How many of you have heard the question How do you do it all? If you’re female and you have a child (or multiple children), I’m guessing you’re raising your hand. I’ve been asked that question in the context of professional interviews—including my interview for the job I’ve had for the last fifteen years—and in more personal settings. And it’s not a question that would bother me at all, were it not for the fact that men are never asked this question.
Think about that for a moment. I’m a professor; men had been serving as professors for many, many years before I came along; many of those men were fathers. But I’m pretty certain that very few, if any, of those men were asked how they managed to balance parenthood and professional obligations.
I thought about that as I read this article by Margaret Gould Stewart, Product Design Director at Facebook. I would like to believe that the world is changing—that people are becoming more accustomed to the idea of women taking on enormous responsibilities in the workplace, and yet the human race isn’t dying out, which must mean that it’s okay for women to do two things at once. (As if women have ever done anything else.) But Stewart’s article makes it pretty clear that, even in a world where the vast majority of women work outside the home, a working woman is acceptable only as long as family always comes first.
Hang on, hang on. I hear you freaking out. Of course family comes first! When you’re a mother, your children are your primary responsibility! Putting your career before your children is just selfish! There are moments at which these things are indisputably true, assuming you have the privilege of taking time off work to care for them without putting your job in jeopardy. When your kids are sick, for instance, or struggling at school, or even just having a really, really bad day—those are the moments when they need you to be there. I was available for my children at all of these crucial times, but there were others when I chose to put my career first.
For instance: in 2003, I was offered a terrific opportunity to be in a writer in residence at the Ragdale Foundation for two weeks. Unfortunately, those two weeks overlapped with my son’s birthday and a week-long visit to Texas that my sister and her children had planned. I thought there was absolutely no way I’d be able to accept the writing residency, even though it broke my heart to think of turning it down. I was working on my first novel—an agent had expressed interest in representing me, and those two weeks were crucial to getting something done within the timeline I’d been given.
I called my husband at work and explained the situation. Before I could even say “There’s no way I can do this,” he said, “You’re absolutely going.”
“How can I possibly go?” I asked. “It’s Andrew’s birthday. And my sister is coming, with all her kids.”
“Call your sister,” he said. “She’s going to tell you to go.”
So I called my sister at work. Before I could even say “I don’t think I’m going to go,” she said, “I really think you should go.”
And so I did: I celebrated my son’s 6th birthday with him before I left for Ragdale, and he had a second celebration on his actual birthday. My sister and my husband shepherded children around San Antonio for a week. They still laugh about how often their group was mistaken for a very large family.
Thirteen years later, my son doesn’t even remember that I wasn’t on hand for his 6th birthday. When I reminded him of this recently, he thought about it for a moment. Then he said “You were there for all the other birthdays, right?” When I said yes, he shrugged and said “That’s probably why I don’t remember the one you missed.”
But he does remember going to a slew of readings and book signings after my first novel was published. I wrote most of that novel’s first draft in the two weeks I spent at Ragdale that summer. Had I put family first, I’m doubtful Little Lost River would even exist today.
Various people over the years have argued that I didn’t really put career first, since I didn’t call my husband and say “I’m going to Ragdale and you’ll just have to deal with it.” But this is not the sort of thing I’d ever say to my husband, and I think that’s why we’ve managed to stay married for almost 27 years. More importantly, that first trip to Ragdale was not the only time I’ve put career before family.
I know those who want to deny that I’ve put career first are trying to give me a break—they’re trying to convince me that I’m not really a bad wife and mother. But there’s really no need. I have two amazing adult children now, and I have very close relationships with each of them. I have a spouse who’s been my partner for more years than he was not. Whatever doubts I’ve had about my ability to be a good partner and mother—and I’ve had them, as we all do—they’re balanced out by the facts of my life.
Each of us, whether male or female, has to put career before family at certain moments. Sometimes it’s a simple matter of putting food on the table. At other moments, it’s about looking at the big picture and realizing the small picture will have to be different than you’d like. But only women are asked to feel guilty about this, to think of their professional lives as secondary to the lives of others. We’re asked to do this in spite of the fact that our professional lives last far longer than our children live at home.
Putting career first doesn’t mean family never matters. It doesn’t mean giving orders or ultimatums. It certainly doesn’t have to mean sacrificing relationships. It simply means making sure the people you love understand that your job matters, too—and that, sometimes, you need to be at work even if you’d rather be with them.
No Comments