“You have to disappear or not have children”. Motherhood and Acting in the UK: Why It Feels Impossible

In 2022, I participated in the March of Mummies, demanding better rights and support for mothers across the UK. Maternity came into my life exactly when my career was finally starting to gain momentum : I had just signed with a reputable agency, been seen by casting directors whose feedback confirmed my acting abilities, also was starting to audition again after the pandemic and the industry strikes that had slowed work almost to a standstill. I was thrilled and grateful for this progress, but reality hit hard. After careful discussions with my husband and extended family, I had to turn down two series roles because the logistics and finances simply wouldn’t allow it. These were deeply personal decisions, yet they carried significant implications for my future career if I ever wanted to return.

I have realized then that for mothers in acting, the difficulties of returning to work aren’t just about ambition or talent, they are about managing unpredictable schedules, balancing childcare costs, and navigating an industry that offers almost no structural support for parents.

Since then, I’ve worked with over a hundred new mothers during my internship with Mindful Mums, the MIND charity, and through writing my dissertation on motherhood and mental health, with a particular focus on postpartum depression in Black and Asian minority ethnic groups. What I’ve learned is stark: the challenges mothers face aren’t just personal : they are structural, financial, and cultural.

For mothers in acting, the stakes feel even higher. The industry demands long hours, unpredictable schedules, and frequent travel, while offering almost no structural support for parents. For women who become mothers, those challenges don’t fade , they multiply. In the UK, many actress‐mums find the system woefully unsupportive: costs are high, schedules are inflexible, and the social and policy environment often lags behind other European countries. Below, I explore why it’s especially hard in the UK, what lessons might be taken from France and other European countries, and how things are starting to ,slowly, change.

The lived reality: pressure, schedule clashes, feeling judged

A striking example of the challenges faced by actress-mothers is Claire Foy’s candid account of returning to work after giving birth. The realisation of how impossible the situation could be hit her while filming the hit Netflix drama The Crown. She found herself “halfway up a Scottish mountain with engorged boobs and no way of getting down to feed my baby.” As she struggled with a broken breast pump in the back of a Land Rover, Foy told British Vogue that she felt she had made the worst decision of her life. It was in that moment that she knew she would never go filming again with a newborn in such circumstances.

Despite the distress she experienced during this early stage of motherhood, Foy’s performance as Queen Elizabeth in the first season of The Crown was flawless, earning her a Golden Globe and opening doors to numerous future roles. Professionally, returning to work at that time clearly paid off. Audiences were enthralled by her portrayal, and anticipation for the next season, airing on Netflix this November, is high.

Yet the professional success does not erase the personal cost. Foy has spoken about how the guilt and emotional weight of that decision linger with her. Beyond the immediate pressures of motherhood, her intense career commitments also intersected with personal drama, including her divorce, showing how the demands of a high-profile acting career can strain personal relationships and family life. Her story resonates with countless mothers who wrestle with the tension between career ambition and parental responsibility, highlighting a universal struggle: even when going back to work brings opportunity and recognition, the sense of guilt, regret, and personal sacrifice can remain a heavy companion. Foy also describes the pressure of expectations: the “cake-baking, fun, playing-24-hours-a-day mother” archetype; of being judged by what you should be, rather than what you actually can be, according to The Standard Magazine.

For many acting parents, unpredictability is baked into the job. Rehearsals, last‐minute cast changes, night shoots, location work , all mean that working mothering often becomes a balancing act of guilt, exhaustion, and logistical puzzles.

The economic crunch: childcare costs, affordability, and lost opportunity

One of the biggest barriers for mothers in acting is the cost and availability of childcare. In the UK, childcare can consume as much as seventy-five percent of a family’s income, which makes returning to work nearly impossible for many women and forces others into drastic reductions in hours. Research from the Women’s Budget Group and the Centre for Progressive Policy has shown that around 1.7 million women are prevented from taking on more paid work because childcare is either too expensive or unavailable. This doesn’t just affect individual families: it costs the UK economy an estimated £28.2 billion each year. International comparisons highlight how severe the problem is.

