I was jealous of my friends having babies – but not for the reason I thought

You won’t see me for an incredibly long time,” confessed a teary-eyed Adele at her recent concert.

Addressing the audience during her final show in Munich, Germany, the Grammy-winning artist said she wanted to go and “live my life that I’ve been building”, after three years of non-stop performing and touring. “I will miss you terribly,” she added.

Now, I like Adele as much as the next guy, but I’m no super fan. And yet her announcement delivered a sucker punch straight to my solar plexus. What was this feeling? Melancholy? Loss? Abandonment? Nope. It had the unmistakable green tint of pure, unadulterated jealousy.

At her words, I felt a kind of weary craving descend upon me. Oh, to be able to just stop working and check out “for an incredibly long time”! Or even a medium-length time! Anything over the standard amount of annual leave would be fine, to be honest!

In fact, her “stop the world I want to get off” sentiment stirred up such yearning that it was nothing short of a Damascene moment, flashing the piercing light of clarity onto other confusing feelings I’d been grappling with of late. Because while Adele, globally acclaimed singer and multi-millionaire that she is, can afford to lightly hop off the daily grind treadmill “just ’cos”, there’s only one viable way for most other women to do likewise.

As a woman in my late thirties, I’ve seen friends get pregnant and briefly disappear off into the newborn ether many, many times over. They often come in batches, three or more at once, mysteriously syncing the same way menstrual cycles do. It’s never really been a source of envy for me – child-free but largely happy with my life in all its variety and fullness. Any mild tug of covetousness I might experience beneath the overwhelming joy is, selfishly, reserved for my relationship with the mother-to-be: knowing that our friendship will inevitably change; that she will have less time and energy for after-hours socialising or late-night deep-and-meaningfuls; that it will be a while before I can snatch a brief, uninterrupted interlude where her attention isn’t constantly commandeered by sticky hands pulling at the hem of her dress.

But in the latest round of buns both in and out of ovens, something shifted. When a colleague at work shyly made her announcement, including her new year due date, I was hit by a wave of longing. When a university friend WhatsApped her 12-week scan, I blinked back tears on the train. When I bumped into a local mate and her three-month-old at a café on a weekday afternoon, enjoying her second coffee and cake date of the day, I ached in places I didn’t know I had.

It was finally happening, surely – the day everyone said would come. My biological clock, much later than anticipated, had at last sprung to life and sounded the alarm. Those long-in-the-tooth eggs were clamouring to be dusted off and put into bat.

And yet… It wasn’t really the babies themselves – or the thought of them – that were doing it for me. I wasn’t going ga-ga over smelling their heads or weeping at their freakishly tiny clothes; I wasn’t begging to hold them or picturing myself cradling my own babe in arms, serene and smiling, like a Madonna and child painting. I definitely wanted in on some part of this whole procreation business. But which part, exactly?

Adele’s farewell speech was the key to solving the riddle. I wasn’t jealous of these women for becoming mothers. I was jealous of their year out of the workplace.

Don’t get it twisted: I know that maternity leave is not a “year off”, “baby vacation” or any other wildly offensive description suggesting it’s some kind of holiday. I have enough friends and blood relatives who’ve gone through – and been brutally honest about – the ordeal of childbirth and what follows to know the score. A gruelling, sleep-deprived period awaits, defined by intense boredom, endless bodily fluids, hysteria and bouts of depression alongside the completely overwhelming “love like you’ve never experienced it” bit. The mundane drudgery of keeping a completely helpless human alive coupled with a constant, crippling, underlying fear for their safety is about as far from a “vacation” as you can get. And, as many have discovered while immersed in the early years trenches, work can end up feeling like the real “holiday”; a welcome respite from the 24/7 nature of parenting an infant.

But there was something undeniably appealing about the idea of waking up – from albeit threadbare and inadequate sleep – to zero emails or Slack messages. Zero Zoom or Teams invites. Zero urgent voice notes from someone senior enquiring as to whether or not the monumental f***-up in your copy was defamatory or merely incorrect…

The idea of putting your brain in the ashtray for months, with no requirement to think strategically, deploy corporate jargon or pretend to be constantly “on” at every meeting – that was what my heart was secretly desiring. What I really wanted, after more than 15 unbroken years of full-time work, without so much as a week off between jobs, was a sabbatical. Or, as writer Amy Key so poetically put it, a “maternity leave of the soul”; a time to “step out of our structures, habits and work’s expectations to see what we can find there. I want my non-parenting pals to have a chance to work on their novel or build a garden or retrain in a new skill or convalesce or campaign on something they are passionate about.”

We’re not alone. Workers are increasingly prioritising finding employers that offer them as a perk, citing sabbaticals as a way to combat burnout and garner new experiences, according to a report in The Guardian. A survey by HR software provider ADP found that 20 per cent of employees would accept a sabbatical instead of a pay rise; HR company Adecco name-checked them as one of the top five workplace trends. It goes hand in hand with the rise in popularity of all kinds of flexible working, from working from home and hybrid working to compressed hours and four-day weeks. Post-pandemic, there’s been a lasting shift in workers’ desire to find and protect a better work-life balance.

Shasa Dobrow, associate professor of management at the London School of Economics, found in her research that workers’ job satisfaction progressively decreases as time goes on. There’s conversely an uptick when they change jobs or organisations. Sabbaticals can “mimic” this effect without a business having to lose a valuable employee for good: “We think it’s the spark from the novelty and change that comes from activities like sabbaticals that can help people experience a boost in their job satisfaction,” she said.

The number of companies offering sabbaticals has also leapt from 38 per cent in 2022 to 53 per cent this year, according to a recent report from the Chartered Management Institute. But, although 71 per cent of UK employees would consider taking a sabbatical if given the option according to one poll, 35 per cent couldn’t afford to if it was unpaid. And unless workplaces are actively egging on workers to take up the offer, there’s a risk they’ll feel discouraged from requesting one regardless. “Create a culture where employees feel encouraged to take a break. It is all about valuing wellbeing,” operations manager and HR lead Claire Fletcher advised when speaking to HR magazine.

It doesn’t say a lot for our options when the only way women can realistically envisage securing a hiatus from the rat race is by giving birth – particularly given the ongoing issues around paltry statutory maternity pay, the exorbitant cost of childcare, and a culture in which we are still discriminated against for becoming mothers (research by Pregnant Then Screwed found that 54,000 women a year lose their job simply for getting pregnant, while 390,000 working mums experience negative and potentially discriminatory treatment at work each year).

As “quiet quitting” follows on the heels of the “great resignation” and we continue to apply greater value to our lives outside of work, sabbaticals could just be the answer to improving staff retention and the antidote to burnout-related issues. In the meantime, those of us who want to switch on a 12-month OOO should probably consider becoming a world-famous singer – before we resort to having an arbitrary baby.