Jane Upton Talks ‘(The) Woman’: The Raw Truth About Motherhood

Motherhood—everyone has an opinion on it, but what happens when those voices drown out your own? It’s often portrayed as a time of endless joy and fulfillment, but what about the raw, messy reality—the exhaustion, the self-doubt, the loss of self? In her Bruntwood Prize-shortlisted play (The) Woman, award-winning playwright Jane Upton cracks open the contradictions of modern motherhood: the pressure to “have it all,” the silent sacrifices, and the fear of losing yourself along the way. This bold new play follows M, a successful playwright-turned-new mother, as she grapples with exhaustion, anger, and the shifting boundaries of her identity.

Ahead of the play’s run at Royal & Derngate, Northampton, and its upcoming UK tour, The Indiependent sat down with Jane Upton to discuss the personal origins of the story, the weight of societal expectations, and why she wants men to experience this play just as much as women. (The) Woman is more than a box to check off—it’s a conversation that demands to be heard, unfiltered and unapologetic.

Hi, Jane! It’s great to chat with you about (The) Woman. I know this play is incredibly personal, rooted in your own experiences of early motherhood. Can you walk us through what sparked the idea for the play?

When I was clawing my way through a difficult period of motherhood, my brother ran into an ex-boyfriend of mine from school who said he’d expected more from me than just having kids in our hometown. I know that’s a common judgment of women who have children, but the fact that he said it out loud—with no care for the prejudice, double standards, and misogyny in his statement—really felt like throwing petrol on a fire in me. And that’s where the play began.

That’s a stark reflection of society’s view on motherhood. I love how the play captures the internal conflict of M, a playwright who’s struggling with the tensions between her past and present selves. How much of her internal conflict mirrors your own?

I wouldn’t say the play is autobiographical, but it is largely informed by my own experiences. These help shape the deep truths in the play, and I’ve crafted the rest around them. The play tries to unpick the conflicts within the central character, M—between being an artist and a mother; between the young, single M and the married-with-children M; between the down-to-earth, working-class M and the M who exists in the theatre industry. These are all conflicts I’m navigating myself. I imagine it’s a constant evolution until the day we die.

You’ve mentioned before that as a writer, “it is you”—there’s no real separation between the personal and professional. How does that philosophy come into play with (The) Woman, particularly when exploring the intersection of motherhood and art?

I think a writer will always bring a large part of themselves into their work—I think that’s what we mean by “voice.” That’s not to say they will only tell stories they’ve specifically lived, but as a writer, you draw on deep truths and experiences uncovered throughout your life. Some writers prefer to observe from the outside and create wild, imaginative stories (still infused with a big chunk of their heart), while others choose to tell stories they’ve lived. It’s all valid. Autobiography in theatre is often seen as something women do, and it’s dismissed as easier or slightly second-rate. This play tackles that head-on—because, really, that’s bullshit.

The title of the play is simple yet striking, and feels intentionally open-ended. Can you tell us more about your thought process behind choosing it?

I initially called the play (the) WOMAN because I feel like there’s a whole world of judgment behind those two words. I also liked how it referenced cultural events, theatre seasons, comedy line-ups, and panel shows where one woman is added to the bill to tick a box. Later, a friend sent me a quote from Deborah Levy’s Things I Don’t Want to Know, which added another layer: “Mother was The Woman the whole world had imagined to death.” It’s about what we expect of mothers and the reality of that.

I also noticed how the protagonist, M, is never given a full name. Was that a deliberate choice, and what does it signify for you?

The name of the central character is an extension of this. M could be one of many, her identity is shifting, she’s often called “mummy” by people in her new life.

Many creatives have explored the extremes of motherhood—either bliss or suffering—but what I truly loved about (The) Woman was how you stripped away these polarizing portrayals to reveal something raw and real. Was this a deliberate choice from the start, or did it evolve naturally as the play took shape?

Yes, we have been raised with these unrealistic expectations of mothers that they are soft, nurturing, selfless, and non-sexual martyrs, in a way. It means many women hide large parts of themselves so that people assume they’ve got it all sussed. I had all sorts of judgments and assumptions about mothers before I had kids. Then, when I did have them, I was shocked by how so many people had been breaking themselves and making it look normal and possible for so long. It’s like your whole sense of self is detonated—it’s like cutting yourself wide open but hiding the blood from everyone.

There’s this long-standing idea that women can “have it all,” yet your play confronts the unspoken compromises and invisible labor that come with that. What do you hope audiences—especially men—take away from this? How do we start peeling back the layers of ‘perfection’ that so many women feel pressured to live up to?

