for making me laugh. Only the anxiety of leaving someone out prevents me from attempting to list everyone, but you know who you are. Cecilia, our experiences together helped me to know what to ask and how to listen to and comprehend what participants had to say. Matthew, I appreciate your amiably ignoring the mounds of papers and books forever increasingly encroaching on our living space. The support from both of you, whether a simple dinner, a bad joke, or a family trip, renewed my spirits so I could look on the manuscript with fresh eyes.
In todays academic environment, I am especially fortunate to have a tenured position at a university that afforded me not only a highly manageable teaching load and a sabbatical during which to write but also the access to health care that carried me through a major illness. I had flexibility and job security so I could care for a sick parent. I am indebted to the College of Arts and Sciences at Lehigh University for financial support and to my colleagues there for their unremitting encouragement. Anna Orchard and Colleen Martell provided editorial support for various incarnations of the manuscript. The writing retreats at our Humanities Center led by Suzanne Edwards provided the gentle peer pressure that I needed during the early, ugly writing days to get a move on. Thank you, Suzanne and all of my colleagues who participated in those retreats, for creating such a generative space. Truly, I would need another ninety thousand words to properly thank my colleagues and friends in my department and the Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Program at Lehigh University who provided intellectual community, but also brought dinner for my family and me when I was in treatment.
It has been a pleasure working with Cornell University Press again. Thank you, Fran Benson, for connecting me with Jim Lance, who shepherded this book through a downright constructive editorial process and secured insightful feedback from two anonymous reviewers who gave of their time to think alongside me and offer thoughtful critique. Most importantly, I want to acknowledge all of the noncustodial mothers who spoke so candidly with me at length, through laughter and tears, about deeply personal topics. Wendy Reetz, you were there at the beginning. Others opened up to me because they trusted your judgment. Without your initial help and encouragement, I might not have written a paragraph, much less a book.
A CONTRADICTION IN TERMS
If motherhood is being there (E. Boyd 2002), then mothers without custody of their children are nonmothers. They are anti-mothers. Bad mothers. Undeserving mothers. They are suspect, to be reviled, or at the very least a cautionary tale. For the purposes of this book, a noncustodial mother is one who does not have majority physical or legal custody of her child or children in a postdivorce or postrelationship agreement. This is not a book about mothers who have had children removed by the state, nor is it a book about mothers who had their children adopted. Each of these populations is important in its own right, and their stories are not entirely discontinuous with those of the mothers in this book. The population of noncustodial mothers in this book appears to be growing as postrelationship parenting arrangements are changing. What are the challenges of being a mother without primary custody of ones child? Might there be benefits to being a noncustodial mother? What might the growth of noncustodial motherhood signal to us about motherhood more generally?
Since the 1970s, divorce and child custody have become more gender neutral in the eyes of the law. Families increasingly choose or are assigned shared custody of children in the wake of relationship dissolution. Many, but far from all, custody arrangements will have come into contact with the family court system; however, the outcome of each case is determined in a more fluid manner than a simple custody hearing. Some disputed cases are actually resolved before they come before a judge. Some undergo a formal custody evaluation. Others involve round after round of motions and court appearances, charges of contempt, and changes in parenting time.
As of 2010, shared child custody arrangements were more common than sole mother custody after divorce (Meyer, Cancian, and Cook 2017). However, it is difficult to precisely gauge the size of the noncustodial mother population. There is no single data set to count them. Much of the data on custody arrangements is held at the state and local levels. Many custody arrangements are informal, and not all families have child support orders in place. We do know that in 2016, of the 27 percent of children under twenty-one who had a parent who did not reside with them, 19.6 percent had a custodial father. This figure increased from 16 percent in 1994, representing a 22.5 percent increase in father custody in a little more than twenty years (Grall 2018). While it is problematic to assume that a custodial father always implies there is a corresponding noncustodial mother, we can approximate that 5 percent of all children in the United States have a mother who is noncustodial.
This book arose in part out of my own short-lived journey as a mother without primary custody when I took a new job half a state away. I found it excruciatingly frustrating that, as a gender scholar, I was having feelings about being a noncustodial mother that I knew were socially driven. That is, there were times when I was uncomfortable with my status as a noncustodial mother, even as I looked at my situation with a critical, sociological eye, knowing I should know better than to buy into societal prescriptions of motherhood. I decided to dive into the scholarly literature on noncustodial mothers to better understand my own reality. Finding very little, I decided to conduct my own research and analysis, ultimately leading me to write this book.
Early on, I turned to the internet and eventually found several groups of noncustodial mothers discussing, making sense of, and theorizing about their realities. Hesitantly, I joined in and quickly realized that this seemingly invisible group that I was a part of had existed all around me. I was not the only mother without custody of her child. While my noncustodial journey was brief in comparison to that of many of the mothers I met and spoke with, I remained connected to these communities of mothers who gave me much food for thought. I have enjoyed their company and their spirit since 2008, which makes this a long-term participant observation endeavor. I conducted thirty-five formal, in-depth interviews with noncustodial mothers and have had too many informal conversations and interactions to count. I approached the project as an institutional ethnography, which, although it focuses on the experiences of individuals, endeavors to understand the social relations that shape those experiences. Institutional ethnography is more than just qualitative interviewing. It starts where people are to understand their everyday lives but also attends to power relations, or the relations of ruling (D. Smith 2005). Toward that end, institutional ethnography incorporates multiple sources of data that can include things like interviews and participant observation, as well as discursive analyses of texts or documents.