Looking for a Job and the Seven Stages of Grief

I accepted an apprenticeship with the Apprenti program last week. Yay! I have been quiet about it because I have fourteen weeks of training to successfully complete before I start the job and get paid. I am sure I will do fine with the training, but I am a little nervous, just because it is new. I am taking a massive leap of faith that this will all work out, as are the people who hired me. I am grateful for this program and am looking forward to the change. After a week of looking at colleges for Claire-Adele, I am also looking forward to the money. I made a spreadsheet to analyze our cashflow for the next nine years with kids in college, and it looks way better with me getting a paycheck. Like "I can sleep at night" kind of better. I am still hoping for scholarships, merit aid or one of my kids choosing an affordable state school, but in all cases me getting a salary helps significantly.

This is the end of the long journey of trying to figure out what to do next as my job as "stay-at-home-mom" reaches its "Sell By" date. Along the way, I have met dozens of women wondering what they are going to do next. This past winter at a ski lodge, I ran into a friend who is a stay-at-home mom who is looking for a job. She saw that I was part of a "Get a Job" group and she asked me about my job search. Marianna was an engineer who later got an MBA.

"The group was fine, but looking for a job is horrible," I said. "It is impossible to get past any HR screening without having worked recently. There are a dozen people out there who are working today doing the job that the HR people are looking for. Why should HR bring in someone like me?"

"But you are brilliant, Lauren!" Marianna said. "You have a great education, and you worked in consulting! Who wouldn't hire you?"

"I don't take it personally," I said, "It isn't so much about me as it is where I fit into the system. I've also tried networking and using my connections. I am overqualified for about 60% of the jobs out there, and underqualified for 60%, which means unless some laws of physics change, I am not getting a job. They don't know what to do with my volunteer experience. Sure, I believe anything is possible, but I also don't believe in unicorns." [This is the short version. I ranted for an hour like a bullet train.]

Marianna didn't look at me like I was a Debbie Downer who wasn't optimistic enough. She looked at me as if I were speaking an unspeakable truth, and said, "That's what I thought."

"But I did find this technology apprenticeship program, and I am applying for it. I know I need new skills. This program will give me specific skills for a specific job," I said. "I think this is the only reasonable way for me to re-enter the professional workforce."

Marianna decided to skip the few years of soul searching and apply to the apprenticeship program. I was happy to save her an extended period of grief. She applied to the program and was entered into the pool of apprentices for companies to hire. When she was offered her first interview with a hiring company, her husband balked, in a loveable, romantic way.

"You are so brilliant, Marianna! You have a great education and great work experience! Who wouldn't hire you?" he said. "You could make more money and not have to start at the bottom!"

I had heard this same speech from Jack before. Five years ago, I was offered a job making less money than when I was twenty-eight but more money than I will be making in the apprentice program.

"You shouldn't get dressed and out of bed for so little money," said Jack five years ago. "You are awesome and could make so much more! At a better job!"

I sighed. It was great he had so much confidence in me, and yet at the same time, he completely failed to be supportive. In the end, the job didn't work out because the owner of the company decided the position would require more traveling than I was available to do.

Marianna decided to look for a higher paying job before she accepts the apprenticeship. She kept her spot open, but will first look for something else. She might have better luck than me. She got her degree in Seattle, and she has work experience here. My degrees and paid work experience were all in Chicago, so my network isn't as robust as some people's.

I told Jack the story of Marianna and her husband. He said they need to go through the "Seven Stages of a Middle Aged Woman Returning to the Workforce Job Search Grief."

1. Disbelief: They can't believe that a woman with a professional degree who stayed home with her kids for years can't walk right back into the workforce where she left off. 
2. Denial: Of course she has a great degree and experience...from ten (or more) years ago. Why doesn't it count?
3. Anger: This sucks. She has a fancy degree and great experience and is treated like chopped liver. "Why did I decide to stay at home with the kids? I never would have if I knew how hard it would be to get a job."
4. Bargaining: "I'll take any kind of job. I'll do anything. Or maybe I'll write a novel..."
5. Guilt: "Ugh. I should have kept a foot in the workplace. I should have gotten a part-time job along the way. Maybe I should have chosen a job that I could have done while I was a mom instead of consulting where I had to travel so much."
6. Depression: "I will never get a job. I need to write a novel so I have something to do. I am underqualified. I don't know why anyone would hire me. I don't know what I would do anyway. I'd be scared to start a new job."
7. Acceptance and Hope: Finally, a job appears. It is not the high-powered job that everyone imagined at the start, but it has a lot of advantages and opportunity. "I'll learn some new skills and meet some new people. I have nothing to lose. And, Yay! I get to go back to work!"

