Anna Quindlen was a friend of mine twenty-five years ago when
I was a young working mother raising my growing family in Brooklyn. The former
New York Times columnist penned a weekly missive in the Metropolitan section of
the paper chronicling the stresses of trying to juggle the ever-changing needs
of a young family while holding down a demanding job. During a period of my life when I was too
harried to find time for actual friendships, my virtual one with Ms Quindlen, whose
life seemed to mirror my own, got me through most days. Although she had ten
years on me and was a devout Catholic raising three boys, we seemed to be
living parallel lives. Except, I didn’t have a dog. Or a Pulitzer prize. Her
column was refreshingly candid, heartwarming and a lifesaver. And it was the
first inkling I’d noted that perhaps the liberated woman of the hard-won
sixties movement might not be able to have it all. The two of us, Anna and I
were each sinking under the crushing pressure and guilt of trying to be
everything to everyone and losing ourselves in the process.
Although I felt saddened when she left the Times to write a
novel, my need for the weekly pep talk had waned since at that point I had
already stopped working. Shortly after that, my husband and I moved out to the
suburbs. My older children were in school, leaving me with a baby I could spend
all day cooing at without looking at my watch. It was time to reconnect with
myself, yet I had no idea how exactly to do that. And frankly, I was bored. A
friend suggested I get a babysitter so I could shop in peace, meet friends for
lunch, volunteer, or even go back to school. I was aghast. Was that allowed? I’d
stopped working so I could catch my breath, and stop feeling guilty about
rushing everyone around as we danced to our well-orchestrated morning and
evening ballet. Here now was this new guilt about focusing on myself.
It took me a long time to embrace the idea, but when I finally
did, I discovered something I’d long forgotten—me. As it turns out, taking a
coffee break with a good friend is as beneficial to your health as taking a
brisk walk or eating dark chocolate (just not the whole bar). It seems that our
blood pressure lowers and endorphins flood our system when we connect in a way
that only a dear friend can.
As my children reached high school, I realized it was okay to
factor my needs into the mix, allowing my voice equal sway in the family
dynamic. Not that anyone had stopped me from doing that before, well, except
for me. Oh, and I stopped apologizing.
There’s a reason the flight attendant tells you to put on
your oxygen mask before your child’s in the event of an accident. You’re of no
use to anyone if you can’t function. And
barely holding it together is not functioning. I use this piece of advice as a
battle cry to remind the women in my life that I love and care about to stop
apologizing for their messy house, the missed appointment, or the cake they
forgot to bake for the school function. This concept, of NOT being able to do
it all is a hard one to internalize. We’ll do everything in our power to fool
ourselves into believing that the word No is something other people say. But if we always say Yes, trust me, something
will give, something will crack, and most of the time, it will be us. One of
the traits I most admire about women is our ability to adapt to new situations,
to think on our feet, to multi-task. We are able to do six things seemingly at
once, but it doesn’t mean that all six are being done well. It is up to you to decide
what works for you and to speak up when it doesn’t.
Yes, you count, and it is very important to remember that and
advocate for yourself, because no one wants a resentful spouse, mother or
daughter. And you know what? If you say No once in a while, you’ll enjoy saying
Yes, even more. You’ll be doing everyone in your life a big favor by reaching
for your oxygen mask first. It is actually the least selfish thing you could
do. Accepting a friend’s offer of help
when you really need it is another liberating move. It doesn’t make you weak or
any less capable, and if the roles were reversed you would be running over in a
second to lend a hand. After so many years of giving, it is okay to
take—really.
Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook, recently wrote a book
entitled Lean In, an inspirational
and at times, divisive book advising high-profile women in the workplace how to
reach the corner office. This Harvard educated woman urges her fellow women
that yes, you can earn yourself a “seat at the table,” meaning, you can empower
yourself to reach that glass-ceiling level to make a change in the system. The
book is a fascinating read that is impactful for the woman working at the
corporate level as well as for the woman who has decided to make her job of
raising her family a full-time one. I want to highlight one point of many she
makes that resonated with me.
