Why Work is My Least Favorite 4-Letter Word

The bottom line is that in most societies around the world, men are given slack that women are not afforded when it comes to defining the roles they should play in life. — Lahle Wolfe, The Balance Careers

For my first college job, I was the front desk attendant at a fancy assisted living facility. I had the easy job while RNs and LPNs doled out medicine, bathed residents, treated bedsores, and completed all the other tasks nurses are charged with facilitating. I just put up with a few sassy and flirty elderly folks, answered phones, changed table linens, and wore fancy dresses. The main nurses were middle-aged, but a new young nurse was soon hired on. She’d visit me at the front desk.

“Your pores are big and gross. Have you tried a Biore strip?” the new nurse asked me.

She was younger than Ray and Rachel and Winona. Alyssa was a country cowgirl, sassy and opinionated, a daddy’s princess. We became mismatched roommates not long after I met her. To me, she was a novelty. I wished I had her life, or I thought I did.

We were the same age and she’d already started her career. I was popping No-Doze and working the evening shift at a ritzy retirement home.

Chandeliers on the ceiling. Bible study group. Mispronouncing biblical names. Firefighters visiting on the regular. My first viewing of a corpse —someone with whom I chatted, now no longer in her body. Stray cats, kittens rescued from a car hood, and I scooped one up, saddled my mom with her for over fifteen years. This job was where I first understood something of us moves on when we die — soul, spirit, sustenance — something.

***

In the big dining hall, I’d wander and take attendance, watching as crusty smatterings of split pea soup spilled onto the pale pink linens.

I can still feel the heat emanating from the dryers and the comfort as I folded big linen squares into smaller and smaller ones. I learned to make napkin swans and set tables.

No-Doze, soda pop, and four-hour shifts were just barely doable. The sweet nurses and residents helped assuage my anxiety. I didn’t know it then, but I was dealing with panic attacks during every shift. The No-Doze was exacerbating them. I didn’t know it then, but the body pain I was accustomed to living with wasn’t normal — and it was exhausting.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted in the way of work. I didn’t grasp the double-standard laid on women who enter the workforce. In my 20s, it was hard to accept that things were (and are) still not equal between men and women — that women were (and are) expected to carry larger loads and then criticized more harshly when juggling our families, careers, and personal development flawlessly is an impossibility.

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Work (Relationship Status) — It’s Complicated

My first observation of work was watching my parents. Dad earned his Ph.D., was hired on to a job, and then told he wasn’t hired. This happened when the hiring manager discovered my dad lives with a disability because when they met in person he was using crutches. Dad ended up becoming a disability rights advocate at a nonprofit Independent Living Center. His career path went from there to ultimately becoming a professor in Disability Studies and he’s well-known in his field. Mom worked part-time at The International Pantry, a gourmet foods store run by my godparents.

At both the Independent Living Center and The International Pantry, I was included in work. With my mom, I got to play school while eating gummy bears with the daughter of a coworker; I pleased my palette devouring olives, halvah, and feta cheese. With dad, I learned the American Sign Language alphabet, visited coworkers, and collated papers.

At both of these places, I felt supported, listened to, and loved.

***

I started working when I was a teenager, like many other teens, with babysitting. That evolved into a church childcare job two times a week. I loved bringing homemade edible Play-doh and apple cake to share with the toddlers. By the time I was 16 or so, I began working at the Women’s Resource Center, still in childcare, watching the children of abuse survivors.

In each of these jobs, I felt supported and capable. I had pride in my work. The shifts were short enough that any creeping anxiety or pain could be put to rest soon after I clocked out.

***

Although I’ve often wondered if I’m inherently lazy, I think my anxiety has translated to lethargy.

My fear of change and the unknown has kept me from leaping into myriad opportunities. I almost joined Americorps. I almost went to graduate school in Memphis, Tennessee. I almost moved to Swansea, Wales for a doctoral program. These are only highlights. I’d been accepted into each of these programs before my body ran icy cold with fear that I wasn’t capable; my mental health and physical body would collapse into a nervous breakdown.

I'd been attempting to navigate the world with unmanaged depression, anxiety, OCD, and chronic pain. In my 20s, I knew I struggled with mental health, but I didn’t realize the magnitude, and it took until my 30s and 40s to find ways to manage.

***

I graduated college at 17, one year early, or right on time, if you asked me. I was still holding onto resentment that my parents kept me in kindergarten twice, saying they didn’t want to thrust me into the change of divorce and a new school. I was mad about this choice for the rest of my school career. I suppose a part of me still wonders what life would’ve been like if I’d been allowed to go forward when I felt ready. But, that’s life. As a parent, I know how difficult these decisions are to make. If my parents had chosen to move me forward, I’d be resentful for other reasons.

I’m an exception to the statistics. I earned a 1.0 my first semester of college. I was in and out from 1996–2003 when I graduated with a much better GPA. I served a stint under the judgmental eyes of nurses at the Norman Regional Hospital for suicide watch. But, after that, I somehow found focus and my way into creative writing.