Skills & Rocket Girls

Today, I decided not to participate in the Women's March in Seattle. My son had a soccer game in Tacoma in the early morning and a rocket club launch in Kirkland in the late morning. I decided to go to both the game and the rocket launch. My daughter attended the march, so I figured we had one member representing our family there.

I didn't go to the rocket launch to support my son. This fall, there was an uptick in the number of girls who joined my son's middle school rocket club. In years past, there were two or three girls and twenty boys. This year, about one-third of the team is girls. Were they inspired to take on new challenges because a woman was running for president? Who knows, but I think there might be a correlation.

After watching Hidden Figures two weeks ago, I decided to go to the launch and cheer on the young women rocketeers. These girls weren't going to the march. They were working on their science extra-curricular activity and testing their rocket for the Team America Rocketry Competition (TARC). Go them!

This is important. We need to make sure our collective daughters have skills. Lots of skills. Skills that help them compete in male-dominated fields or whatever field they want. Skills that give them a voice. Skills that help them learn from failure, get back up and try again.

One girl was in my son's fourth-grade class. Last year, she was on the rocket team Inferno. Their rocket became notorious when it burst into flames in mid-air, thereby earning its name. This morning, the same girl's rocket earned 14 points. On its first launch. In rocketry, closer the score is to zero, the better. Most rockets on the first launch are so far off the target altitudes and flight lengths, it isn't worth counting the points. This girl was giddy, and rightfully so. The other kids--boys and girls--graciously congratulated her, sincerely happy for her success, especially after Inferno became an inferno last year.

I was googling TARC and I found the winner of the essay, "Why I do TARC" by Ava Badii, a senior at an all-girls school. I was tearing up as I read it. Here is a team of girls with skills.

While some of us were marching for protecting your rights, others were cheering you on as you learned some skills. Brava, Rocket Girls! Brava!

Hidden Figures & Hidden Happiness

Claire Adele and I went to see Hidden Figures this weekend. This is the movie about three African American women who worked at NASA in the 1960's. She wanted to see it. She wasn't sure if any of her friends wanted to see it as they are mostly interested in "chick-flicks," so she asked me to go with her. Jack was working and the Boy was off skiing with friends. He wants to see this movie but plans on going with a group of kids from his Rocket Club.

The movie was pretty good. I talked to a friend who saw it and thought it was inspirational. I saw it and was kind of pissed off. Not only did these women have to deal with the prejudices and biases of being a black in segregated Virginia, they also dealt with the prejudices and biases of being women. Argh.

Argh. Argh. Argh.

My friend Julia published an article on LinkedIn about how the working world is "designed by men for men." There are scenes of rooms full of white men all wearing white dress shirts. Of the two women in the room, one was a secretary and the other was beyond brilliant. What about plain old regular competent women? Where were they? While things better for women and people of color than they were in 1960, we still have a long way to go.

I digress. My movie was a success because it made me think and feel, even though my thoughts and feelings were not happy or cheerful. Claire Adele liked it, too.

I was talking to a friend who saw it this weekend with a group of her friends. Another friend posted on FB that she was going with a group of work colleagues to see the movie. After I saw those comments, I was kind of bummed that I didn't go with a group of women friends. Most of my friends are busy on the weekends with their families, so I often don't reach out.

Then I thought about it. Eighteen years ago today, I would have given anything for my Sunday afternoon, taking my teenage daughter to a movie. Eighteen years ago, I was grieving the loss of my daughter, Ada, a full-term stillbirth. I was terrified that I might not ever become a mother. As much as I lament my career situation, I would never have traded it for my kids. The women who went with their friends have sons. I am lucky to have both a son and a daughter.

Sometimes we don't recognize our happiness, hiding in plain sight.

150% and Slack

My husband Jack is a physician with administrative responsibilities. He works long hours, including nights and weekends on top of his regular 9-to-5 responsibilities. He says he has two or three different jobs with one title, and that is true. He gives 150% of his effort and energy to his job.

This is a problem. I've always known it was a problem for our marriage and family, but this week the light bulb went off that this was not good for his department or good for working women with families.

