I want to linger over the CV. The dreaded CV. 

It is the currency that enables us to barter for positions. We see our achievements and experiences through it. Kids are taught young (I realised when my 12-year-old asked me about it) that they must be thinking about “building it up”.

But they have yet to develop a template for women in their late 40’s returning to the workforce after an extensive hiatus to raise kids. And I’ve looked at a lot of templates. The problem isn’t even the absence of a template, it’s the very premise: Some things are CV-worthy, others – decidedly not.

Most glaringly, from my perspective, is that there is no section in which to write those three little letters “mum”. Its very inclusion would be jarring to the genre. Imagine trying to write that under Work Experience: “Mother, work-from-home, 2006-Present”. And then going on to bullet-point all of the workstreams involved. 

Nor is there a universally recognised way of touting “three living teenagers” as a work accolade, a new skill gained, or even an educational qualification (although lord knows I could sit several GCSE’s tomorrow and ace them, thanks to all the revision support provided). 

For other job seekers, something they have spent an hour or two on, once a month – and for a paltry period – would merit inclusion in a CV. And yet this odyssey, this juggernaut, this BEHEMOTH of an undertaking, dare not speak its name in résumé-land. It is not real enough, worthy enough, skill-enhancing, serious or interesting enough. 

Well, I had to write a CV, and I put it in anyway. You heard me, I put it in. Granted, as an afterthought at the end, alongside “enjoys reading and writing”, like it was just another mildly interesting hobby I sometimes indulge in for an hour on the weekends, but still. 

I. Put. It. In.