Singapore’s total fertility rate (TFR) has long felt like a slowly sinking vessel, one that policymakers have been trying hard to patch.
Early this year, another new TFR low and measures aimed at stemming the decline were announced. We have now hit a historic low of 0.87. Deputy Prime Minister Gan Kim Yong described it as an “existential challenge”, warning of the irreversibility of the trend.
As a mother of two children aged 13 and 19, I have been following the developments with a mix of interest, hopefulness and cynicism: Will these measures truly change mindsets and raise Singapore’s flagging TFR by the time my daughters decide to start their families?
Growing up, I was often told that women can have it all: children, a thriving career, personal and professional growth, and a healthy marriage. But no one talks about how there are only 24 hours in a day and within those hours, the number of caregiving roles we are expected to juggle.
Although more men seem to be stepping up, women continue to make up the majority of informal caregivers. About 60 per cent of those who left the workforce due to caregiving needs in 2025 were women, according to Ministry of Manpower data.
This does not include women who cannot afford to stop working, even as they juggle informal caregiving. And did I mention that the White Paper on women’s development found that married women in dual-income households are five times more likely than men to be managing both household and caregiving responsibilities?
These invisible demands come at a cost. Studies have shown that female caregivers face higher risks of emotional distress, burnout, financial strain, and less personal savings for retirement.
Something had to give. For me, it was my full-time career, along with ambitions and plans for further studies when I became a first-time parent at 26.
The writer with her daughters, aged 10 months and seven years old. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
As a junior writer at the time, I was full of naive optimism that I could make it work: to raise children and be fully present for them while building a writing career and pursuing aspirations for further studies.
But just months after the arrival of my firstborn, reality sobered me quickly. I could not have it all, despite having been sold the narrative that I could. I still remember the day I stepped out of the full-time workforce.
Fighting through exhaustion as a first-time mother, I had been expressing breast milk in a tiny toilet cubicle between assignments (breastfeeding-friendly spaces were not common at the time), when I received a call to find alternative care arrangements for my six-month-old daughter – immediately.
The childcare arrangements planned months ahead had fallen through. With no reliable full-time caregivers available and with grandparents who were still working themselves, I stepped away from the full-time work I loved.
I was fortunate. A supportive boss offered me flexible work arrangements before such practices were commonplace, allowing me to continue writing part-time.
The writer once imagined having three or four children but felt it was unsustainable without live-in domestic help and consistent family support, if she wanted to continue working part-time. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
Even then, there were trade-offs. I had once imagined having three or even four children. But that felt unsustainable without live-in domestic help and consistent family support, not if I wanted to hold on to part-time work.
Thus, I spaced my two children six years apart. Despite their wide age gap, exhaustion was my default mode. For years, I functioned on around five hours of sleep, juggling freelance writing assignments while caring for two children, managing a household and stepping up to support my parents and siblings during difficult moments, among other adult responsibilities.
Something was always unravelling carefully planned routines: a child or a parent falling ill or being hospitalised, schoolwork or health appointments, soiled laundry waiting to be cleaned.
When you have no time to catch your breath, your aspirations will simply be set aside, tucked away, like a once-cherished, worn-out toy left in a dusty corner.
And that, perhaps, may be one of the reasons behind our falling birth rate.
For many women, having babies is not the issue. It is pretending that involved parenthood does not come with a cost, one that is still borne largely by women who are often saddled with multiple caregiving responsibilities.
Caring for children sometimes involves navigating unexpected hospital stays, says the writer. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
We are expected to give our all while expectations of “good parenting” continue to rise.
Then when things fall short, the blame still seems to land on mothers. How often do we still hear utterances like “No manners – your mother never teach you, ah?”
Unsurprisingly, mothers face higher societal expectations than fathers to be a “perfect” parent, with one study published in the journal Frontiers in Psychology revealing how this pressure can lead to higher risk of parental burnout.
In the Singapore context, this ideal leads to an unspoken pressure to raise rule-abiding children who are well-mannered, academically stretched, motivated while also being socially attuned.
I love my children deeply and never once regretted being a mother. I also recognise that I am privileged, to be able to watch them grow up without the financial strain that some families face, due to my husband’s stable income.
But in being an involved, present mother in Singapore’s fast-paced competitive environment, I was required to give up something else that mattered to me.
Along the way, I worried about whether I was saving enough for old age. There was also the persistent guilt of disappointing my own mother, who had once held high hopes for my academic and professional aspirations.
An old photo of Eveline Gan and her daughters, then aged three and nine. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
Now, having raised two daughters to bravely pursue their ambitions and be strong women, I wonder how they will navigate motherhood if the time comes.
Their experiences may be different from mine. After all, the government has taken steps in the right direction over the years. For example, making workplaces more accommodating through the Tripartite Guidelines on Flexible Work Arrangements, expanding government-paid paternity leave and shared parental leave, and improving support for caregivers.
These steps are meaningful. But would I want my 19-year-old, who would love to have two or three children but has high career aspirations, to start a family young the way I did?
Not at all. Because I know what it will cost her if she starts too early, especially if workplace cultures and societal gender expectations do not catch up alongside these policies.
Recently, we discussed her further education plans and how raising a family might impact her career later. She asked me: “Why can’t my future husband be the one to worry about this?”
I paused. Maybe this is the question my generation did not ask enough, while we were scrambling to give our all. Many of us internalised the idea that when children come along, it is natural for women to adjust, step back from our needs and wants. But parenting today requires mutual support and a shift in how caregiving is understood.
Until caregiving systems are equitably shared between both genders in society, women will continue to do the heavier lifting of caring.
Without these mindset shifts, the message that women can “have it all” while being urged to have more babies amid an ageing society will just be another catchphrase divorced from the realities of motherhood.
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...