The UK consistently ranks among the most expensive OECD countries when childcare is measured as a proportion of wages or household income. For women in acting, where jobs are irregular and often demand long hours or unpredictable travel, these costs become an even greater barrier. Mothers are left with impossible choices. They can accept lower pay in exchange for more flexibility, or they can turn down roles entirely, which damages both their short-term income and long-term career development.

Although the UK offers statutory maternity pay, some parental leave, and a system of free childcare hours, these policies rarely meet the realities of performing arts work. Maternity pay and leave only cover those who are employed in stable contracts, while many acting jobs are freelance or project-based, leaving mothers without a safety net. The free childcare hours that do exist come with restrictions on eligibility and scheduling that seldom align with the erratic demands of rehearsals and shoots. Support for travel or overnight stays is almost non-existent, and basic facilities like spaces for breastfeeding are still overlooked. Claire Foy’s account of pumping milk on set while filming The Crown shows just how little the industry is prepared for the needs of working mothers.

When you look across Europe, the contrast is striking. In France, for example, state-subsidised childcare is more affordable, available earlier, and integrated more seamlessly into everyday working life. Crèches and maternelles are widely provided and normalised, helping parents continue their careers without shouldering such punishing costs. Parental leave is often longer, more flexible, and shared with fathers, which eases the pressure on women to shoulder the bulk of care. France also has stronger structures around part-time work and a cultural expectation that mothers can participate in the workforce while raising children. Studies comparing working hours show that married mothers in the UK consistently work fewer hours than their French counterparts, particularly when their children are young, which reflects both policy differences and social attitudes.

The cultural landscape is just as important as the economic one. In many European countries there is greater institutional support and a broader social acceptance of mothers working, even in high-profile or demanding professions.

In the UK, by contrast, mothers in acting often face invisible penalties. Momentum matters enormously in the performing arts, and time away—whether for maternity leave or to care for small children—can result in lost auditions, fewer networking opportunities, and even typecasting. The physical and mental toll of pregnancy, postnatal recovery, sleep deprivation, and the demands of travel add further strain. Meanwhile, the roles that do offer flexibility, such as shorter hours or local work, usually pay less and carry less prestige, which limits both income and visibility.

There are signs of change, though progress is slow. Unions, advocacy groups, and childcare charities continue to push for more affordable childcare, stronger parental leave, and flexible working arrangements within the creative industries. The government has expanded some childcare entitlements, although these remain limited and often impractical for freelance workers. Perhaps most importantly, more public voices are breaking the silence.

When actresses like Claire Foy speak openly about the reality of juggling their careers with motherhood, it brings visibility to the issue and helps challenge stigma. Practical solutions are being suggested, though they require political will and industry buy-in. Productions could provide on-set childcare or creches to make shoots more accessible for parents. Freelancers could be given grants or pay-cover during maternity leave. Contracts and shooting schedules could be designed with family needs in mind, and state intervention could regulate or subsidise childcare costs more effectively. Above all, there needs to be a cultural shift: motherhood should not be treated as a career-killer. Until the UK recognises that raising children and pursuing a demanding career can and must co-exist, mothers in acting will continue to pay the price with their earnings, their opportunities, and their peace of mind.

Stories from the Stage and Screen: Mothers Who Speak Out

Carey Mulligan has spoken candidly about the obstacles she has faced as a mother in the film industry. For her, childcare remains both financially and practically overwhelming. She has described the industry as “incredibly difficult” for mothers, pointing to the absence of on-set childcare and the ways in which productions expect parents to arrange their lives around rigid schedules. She has also noted how disruptive it can be when work requires uprooting family life. Sets, she has said, often feel “limiting” for mothers, with little regard for the realities of raising young children while sustaining a career.

