#29 The subtle art of losing
When I was twenty-nine, I had my dream job and a hunger for success with no match around me, or at least that’s what I thought. I did not care about extra time or jumping through never-ending hoops: if anything needed to be done, you only had to show me the finish point, and I would get there like Mario runs looking for his princess. This means that— as Mario does— I found my fair dose of mean mushrooms, angry plants, and other villains disguised as colleagues, managers, friends, and family. Do you think friends and family will support you no matter what? Keep on dreaming. I’m sure Mario argues with Luigi from time to time, and it gets nasty.
I grew up with a single mother who took care of me while my father lived seven lives around the world, which means I’m fluent in passive-aggressive language and despise BS. She always told me I should be an independent, self-sufficient woman who would stop for nothing and no one, so when I finished my degree, I did what I had been told: got a job, lived abroad, and did my thing without asking for permission or apologizing. There I was: an independent professional in a technical career, surrounded by men, showing my value, growing professionally and personally… and you know what my mother said? “You should work closer to home, like my friends’ kids do.”
Still, children are supposed to be rebellious, even when they are grown up and living their own live— correction, mostly when they do all those things— so I kept doing what I’d been told (work) until I committed the terrible sin of being a woman, or better said, “act as one:” I got pregnant.
Who would have told me that having a baby would be the most rebellious act in my young professional years?
Before this very well-planned rant continues, I have to say that I never hid my female “condition”, but the truth is that in a working environment, there is a vast difference between being a parent and not. When you are a woman, in most cases, the difference is big… huge!
When I was three months pregnant, a colleague of mine quit and left our department in a havoc, which gave me the idea to talk to my boss about my future in the company. Resources were low, the workload was high, and I was willing to work as hard as possible to get where I wanted to, so I entered his office and told him that either he improved my position or I would quit as my workmate had just done. He did not like it, and he even asked me where I would go— more worried about my competition clause than about the possibility of losing one more team member in such a short notice— but after realizing that my salary was much lower than my colleagues’ (That’s another funny story to share one day) he accepted to give me a raise and to improve my position in the department, in a two-step strategy I agreed with. And no, he did not know I was pregnant when we shook hands.
Months passed, my belly grew bigger and rounder, and my projects continued running as planned. At that time, I was responsible for taking one of my projects to production while relentlessly managing the company's cash cow product. Still, I did not miss working days or slow down because of “my condition.” When I passed the eight-month milestone, I still ran around the lines, ensuring things would be done. Another thing I did during that time was to prepare my colleagues to take care of my activities during my parental leave, so when I left, I was sure I had done everything possible to secure a smooth transition.
Following the country’s recommendation, I was out of the office for five months. This way, I was sure I would be a good mother, breastfeed, give my attention to the little one, and return to work as the champion I felt I was. No baby would take me down. Adults had no managed to do so, and the baby was mine, and would be raised to… well, you can imagine where this goes, right? The baby turned my life (and my partner’s) upside down. Sleep deprivation is a bitch, and so it it to dream about having a home in a decent state when you don’t even remember your name. As a project manager, I dealt with complicated individuals, sales forecasts, budgets, and challenging management; still, when the fifth month was over, I was over the moon. Even if I had to feel like a milking cow between meetings, I was determined to return to my job because I knew I was good at it. Plus, the meanest part of my subconscious convinced me I would be better in the office than taking care of my child on a full-time basis. Thanks to God and all the angels in the Universe for the daycare institutions, Amen.
The Pandemic showed a big part of the World what it means to spend the whole day with our kids. Parental leaves do just that, but with an “X” in the calendar.
So, I returned to work, fierce as a lioness and hungry to speak with adults. As expected, most people wanted to know how my daughter was doing, but once that need was eased, I proceeded to do my things as I had always done. I learned that three other colleagues (men) had also been parents, but I did not think about it much. I was there to work, to progress, to evolve like a Corporate Pokemon, and to speak with my manager, who did not have time to talk with me for almost a week, which led me to storm his office— I already established my low capacity to tolerate BS, right?
We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before I asked him about the second part of my promotion. I had received the salary raise before he even knew about my pregnancy, but we had not discussed my career progression again after that.
“It’s difficult, you know?”
But I didn’t. I had no idea why something so clear before suddenly turned complicated.
“I had to promote other people, and you were out…”
“But you knew I was returning,” I said. My BS- meter was about to explode, and the only reason it didn’t was because that man in front of me, who had given me my dream job years before, said to me, to my face, the following words: “I promoted other people because, now that you’re a mother, your priorities have changed.”
That was not the first time someone had tried to make me feel bad for being a woman, but it hurt… a lot. I knew who had been promoted, who had been given opportunities I should have grabbed, and asked him:
“Did you have the same conversation with them?” I pointed at my colleagues from his glass-walled office, and he did not reply. Instead, he said, “There’s nothing I can do now.”
The damage was done, and he knew it.
There were many things I could have done then, much less than nowadays —these days, that kind of discourse would have given him a ticket to visit the Human Resources department— but what I did was burying my head in work.
I lost myself in my job, in the idea that “we can have it all if we work hard enough,” in the dream of being a good mother, partner, and daughter… I chose not to lose myself in the definitions others tried to give me: a bad mother because I worked too much, a bad professional because I had to take my kids to the doctor during office hours, a bad daughter who lived far away, a bad friend and partner because I was not fun anymore…
Since I was about to lose myself, I decided where, when, and how.
Come and find me… if you dare.
