Motherhood and career: The invisible ceiling of part-time work

In 2026, one might believe equality has been achieved. In reality, it is still negotiated on a daily basis - in careers, and often at the moment a woman becomes a mother. On the occasion of March 8, Anya Muzzarelli, ALEBA's Equality Delegate at ING, recounts what statistics fail to capture: life at work after maternity.There are pivotal moments in a career. For her, everything begins there — the day she becomes a mother.

“When I became a mom, my whole world shifted,” Anya confides. Overnight, work was no longer just about skills and determination. It became an obstacle course, structured around daycare pickup times, unexpected illnesses, unforeseen constraints… and in the background, a silent pressure: the need to be irreproachable everywhere.

She recalls a time when parental leave was far from self-evident. “Between 2003 and 2008, taking parental leave was not always well perceived. It was not guaranteed that you would regain your original position upon return.” She states it plainly: yes, absence can create organizational challenges. But the uncertainty surrounding one’s return was something else. “Despite everything, that situation remained discriminatory.”

Things have evolved. Today, parental leave is better accepted (in a previous article, we also revisited maternity rights in Luxembourg). The variety of available arrangements makes it easier to reconcile professional and personal life. Yet social acceptance sometimes remains conditional: people tolerate it, understand it, adapt… while implicitly reassessing the reliability of the person who is absent.

What she describes next will resonate with many: motherhood as a logistical shock, but above all as a symbolic shock. “Suddenly, schedules became walls: the time to pick up my child from daycare, the days he fell ill… Every unforeseen event became a real headache.” Added to this was constant anxiety: “The fear of not managing everything, of disappointing.” Disappoint whom? The child, the employer, the team, oneself. And this is where a harder-to-name feeling takes hold: marginalization.

“I felt something change around me. A subtle but very real sidelining in responsibilities and projects. As if simply being a mother made me someone less available, or less reliable.”

No harsh words are necessary. Sometimes it is enough that a project no longer comes your way, that you are not invited to a meeting, that a responsibility quietly shifts to someone else. Silent exclusion is often the most effective, precisely because it remains deniable.

At the heart of her account lies a guilt that clings persistently. “I felt guilty toward my child when I left him at daycare. And I felt guilty toward my employer when I had to leave earlier or be absent.”

She sums it up this way: “I felt as though I was constantly running after two worlds that demanded my full presence… and I was succeeding in neither.” This pressure often does not come solely from outside. It is also fueled by internal injunctions: be a present mother, a high-performing employee, an available colleague. And above all, do not ‘make waves.’

It is a choice Anya fully owns, consciously made. “A difficult but necessary choice.” Except that she immediately sensed: this choice was unwelcome.

“And yet, I felt it: this choice was not appreciated. I was even asked how long I planned to ‘stay like this.’”

Then came a phrase, striking in its banality: she was told that “from the age of 11 or 12, a child no longer really needs his mother.” Words that, she says, hurt her because they “completely ignored the reality and sensitivity” of her situation.

Even today, when asked whether she has ever hesitated to request a raise or apply for a position, her answer is clear: “Without hesitation, my part-time status.”

She works at 75% and ensures office presence for the delegation two days a week. “It is a choice I fully assume, aware of its consequences. However, it must be acknowledged that from the moment one works part-time, prospects for salary increases or mobility become more limited.”

This is one of the most persistent blind spots of equality: part-time work, overwhelmingly feminized, becomes a marker of lower ambition, whereas it is often the sign of greater mental load and heavier family organization.

In her view, another source of structural injustice weighs heavily: the lack of transparency in pay mechanisms. “Very clearly, this system lacks transparency. It is claimed to be linked to evaluations, but in reality, it relies on an archaic functioning heavily dependent on the manager’s subjectivity.”

The problem, she emphasizes, goes beyond the question of women and men alone. But opacity is fertile ground for inequality: when criteria are vague, biases — conscious or not — more easily find their way.

One would like to believe such clichés are relics of the past. Yet they continue to silently shape career paths:

• “She is too emotional / too sensitive.”
• “She lacks ambition” (or “she does not really want to progress”).
• “She will inevitably go on maternity leave / be less available.”

And behind these phrases, a choice still imposed: “I think that in 2026, women still have to choose between motherhood and professional career… unless they have a partner willing to put HIS career on hold.”

In other words: equality is progressing, but it often remains conditional on the family model — and on the couple’s ability to reverse traditional roles.

While her experience primarily speaks about the workplace, she also reminds us that equality is not decided only at the office. For her, March 8 is not just a date on the calendar: it is a sometimes harsh reminder that nothing is ever fully secured.

“This day reminds us that, everywhere in the world, women remain exposed to dangers. That they do not benefit from the same rights. And we must acknowledge that in some countries, these hard-won rights are now being called into question.”

What particularly concerns her is the rise of masculinist movements. She sees in them real pressure on advances in equality: “Their growing influence poses a threat… and that truly frightens me.”

And this concern, she says, is not only international: in Luxembourg too, certain issues remain in the shadows. She mentions in particular domestic violence, still difficult to address publicly. “It is very taboo. Prevention must be strengthened and more resources allocated to facilitate speaking out,” she insists. “There must be a climate of trust so victims dare to speak.”

Finally, she highlights a decisive yet too rarely discussed factor: money. Without concrete support, leaving a violent household can remain impossible. “It would be essential to develop appropriate financial assistance, so as to give victims a real possibility to leave.”

Her account is not a bitter observation. It is a fully assumed choice: to build a life where family and motherhood have their place, where one can also help others, without giving up professional fulfillment that reflects who one is and carries meaning.

Faced with remarks, unspoken limits, and the exhaustion of constantly having to prove one’s worth while sometimes feeling underestimated, she chose to shift her perspective. “So I had to refocus. Ask myself what truly mattered to me. Reconnect with my values, my priorities, what gives meaning to my life. And above all… learn to let go.”

Not to give up, but to abandon the illusion of perfection. To accept that one cannot be everywhere, all the time, and to assert the legitimacy of a balance built in one’s own way: “My choices, as long as they are aligned with who I am, are legitimate.”

At a time when we speak of equality, career, performance, this testimony brings us back to a simple and deeply human question: what becomes of a professional trajectory when life — real life — imposes its schedule?

And above all: how many talents are still being held back, simply because we do not know how to make space for motherhood without turning it into a handicap?