Pelvic Floors and Glass Ceilings: The Double Pressure on Working Mums

Kate Winslet said on the Graham Norton show once that she hasn’t been on a trampoline since having kids. A lot of mums can identify with that. Something to do with the pelvic floor allegedly.

Let’s talk about pressure, shall we? The kind that makes your eyes water and your legs cross at the thought of a trampoline. Yes, I’m talking about pelvic floors. That magical hammock of muscles no one told us about until we laughed too hard post-childbirth and realised something was, shall we say… different.

But while working mums are doing their Kegels in the school run queue and subtly adjusting their seating in boardrooms, there’s another kind of pressure we don’t talk about enough—the one just above our heads: the glass ceiling.

You see, the moment a woman becomes a mother, her pelvic floor isn’t the only thing under strain. Her career trajectory often takes a nosedive. While she’s adjusting to sleepless nights, leaky everything, and a tiny dictator with zero respect for personal boundaries, the workplace starts looking at her like she’s suddenly less capable.

Spoiler: she’s not.

In fact, most working mums I know could run a FTSE 100 company on three hours of sleep and still remember to defrost the chicken. They’ve mastered the fine art of diplomacy (negotiating with toddlers is no joke), logistics (who else can arrange a childcare swap, pack lunches, and finish a pitch deck by 9am?), and resilience (try childbirth—then try a Monday morning meeting with passive-aggressive Steve from Finance).

And yet, when their pelvic floors are literally bearing the pressure of childbirth, the professional world often decides it’s the perfect moment to test them further. Flexible working? “Too complicated.” Promotions? “She’s probably too busy.” Pay rises? “She’s only just back from mat leave.” The assumptions come thick and fast.

It’s almost poetic. The very time when a woman is re-entering work with more strength, more focus, more fire (and let’s face it, better time management than ever before), she’s treated like a ticking time bomb of nursery calls and sick days.

And don’t get me started on the “mum track”—that subtle sidestep into roles that are “better suited” for mums. You know, the ones with less visibility, fewer opportunities, and none of the big decisions. All wrapped up in faux-concern and patronising smiles.

Here’s the thing: motherhood doesn’t dim ambition. It sharpens it. It adds fuel. The glass ceiling doesn’t just crack under that pressure—it should shatter. Because if you can rebuild your body, your sleep cycle, and your sense of self after childbirth, navigating a boardroom should be a doddle. And yet, the glass ceiling seems resolutely in situ with the gender pay gap following suit.

So yes, working mums are doing their pelvic floor squeezes while also trying to smash through systemic ceilings. It’s exhausting, unfair, and totally unnecessary. But here’s the silver lining: we’re talking about it now. We’re sharing stories. We’re demanding better. We’re calling out the bias wrapped in “benevolence.”

To all the working mums out there—your strength is unmatched. Whether you’re juggling spreadsheets or soft toys, building empires or building Lego towers, know this: the ceiling is cracking. And if it takes a few pelvic floor squeezes to help smash through, so be it. Let’s keep pushing.