In his field, they expect everyone to give 150%, and the schedule and workload is assigned as such. But what happens when one of those people can only give 75%? Usually, these people are women. Being a woman myself, I should take their side, right? Even though I am a stay-at-home-mom/recovering volunteer whose husband makes enough money that we can comfortably live on one income? (I need to eradicate the phrase "We don't need the money" from my self-talk.)

Anyhow, what happens if you have a job where you need to give 150% and your child develops a chronic illness that needs to be stabilized? What if you get divorced? What if your parents become ill and can't take care of themselves and you are the only child or responsible offspring? What if you nanny is hospitalized? What if--god forbid--these all happen at the same time? Who picks up the slack?

For a single mom, she takes care of her family and her co-workers pick up the slack. Her former partner might not be part of the picture any more, or might not consider family work a priority.

For some married working women, they take care of their family and their co-workers pick up the slack. Even for women doctors, their husband's job take priority.

"I can't work nights or weekends for three weeks because my husband is out of town" or "I can't give you my schedule until my husband gets his surgery schedule."

The conflict here isn't between husbands and wives, it is between the two people who are responsible for raising children, which is different. Before kids, I used to travel for work and never checked Jack's schedule before I agreed to go. Throw a child into the mix, and everything needs to be negotiated. Someone has to raise the kids, because kids can't raise themselves. Nannies and au pairs are helpful, to a degree. My daughter is sixteen and incredibility independent, but she didn't know how to pump gas until last night. Someone needed to figure out the skill gap and fill it. That was me.

Previously I wrote that the Mommy Wars take place between moms and dads instead of between women. I now think the collateral damage of that conflict extends to the workplace. The workplace suffers when husbands put their jobs before their wives', and then the damage comes back home. It is a whirlpool that keeps going around and around.

Men think their jobs are important, which is fine. Their jobs are important, but so are women's jobs and so are raising children.

Many workplaces have changed so that they bring more family balance into the picture, which is great but not always sufficient. I met one woman consultant at the Change Management conference last month whose firm had a program to encourage women to come back to work after they had a baby. Her child is now four and she is still working. No such programs existed when Claire Adele was born sixteen years ago. Those programs would have been helpful for me to a degree, but it wouldn't have changed my husband's job or the amount he had to work. When I was working, there was a big push for new moms to get paid leave. I thought it was awesome until someone said men should get it, too. The incrementalist that I am thought it was a bad idea because it might take away from women, but I was so wrong. Men need to take parental leave, too, so women don't have to do it alone. Giving men parental leave is an employer's way of saying, "You are a parent, too. Don't dump it all on your wife."

I remember when the Boy was born. He was born the Monday after Easter. I remember sitting in his room on the futon chair breastfeeding him when he was four days old. Claire Adele was two and a half, and was spinning around in circles in the middle of the room. Jack popped in to say goodbye and left for work. I nearly died. Two weeks later, he went to a conference in Italy. It was hell.

My solution: maybe jobs shouldn't require 150%. This might be blasphemous for me to say when I am looking for a job. I am sure some employer might google me and see this and think "She won't be committed." Maybe they are right, but maybe they need to rethink commitment. But the point isn't about commitment, it is about slack and who takes care of things at home or work when the shit hits the fan.

At home, it is women who often pick up the slack when things go bad. At work, it is typically men or women without kids. Again, this is like the whirlpool of reinforcement. The more women pick up at home, the more they pick up at home. The more men pick up at work, the more they pick up at work. The balance continues to get out of proportion. This is what needs to change, and one way to do that is to not to have the basic expectations to be 150%. This is fine when life is perfect and no one has a sick child or parent or no one gets divorced, but the model falls apart when something happens--and it does because it is life--there isn't excess capacity. We need to add slack into our systems and into our lives.

Margaret Sanger and Saving the World

This weekend I finished reading Terrible Virtue, a novelization of the life of Margaret Sanger, by Ellen Feldman. I read a review of this book in Elle, and got it from the library. I returned the book as soon as I finished it so the next person on the list could read it. I was a little hesitant to read about Sanger because I had read that she was into eugenics. Someone had written that she was a wealthy woman who was into birth control for the impoverished masses, which at best sounds slimy and at worst makes her kind of a Nazi.

Thankfully, that was not Sanger's motivation.