Ms Sandberg takes women to task for not advocating for
themselves in the work arena. Her most outspoken critics claim she is blaming
the victim for not furthering herself, rather than the institution for not
allowing the opportunity. She disagrees with this point, citing fear as the
reason women are afraid to speak up and take credit for their accomplishments,
while their male counterparts fly past them up the corporate ladder. Girls are taught to be obedient and are
praised in the classroom when they raise their hands before speaking. Boys have
learned that calling out in class gets them heard and are willing to trade
obedience for opportunity. Girls politely wait their turn, often in frustrated
silence while boys speak out and sail by without censure. Girls willingly trade
likeability for success. When women make the subconscious decision that they
will swallow their needs to keep the boat steady, they lose, and everyone else does
in the process.
Ms. Sandberg’s introduction in her book highlights the time when
she was working at Google and had to hoist her highly-pregnant self across a
very full parking lot, fighting fatigue, nausea and swollen ankles to get to an
executive meeting. She recounted the ordeal to her husband that night at dinner
and he told her that at Yahoo, where he was employed, there were specially-assigned
spots for expectant mothers. She marched into the Google founders’ offices the
next morning to demand the same parking privileges for their employees; they
readily agreed. Surely there were other pregnant women in the company who had
the same challenge as herself, and she wondered why they chose to suffer in
silence.
Yes, she spoke up—she wasn’t afraid, but first she had to
have a “seat at the table” in order to have her voice heard. Ms. Sandberg highlights this point of the
female standing by and not advocating for herself. A woman would rather be liked
than heard, she states, while allowing herself to be labeled bossy from a young
age, rather than assertive. This needs to be changed. She stresses that not all women want careers,
not all women want children, not all women want both. That is each woman’s
choice, but if she wants a “seat at the table,” she’d best speak up and have
her voice heard.
She asks the same question that got me wondering fifteen
years ago, what would I do if I wasn’t afraid…what could I do if fear was not part of the equation. I already had a
Bachelors in Economics (although I wasn’t exactly sure why), so I went back to
school and studied Interior Design, something that had always fascinated me.
Then I opened my own business, taking only the jobs that intrigued me, while trying
very hard to factor in all the other pulls on my time.
As our lives develop and grow more complicated, there will be
varying sets of demands and obligations as our roles keep getting redefined. It’s
an opportunity to challenge ourselves, even if we’re scared doing it. For those
women who find work fulfilling and enjoyable, or simply need the second income,
that’s great, but it doesn’t mean you have to stay up all night hand decorating
twenty-six cupcakes for your five-year olds birthday party. A lot of us gave up
our most productive work years that could have bettered our careers, opting to
stay home and raise a family. For those of us who did, it was an active
decision—a real sacrifice, and one, hopefully, whose rewards will be reaped for
many years to come. But what about now? What happens when everyone leaves the
theater after the second act and you are left alone in the thundering silence
of a once bustling household that bustles only a couple of times a year? You
can fear the quiet or revel in it. You decide.
Four years ago, when my business slowed down due to the
economy, I had some free time on my hands. One day I sat down at my computer
and wrote some ideas that had been rolling around in mind for a while. I didn’t
really analyze what I was doing; I just did it. About a year or so later, I had
the foundation of a novel on my laptop. I’d always loved to write, but I can’t
say I ever felt I had the Great American novel locked away in the recesses of
my mind trying to get out. Or maybe I did, and the noise in my life had drowned
it out.
I’ve since written two
more books, and I’ve never had more fun. I do it for pure pleasure, and when I
stopped being shy about it, did a little self-promoting and managed to develop
a readership. It’s opened a whole new world for me and I’ve met compelling
people in the writing classes I’ve taken and the conferences I’ve attended. And
I’ve discovered that everyone has a story to tell, something that is uniquely
their own. And so do you. It’s time to write your story, and don’t worry about
the ending, it’s the journey that counts. And if you find yourself looking at
an empty page, don’t feel guilty—go out for a walk and get some air or call up
a friend and meet for coffee.
It’s your turn.
.
