Every working mother in Bangladesh endures an exhausting dual existence. In one scenario, you're juggling the pressures of a typical 9-to-5 job -- attending back-to-back meetings, receiving urgent client calls, meeting tight deadlines, and striving for career goals.
In the other world, your mind remains permanently tethered to a phone sitting next to your keyboard, quietly waiting for updates from home.
Has my baby eaten? Did he take his bath? Is he crying?
As a new mother of a seven-month-old boy, I never imagined how challenging it would be to cross this mental difference.
Motherhood is meant to be a journey of connection, yet every morning feels like a quiet tug-of-war.
Like any mother, I wish I could experience every fleeting moment of his early months without blinking.
Yet, my hands are tied. Every morning, I pack my bags, say goodbye, and leave my son in the care of my ageing mother before stepping into the office.
While I am really lucky to have family support, this arrangement has replaced one type of anxiety with another.
Throughout my workday, a constant loop of fear runs in the background: Did my mother remember to take her medicine while keeping up with an energetic infant? What if something terrible happens while I am locked in a presentation -- how will she manage alone?
This constant tension is not unique to my household; it reflects the daily reality of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of urban working women across Bangladesh.
Relying on grandparents is a temporary patch, not a sustainable solution -- it places heavy physical strain on elderly parents while leaving working mothers carrying an inescapable sense of guilt.
The true tragedy is that this strain arrives at the worst possible moment in a woman's career.
Most of us spend 25 or 26 years pursuing higher education and building professional foundations. Yet, just as female professionals reach their prime years for career advancement, the arrival of a child creates a stark ultimatum.
Without accessible, institutional childcare, a vast number of women are forced to step away from the workforce at the precise moment they are ready to step into leadership.
This mid-career exit represents a massive, preventable leak in our country's talent pipeline.
Section 94 of the Bangladesh Labour Act mandates that every establishment employing 40 or more women must maintain a suitable room for children under the age of six.
Yet across corporations, institutions, and factories, compliance remains largely symbolic or entirely absent.
Where daycare facilities do exist, capacity rarely meets demand.
Childcare should not be treated as a woman's personal dilemma or a luxury corporate perk. When workplaces integrate safe, professionally managed, and on-site daycare facilities, childcare ceases to be an overwhelming burden borne by one person at home.
It creates an ecosystem where fathers can also take active, equal roles in daily caregiving during work hours.
If Bangladesh aims to sustain its economic growth and empower its female workforce, care infrastructure must be prioritized as essential national infrastructure. Until employers and policy-makers build safe harbours for our children where we work, our brightest women will continue to be forced out of the workforce -- not for a lack of ambition, but for a lack of support.
Jerin Tasnim is a senior executive, HR, Dhaka Tribune and Bangla Tribune.