Do you have or were you born into a family with ten or more children that were conceived not by choice? If not, you can thank Margaret Sanger and the countless early supporters of birth control. I knew birth control was an important part of American life, but I didn't realize how much so until I read what life was like before it was more readily available.

Sanger grew up in an impoverished family where her father was a drunken dreamer. Her mother had thirteen children and was physically compromised from having so many kids. This book suggests that Sanger's mother's death was linked to her exhaustion from having so many children.

Before World War I, she was a socialist, nurse and suffragette. She was asked to speak to a women's group about the vote for women, and instead she spoke about women's health. Why did wealthy white women have access to birth control when working class women and immigrants did not? The more kids they had, the deeper they and their children fell into poverty. These women also suffered terrible losses--miscarriages, stillbirths, infant death--because they lacked access to healthcare. Those multiple pregnancies took a toll on the women's bodies. Often the women would become pregnant again soon after they gave birth. There bodies didn't have a chance to recover.

Sanger's goal was not to reduce the huddled masses, but to give women a little bit of control over their destiny. She wasn't forcing birth control on these women--she was just educating people and increasing its accessibility so they could have options. Why should only wealthy woman have access to controlling their fate?

Saving the world, though, can be an ugly business, and Feldman does a nice job of exposing that. Sanger might not have been into eugenics, but she wasn't she a paragon of kindness, either. She was dismissive of her children, and could be cruel to the men who loved her.

Why do so many people--myself included--have a fantasy about saving the world? Why do we dream of accomplishing big things and want to have big ideas that will help mankind? To quote John Lennon's "Imagine," I am not the only one. Many people want to save the world, whether they are politicians, young people leaving college or thirteen year old boys. I was talking to a friend at lunch recently and I thought maybe I should just get a regular job at a company, nothing where I was trying to right some major social failing.

"That is what a lot of people think," she said. "And then they wake up realize they have been working for an insurance company for twenty years." She has a point.

We often look up to these people as heroes, but saving the world isn't what is cracked up to be. I was there for almost ten years in my volunteer work. Saving the world can be tedious, hard work. It is having to fight against people who don't believe in a cause. They step on people who do agree with them, but don't agree on every point or perspective. It might involve compromises or working with people who are disagreeable. Some people who save the world are disagreeable themselves, putting their cause above civility. Sometimes they have to because civility doesn't work. They are often not recognized as such until years of them slogging away and after their changes have been in place. Many people slog away and are never recognized.

Saving the world also takes time and persistence. It is often met with defeat and after defeat, but these people keep going in spite of that. They likely have very serious stubborn streak. They might assume that their cause gives them the right to be an ass to everyone, or be blind to the hurt they are inflicting on those they love. They might be angry or drop old friends as new and more important people take their place. Loved ones might not understand why they are called to this kind of work.

I have a good friend, Sereena, who has been an education advocate for years. Her main focus has been the opportunity gap and trying to improve outcomes for kids of color. Like Sanger, Sereena is both a dreamer and a doer.* Unlike Sanger, my friend is kind and civil. She is not hostile or abrasive like other advocates I know. Recently, she posted an article on Facebook about how the opportunity gap is still unacceptably large in Seattle.

"Why?" she posted. "After all of my work and the work of others, we are still in the same place." She was pissed.

I have been haunted by this for a few weeks. My heart breaks for her. Her head and her heart are in the right place. This woman is not a complainer or a whiner. Her volunteer and professional activities range from giving input on policy on state committees to discuss plans for the opportunity gap and grassroots work where she organized meetings with Somali mothers. She has a firm grasp on both the big picture and what it looks like for people on a day-to-day basis.

What happens when you try to fix something in society that you believe needs to be fixed, and you feel like you aren't making progress? How can some people make a difference and others who try, struggle?

My son wants to do something Big and Important with his life. He is thirteen, and wants to make a contribution now. (He could start by packing his own lunch and doing his homework without being nagged, but I digress.) Saving the world is hard, and yet there are many small things we can do to make our corner of out world a better place.

Sanger made a major contribution that makes the history books, but we need people like Sereena who work just as hard for their cause. When I think of my Sereena, I think of how worse things might have been without her. And what if she keeps going? At best, my great-grandchildren will read about her. At the very least, she has encouraged a group of kids in her corner of her world to value their education and has fought to get them to resources and support.

* I read this "dreamer and doer" line in an advertisement in the New Yorker for a college in NYC. I love the concept.