I think we all know by now that the “Have it all” narrative is rubbish. But we haven’t unpicked it and found an alternative backed up by systems that actually work. So, in the meantime, we are all flogging ourselves and burning out. What I object to is the fact that we aren’t given the space to work it out and unpick how we were formed. We’re told that we have to be strong, kick-ass, and in control—body positive, raising independent girls and considerate boys. But in our formative years, we were told to behave like “lads” (but not so laddish that actual lads wouldn’t fancy us), be sexually up for it at all times, and starve ourselves to fit the heroin chic ideal. Basically, we feel like we are failing at everything a lot of the time.

Oh my god, yes—you’ve put that perfectly! In your opinion, what are some of the biggest myths or unspoken truths that women face when they become mothers?

I think the biggest myth of motherhood is that it’ll come naturally. People tell you to trust your instincts, and obviously, they can be incredibly strong—I get it. But having kids is actually really hard, in a million ways, and all the answers aren’t nestled inside you. They come from other people. I remember, in the early days, basically texting my nurse-friend day in and day out asking medical questions—basic things. But she just has a completely different brain from me and is practical and no-nonsense. So many of us, in modern life, have lost “the village,” and we are trying to figure it all out while also trying to keep a successful career going. The “having it all” myth has forced us to believe we’re failing when all the plates aren’t spinning beautifully. We need to adjust our version of “success.” We need to place value on raising children with love and energy. We need new systems that support parents to survive and thrive, because if the parents aren’t in a good place, the kids won’t be. And, like Whitney said, they’re our bloody future! I’m lucky; I have a voice. So many people are just struggling in silence.

Bringing (The) Woman to life from paper must have been a fascinating journey. How did your collaboration with Angharad Jones and the creative team shape the development of the play? Were there any specific theatrical techniques or creative choices that helped capture its physicality and emotional depth?

Making new work is always really hard because the play is evolving right up until it opens. The first draft was full of rage and satire, and I didn’t hold back. I described it as a scream from the abyss of early motherhood. It felt a bit like a fever dream. But that’s not really what I wanted it to be in the end. So, I worked with dramaturg Sarah Dickenson on deepening the truths within it and cutting to the bone of what I wanted to say. It’s been an evolution, and Angharad has been there throughout. She organised and directed a great R&D week at the National Theatre last year, which helped us find some of the physicality and the shape of the piece. It’s a work in progress right up to the run, and even during the run, because it’s brand new and there’s so much to find. Three weeks to make a new play with sixteen characters and a meta layer to it is tough. The actors have been incredible.

Speaking of the actors, Lizzy Watts plays M in the production. What is it about her performance that elevates the character beyond what you envisioned on the page?

Lizzy Watts is a remarkable actor. She has incredible emotional range and the most amazing instincts. She has brought so much to the role and is a true collaborator as well. She surprises me all the time with her choices and the depth of her work. I love her, basically!

One of your comments really stood out to me—you mentioned that people told you writing about motherhood isn’t “sexy.” Why do you think this stigma still exists, even though films, social media trends like MomTok, parenting blogs, and family YouTube channels have embraced it? And how does (The) Woman challenge that perception?

Motherhood is often seen as a niche topic, a “women’s issue.” Not even that; it’s a “type” of woman who is interested in motherhood. Women should just stay over there and get on with the menial task of raising kids while the rest of society focuses on the important stuff—like making money, leading, and rising to the top. Yes, there’s a lot of “motherhood” on social media—subsections like “gin mums,” “scummy mums,” “yummy mums,” and “beige mums”—but all of it is pretty harshly judged by people on the outside. I think there’s a genuine worry in theatre that a play about motherhood won’t sell because people assume they know the story and think it’s dull. They believe it doesn’t make for good drama. I’m a mum, and I probably wouldn’t go see a play about motherhood because I have deeply ingrained misogyny running through my blood—it’s the way I was formed. That’s why I had to write this play: because we need to unpick that.

You’ve carved out an impressive path as a playwright, earning acclaim while taking a non-traditional route and learning everything hands-on. When you reflect on your journey, what stands out most to you? Are there recurring themes that consistently draw you in? And what do you think your success represents for others with similiar stories?

Yes, I suppose it’s been unusual. But I think I’ve always wanted to write, really—I just didn’t know how. When I was 30, I took a two-day playwriting course, and from that, I wrote my first play. Since then, I’ve usually written plays based on something I am living through, something I have first-hand experience of. I’m always amazed by growing, getting older, learning, and unpicking things I thought were true. That’s what fascinates me. I have this feeling that we all owe each other the truth. I think, deep inside me, I crave “the village”—as long as there are no dickheads or tricky dynamics. Haha, who am I kidding? It’s probably why I’ve stayed close to my extended family, though. I can’t imagine being cast adrift without that anchor.

Thank you for a fantastic chat, Jane! (The) Woman by Jane Upton is about to hit the stage at Royal & Derngate, Northampton, and trust us, you won’t want to miss it! Get your tickets for the opening show here and check out the full tour dates/tickets here. It’s going to be amazing—grab your spot before it’s too late!

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity.

Words by Khushboo Malhotra

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