75
interfering with schoolwork. And then
he’s like, ‘No, Mommy, it’ll be O.K., let’s
try it again.’ And again, his grades de-
clined a little bit more. I could see that
my son was worried about me losing my
job because it was our only income.”
Andrews texted the store manager to
ask for family leave. The manager never
responded but allegedly told Andrews’
supervisor that Andrews had “quit,” ac-
cording to copies of text messages in the
complaint she filed in court. When An-
drews was told to turn in her keys, she
pleaded with her managers—“I didn’t
quit”—and says she got a text back:
“There are hours available ... you ...
are physically able to work and are not.
Legally that’s quitting.” (The employer
hasn’t yet answered the complaint, and
its attorney did not respond to multiple
requests for comment.) She didn’t sleep
for days. “That was all I knew,” she says.
“For 12 years, that’s what I did. Espe-
cially during a pandemic, I knew I wasn’t
going to get another job, not anytime
soon.” Andrews can afford only about
half her rent. Fortunately, her landlord
has allowed her to pay what she can.
The issues will not end when Andrews
and others find new jobs. “Absent public
action, this period is going to leave long
and deep scars,” says Boteach. Studies
show that when a woman leaves the
workforce—for parental leave or longer-
term caregiving—she doesn’t just lose
income over that period of time. Those
losses compound over a lifetime. When a
woman re-enters the workforce, she often
returns to a job with lower wages to get
her foot in the door. She then advances
more slowly up the corporate ladder. “All
that has implications for your retirement
security,” says Boteach. “It’s not an
accident that women are more likely to
be poor than men in their older years.”
For now, Andrews is focused on sur-
vival. She doesn’t discuss the job loss
with her family. She wants her kids to
be kids, free of adult problems. But
they know something is wrong. “They
hear me on the phone asking my fa-
ther if I can borrow money so I can pay
the electric bill. It’s embarrassing,” she
says. “My daughter had savings—$287,
I think it was. She comes to me with her
piggy bank and says, ‘You can use this
to pay some bills.’ I’m like, ‘No, no, no,
Mommy is good. Mommy is good.’ ”want basis,” she says through tears. “And it hurts me sometimes
because it’s like, ‘Kid, if only you knew.’ It’s not him being self-
ish. It’s just him not knowing... He still to this day thinks I’m
working. It’s not to lie to him. In the middle of this pandemic,
you still want your child to have some form of normalcy.”
In March 2020, the month Michigan Governor Gretchen
Whitmer declared a state of emergency, Brown was sent home
from her job at a leasing agency. Her son’s school had closed,
and she had no childcare options. Soon after, Brown took in a
relative whose mom had COVID-19, and that relative, whose
bed sat just feet away from Brown’s son’s, got sick too. “On the
news, seemingly everybody that had COVID was terminally
ill,” says Brown. “And I have a son in tears and scared. The only
thing I could do is say everything would be O.K. when I know
I don’t have the answers.”
While the three of them were quarantining, the leasing
agency reopened its office. Brown explained she didn’t feel
ethically she could file paperwork alongside co workers when
she had been exposed to the virus, but according to a lawsuit
she filed against her former employer, she was never notified
of her right to paid leave under FFCRA. Instead, she says, she
was told she would be laid off if she did not return to work.
(The company says in court papers it “complied with all no-
tice requirements under the FFCRA,” and it offered no further
comment to TIME.)
These days, Brown gets up every morning, logs on to her
computer and pretends to work while her son is preoccupied
with school assignments. Really, she’s been filling out job ap-
plications for 10 months. “I’m not a quitter,” she says.
Other mothers who spoke to TIME shared deep anxieties
about finding work. One worried that her need for flexible hours
around her infant’s schedule meant men or women without
children were being hired instead of her. Horine is concerned
that now that so many jobs can be done remotely, the applicant
pool has grown exponentially.
And while schools may return to in-person learning full time
in the fall, day-care centers have taken such a big hit that even
when the economy reopens, women with younger children still
might not be able to get back to work. A survey by the National
Association for the Education of Young Children published in
July found that without government help, 40% of childcare
programs would shutter. “People are going to find there’s not
childcare slots to go back to unless we make a massive invest-
ment to stabilize the industry,” says Melissa Boteach, vice pres-
ident for income security and childcare/early learning at the
National Women’s Law Center (NWLC).
Amanda Andrews, also a single mom, hasn’t worked since
April. She describes her previous gig as a doughnut- shop cashier
in Rhode Island as “perfect.” The hours were just right for her
to drop off her youngest child at day care before work and pick
up her middle schooler and high schooler when school let out.
When schools and day cares closed, Andrews, like Martinez,
turned to her eldest, her 14-year-old son, for help. It worked
for a few weeks. Then as he tried to balance childcare with re-
mote school, his grades began to slip. “There was a few times
the teacher emailed me telling me my 2-year-old was jump-
ing on his back and trying to play with him, or she’s like, ‘I’m
hungry. Can you make me food?’ ” she says. “So I knew it was
Proportion of
mothers who were
breadwinners for
their family before
the pandemicNumber of women
who have left the
workforce since
February 2020Proportion of
women who were
not working in July
who cited childcare
as the reason41%
2.3
MILLION
1 i n 3The pandemic
PARENTING
CRISIS
by the
numbers