Early this year, another new TFR low and measures aimed at stemming the decline were announced. We have now hit a historic low of 0.87. Deputy Prime Minister Gan Kim Yong described it as an “existential challenge”, warning of the irreversibility of the trend.
As a mother of two children aged 13 and 19, I have been following the developments with a mix of interest, hopefulness and cynicism: Will these measures truly change mindsets and raise Singapore’s flagging TFR by the time my daughters decide to start their families?
BEARING THE WEIGHT OF CARING FOR OTHERS
Growing up, I was often told that women can have it all: children, a thriving career, personal and professional growth, and a healthy marriage. But no one talks about how there are only 24 hours in a day and within those hours, the number of caregiving roles we are expected to juggle.
Although more men seem to be stepping up, women continue to make up the majority of informal caregivers. About 60 per cent of those who left the workforce due to caregiving needs in 2025 were women, according to Ministry of Manpower data.
This does not include women who cannot afford to stop working, even as they juggle informal caregiving. And did I mention that the White Paper on women’s development found that married women in dual-income households are five times more likely than men to be managing both household and caregiving responsibilities?
These invisible demands come at a cost. Studies have shown that female caregivers face higher risks of emotional distress, burnout, financial strain, and less personal savings for retirement.
Something had to give. For me, it was my full-time career, along with ambitions and plans for further studies when I became a first-time parent at 26.
The writer with her daughters, aged 10 months and seven years old. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
As a junior writer at the time, I was full of naive optimism that I could make it work: to raise children and be fully present for them while building a writing career and pursuing aspirations for further studies.
But just months after the arrival of my firstborn, reality sobered me quickly. I could not have it all, despite having been sold the narrative that I could. I still remember the day I stepped out of the full-time workforce.
Fighting through exhaustion as a first-time mother, I had been expressing breast milk in a tiny toilet cubicle between assignments (breastfeeding-friendly spaces were not common at the time), when I received a call to find alternative care arrangements for my six-month-old daughter – immediately.
The childcare arrangements planned months ahead had fallen through. With no reliable full-time caregivers available and with grandparents who were still working themselves, I stepped away from the full-time work I loved.
I was fortunate. A supportive boss offered me flexible work arrangements before such practices were commonplace, allowing me to continue writing part-time.
The writer once imagined having three or four children but felt it was unsustainable without live-in domestic help and consistent family support, if she wanted to continue working part-time. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
Even then, there were trade-offs. I had once imagined having three or even four children. But that felt unsustainable without live-in domestic help and consistent family support, not if I wanted to hold on to part-time work.
Thus, I spaced my two children six years apart. Despite their wide age gap, exhaustion was my default mode. For years, I functioned on around five hours of sleep, juggling freelance writing assignments while caring for two children, managing a household and stepping up to support my parents and siblings during difficult moments, among other adult responsibilities.
Something was always unravelling carefully planned routines: a child or a parent falling ill or being hospitalised, schoolwork or health appointments, soiled laundry waiting to be cleaned.
When you have no time to catch your breath, your aspirations will simply be set aside, tucked away, like a once-cherished, worn-out toy left in a dusty corner.
And that, perhaps, may be one of the reasons behind our falling birth rate.
THE INVISIBLE COST OF MOTHERHOOD
For many women, having babies is not the issue. It is pretending that involved parenthood does not come with a cost, one that is still borne largely by women who are often saddled with multiple caregiving responsibilities.
Caring for children sometimes involves navigating unexpected hospital stays, says the writer. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
We are expected to give our all while expectations of “good parenting” continue to rise.
Then when things fall short, the blame still seems to land on mothers. How often do we still hear utterances like “No manners – your mother never teach you, ah?”
Unsurprisingly, mothers face higher societal expectations than fathers to be a “perfect” parent, with one study published in the journal Frontiers in Psychology revealing how this pressure can lead to higher risk of parental burnout.
In the Singapore context, this ideal leads to an unspoken pressure to raise rule-abiding children who are well-mannered, academically stretched, motivated while also being socially attuned.
I love my children deeply and never once regretted being a mother. I also recognise that I am privileged, to be able to watch them grow up without the financial strain that some families face, due to my husband’s stable income.
But in being an involved, present mother in Singapore’s fast-paced competitive environment, I was required to give up something else that mattered to me.
Along the way, I worried about whether I was saving enough for old age. There was also the persistent guilt of disappointing my own mother, who had once held high hopes for my academic and professional aspirations.
An old photo of Eveline Gan and her daughters, then aged three and nine. (Photo: Eveline Gan)
Now, having raised two daughters to bravely pursue their ambitions and be strong women, I wonder how they will navigate motherhood if the time comes.
Their experiences may be different from mine. After all, the government has taken steps in the right direction over the years. For example, making workplaces more accommodating through the Tripartite Guidelines on Flexible Work Arrangements, expanding government-paid paternity leave and shared parental leave, and improving support for caregivers.
These steps are meaningful. But would I want my 19-year-old, who would love to have two or three children but has high career aspirations, to start a family young the way I did?
Not at all. Because I know what it will cost her if she starts too early, especially if workplace cultures and societal gender expectations do not catch up alongside these policies.
Recently, we discussed her further education plans and how raising a family might impact her career later. She asked me: “Why can’t my future husband be the one to worry about this?”
I paused. Maybe this is the question my generation did not ask enough, while we were scrambling to give our all. Many of us internalised the idea that when children come along, it is natural for women to adjust, step back from our needs and wants. But parenting today requires mutual support and a shift in how caregiving is understood.
Until caregiving systems are equitably shared between both genders in society, women will continue to do the heavier lifting of caring.
Without these mindset shifts, the message that women can “have it all” while being urged to have more babies amid an ageing society will just be another catchphrase divorced from the realities of motherhood.
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...