Pouring my heart onto the page was how I survived.

Alyssa and I parted ways on bad terms and I quit the ritzy retirement job. I began work-study and temping positions through my university. One of my bosses was a sexist old white-haired gruff man who smoked and watched us all day. He told the women we should wear hose and heels. I filed a complaint and got a transfer.

I knew I was a woman in the workplace.

After getting cold feet to attend an MFA program, I settled into the only job I had confidence in performing — full-time receptionist at my best friend’s parents’ oilfield valve repair shop. While I loved being with my best friend, the job was painfully boring.

***

Nine months into the 9–5 job, I decided to apply to a local graduate program. I started in the summer and planned to become an English professor. Surely, academia would be a supportive and collaborative place for women.

Earning my English MA at a smaller university over two years was almost a breeze. I adored my classmates and professors. I overcame my anxiety and taught Composition I and II classes.

Some of my poetry submissions were published. I edited for the school literary magazine. I went to Portland, Oregon with my peers where we attended conferences and read our work.

I was accepted into Georgia State University and after a visit to determine housing decided not to go. The debt wasn’t worth it and I now knew how competitive academia is. I’m not cutthroat and I didn’t want to stress applying for tenure or moving for my job.

My husband and I moved from Norman, Oklahoma to his mom’s home in Nowata, Oklahoma to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where he procured a job in graphic design.

***

Listless in the World of Work

In Tulsa, my self-confidence was excruciatingly absent. I applied for jobs and faked my way through an interview, where I was offered a full-time position at a graphic design firm. I was terrified to take it. I ended up taking a part-time job as a library associate. This job ended up triggering my anxiety.

A few months into the job, I discovered we were expecting our first child. By the end of the summer, I turned in my notice.

We had our son in late December. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. Looking back, this was probably because being in the workforce felt terrible and scary and like a black hole of anxiety, fear, and failure. My husband wanted me to work. Our relationship was contentious. Looking back, I also find I’m angry and critical of my English BA and MA degrees. I owe almost $100,000 for these degrees and do you know what they didn’t bother to teach us writers?

How to land good jobs.

***

A Brief History of the Discovery That I’m Not Lazy

Between 2007 and 2010, we had two children. I briefly wrote for a local free paper. I attempted to keep a clean home, make meals, and raise happy children. I battled with intrusive thinking and undiagnosed postpartum OCD. My anxiety and depression ebbed and flowed.

My husband worked himself ragged.

When our son started pre-k, I wanted grown-up tasks outside of the home. Homemaking isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Like many other stay-at-home moms, I threw myself into volunteering at the school. This is one way I discovered I’m not lazy. I collated papers, chaperoned field trips (of which there were many), assisted kids who needed help with reading, taught advanced reading to third graders, created a brand new garden program and secured grant money for the program. I coordinated volunteers and edited the school newspaper. Because I was a volunteer, it didn’t pique my anxiety to be doing all this work. I didn’t worry about poor performance because financial compensation and reviews weren’t in the equation.

With the encouragement of a friend who saw how enamored I was with gardening, I applied for a part-time job at our local botanic garden. I was hired in 2015 and turned in my notice in 2016. I found working customer service anxiety-provoking. It was also painful to be stuck in the visitor center when I really wanted my hands to be in the dirt.

In 2017, I took a chance and texted a friend on the horticulture side of the garden asking if there might be any part-time work for me. There was. I worked there from 2017–2020, when my chronic pain and undiagnosed OCD led me into a breakdown, and ultimately, the rediscovery of my life’s passion and purpose — creative writing.

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The Double Standard and Motherhood Penalty

When women strive to achieve success they are often reminded that the price of working or studying late comes at the expense of their spouses, children, and friends, and even at their own personal expense.

Have you ever been told you will regret a career now because you are missing out on your children’s young lives?

The bottom line is that in most societies around the world, men are given slack that women are not afforded when it comes to defining the roles they should play in life. And when “he” has it all, it is a noble thing, when “she” has it all the woman may be questioned about her values and priorities in life. And there’s the motherhood penalty to consider. — Lahle Wolfe, The Balance Careers

In the patriarchy of America, work is a foul word for many women. We can’t have babies, juggle social engagements, hold down full-time jobs, and tend to our own wants, desires, and needs. It’s unfair. On average, men still make more money than women for the same job.

The truth is humans aren’t cut out for hustle culture and rat races. According to Yuval Noah Harari of Sapiens, men are more cut out for competitive patriarchal cultures, whereas women are inherently drawn to collaborative matriarchal cultures.

It’s no wonder I’ve felt lost in the system of work.

Compartmentalizing Mom, Wife, Employee, Woman, and Writer didn’t work for me.

Within the patriarchal system, I needed to seek a collaborative way of life. I found it in the writing community. It’s gig work, but I’m living my life’s purpose, and that feels right.

What if we lived in a culture that was neither patriarchal nor matriarchal? Is it possible to either find a different system or merge the two so that the strengths of each system shine? What do you think?

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Previously published in Age of Empathy