Keira Knightley has echoed similar struggles, though hers are framed in terms of the roles she feels able to accept. Since having children, she has turned down work abroad and projects with emotionally heavy subject matter, particularly those that involve stories of children dying, because she does not want to carry that weight back into her home life. For Knightley, this is not about being selective for the sake of it, but about protecting the balance she needs to be present as a mother. She has admitted that she cannot simply drop everything and travel anymore, even if that might once have been the expectation for an ambitious actor.

The experience of Hanna Jarman, a freelance actor and writer in Cardiff, illustrates the same problem at a different scale. When her son was six months old, she discovered that nursery costs of around £70 per day made it virtually impossible to accept certain jobs. If the fee she earned was barely enough to cover childcare, the work became financially pointless or imposed a level of strain that outweighed the benefit. For actors like Jarman, the problem is not a lack of willingness to work but a system that makes working unaffordable.

Michelle Keegan has expressed the emotional side of this tension, talking about the “mum guilt” she feels when she returns to work and wonders if she is sacrificing time she cannot get back. Like many mothers, she has spoken of the constant push and pull between ambition and presence, between the desire to build a career and the longing not to miss her child’s early years.

The Hidden Costs of Regret

Regret often lingers on both sides of the decision. Some mothers return to work too quickly and later feel the cost was too high, lost days with their children, exhaustion, and stress that outweighs the value of the role. Others step too far back and regret the lost momentum, the auditions missed, and the opportunities that slipped by while they were at home.

Karren Brady, better known in business and television, has admitted she regrets taking only two days of maternity leave, realising too late how much she missed in her child’s early life. Even actresses like Knightley, who turn down roles deliberately, admit to questioning whether they are sacrificing too much of their professional future by being cautious in the present.

What Makes a Role “Worth It”? The Calculations No One Sees

At the heart of this lies the question of what makes a role “worth it.” For mothers in acting, decisions about work are never as simple as whether the project excites them artistically. They must weigh the fee against the hidden costs of childcare, travel, accommodation, and the emotional toll of time away. A role that seems glamorous on paper can, after calculation, leave a family financially or emotionally depleted. Outsiders sometimes label women in this position “arrogant” for turning down work, but this misreads the situation. Many mothers in acting are not demanding at all, they are simply calculating survival. To make a job worthwhile, some need a minimum income of several thousand pounds a month, not because they are greedy, but because anything less would leave them worse off. Meanwhile, male colleagues are rarely forced to make such calculations, since they are not burdened by the same childcare costs and expectations.

Slow Change, Growing Voices

There are reasons for hope. Advocacy groups, unions, and campaigners continue to press for affordable childcare, better parental leave, and more flexible working in the creative industries. The government has expanded free childcare hours, although often with restrictions that still make them impractical. Increasingly, actresses themselves are speaking out. When Claire Foy, Carey Mulligan, and Keira Knightley publicly describe these challenges, they help to normalise the conversation and dismantle the myth that motherhood and acting can be juggled without support.

Towards a Future Where Motherhood Isn’t a Career Killer

The changes that could make a difference are not complicated: on-set childcare or subsidised crèches, grants for freelancers during maternity leave, contracts that reflect family needs, and genuine regulation of childcare costs. More importantly, a cultural shift is required. Motherhood must stop being treated as a career-ending choice in the arts. Until the UK matches the policies and attitudes of its European neighbours, women in acting will continue to navigate impossible choices, weighing every role not just as an artistic opportunity, but as a test of whether they can afford to be both a mother and an actress at all.

I I hope sharing these stories and insights helps other mothers feel seen and understood, and sparks conversations about the changes we urgently need. By working together, mothers, industry leaders, policymakers, and allies, we can create a system where women don’t have to choose between raising their children and pursuing their careers. A future where motherhood is supported rather than penalised is not just better for women in acting, but for the next generation, who deserve to grow up in a society that values both family and ambition.

Much Love,

Delia