Every so often, a fashionable new concept is born. Witness the arrival of ‘matrescence’, which, for the uninitiated, is a phrase used to describe the physical, psychological, emotional and social transition a woman undergoes when becoming a mother. Or, as my mother and grandmother would have put it, and perhaps yours too: motherhood.
‘Matrescence’ first appeared in the 1970s, coined by the medical anthropologist Dana Raphael, but it seems to be reaching maturity now. Adverts splashed across the back page of the New York Times make the case for the inclusion of the word in the dictionary. A ‘global movement’ is being launched (by a social networking site for women and a company that sells baby bottles) to put matrescence on the cultural map. ‘When we don’t name what happens to women, we don’t study it. We don’t fund it. We don’t support it.’
Babies and toddlers are welcome, which seems only fair given the sessions take place on Zoom
They might have added: we don’t milk it. Because while it is indisputable that having a baby changes your life, it is also indisputable that someone, somewhere, will be trying to commercialise and reify your experience of motherhood (sorry, matrescence).
Lucy Jones’s book Matrescence has become something of a bible for the thinking millennial mother, arguing that pregnancy and motherhood trigger a transformation comparable to adolescence or menopause. Saddle up, girls: your body and soul are in for yet another wild ride. Expect neural reorganisation, hormonal surges and identity shifts that will fundamentally alter your relationship with yourself and the world around you.
But don’t let that put you off having a baby, because thankfully, the ‘matrescence expert’ can guide you through all this terrifying change. Occupying territory once held by birth doulas, no-nonsense NCT midwives and ‘modern and unbiased’ Baby and Bump instructors, she brings with her an added dose of pseudoscience and pop psychology.
Take the recent advert I received this week via WhatsApp for a ‘Matrescence Therapeutic Support Group’. The first session is free; thereafter it is £25 a time or £89 a month. Babies and toddlers are welcome, which seems only fair given the sessions take place on Zoom. In a ‘Mums of London’ Facebook group, I then came across a woman seeking volunteer coaching clients as part of her training to become a professional matrescence coach. This is beginner level.
Enter the professionals, such as Eve Ostrovskaya, whose mission is to help women ‘unlock the power of matrescence’ and ‘discover a world where motherhood is recognised as a leadership superpower’. ‘Ambitious women across London’ (her words) can sign up for a Matrescence Reset Leadership Power Hour (£150) or six private coaching sessions (£750). It is reassuring to learn that her coaching is both ‘matrescence-informed’ and ‘Mama Rising®-trained’. Still curious? Try a complimentary ‘Just Matrescence® Leadership Assessment’ to see if it’s the course for you.
Mama Rising®, meanwhile, bills itself as the ‘world’s only matrescence-based coaching certification’ and promises to equip participants to support women through the experience of becoming – and being – a mother. Via its glossy website, women from around the globe encourage other women to enrol in a curriculum overseen by Australian ‘matrescence activist’ Amy Taylor-Kabbaz. ‘I am here to revolutionise the way motherhood is seen, valued and supported,’ Amy declares. ‘And train others to do the same.’
If you imagined there might be any pro-bono work done in this new ecosystem of matrescence entrepreneurship, that may simply be your baby brain misfiring. The higher up one goes, the more it all costs. The 2026 Mama Rising® intake starts in September. Cost: AU$6,000, including two one-to-one sessions with Amy. If that upfront payment is prohibitive, there is a 12-month payment plan at AU$535 per month.
One of the notable physiological effects of pregnancy is an enhanced sense of smell. Which makes it all the more surprising that the overpowering scent of what one might term ‘bullshit’ emanating from this burgeoning industry is proving so difficult to detect.
But it is also true that pregnancy and motherhood is a vulnerable stage of life. A time in which – and I am not totally sure if this is just my own lived experience, or a more widely recognised debilitating hormonal condition – one can be inclined to fritter away money on anything promising to make life with a baby easier, whether it be snot suckers, white-noise machines or, indeed, a $6,000 course in matrescence coaching.
No doubt many of these newly minted experts and activists will be attending Matrescence Festival, currently taking place across venues in Devon. The event is designed for ‘m/others’, another maternal term I had not previously encountered but which apparently acknowledges that mothers spend much of their time caring for others.
Festival highlights include a performance by The Dirty Mother, described as a post-punk, postnatal descent story; a live retelling of childbirth (yikes); and reflections on the ‘nappy shite of life’. For £55, a day pass grants access to sessions such as ‘Invite Your Rage for Tea’ and ‘Stories and Spells’. Children are welcome if you lack childcare support but do please note that some workshops are ‘babes in arms only’ due to content. If you thought the matrescence industry was child-friendly, think again.
I suppose I could pack it all in and train as a matrescence expert. There is clearly money to be made. Or I could just clarify my advice here, which is this: motherhood is not easy. Nor will your life remain unchanged. But do be deeply sceptical of anyone charging £89 a month to deliver broadly this same message – particularly if ‘matrescence’ appears anywhere near their name. The word is not even in the dictionary. Buy the snot sucker instead. It’s only £8.99.
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