He Still Brings Home the Bacon, I Still Order the Takeout

A brief memoir by the one who doesn’t “work”

I still remember how it felt all those years ago. I had recently gotten married and moved into an apartment with my husband in his hometown.

He was about to start working full time for the company he had interned with, or rather“co-oped” with, as they called it in those days, while I was busy scouring the local newspaper help-wanted ads and going through an area business directory I had ordered from the local chamber of commerce. (Yes, this was back in the days when one utilized want-ads rather than job boards).

Our educational backgrounds

It’s not like I hadn’t had a job when the time came that we were ready to tie the knot. I had worked as an Industrial Engineer in central North Carolina for a year while he finished up his Mechanical Engineering degree in an adjacent state, he being a full year younger than I was. But, as our upcoming nuptials had loomed closer, so also had the question of “where would we choose to live once we were married”?

Two careers, separated by distance

Logic being in no short supply among engineering types, one might imagine how our discussion regarding our future life’s plans went — exactly as expected, given the thought processes of two young engineers in love. We weighed every pro and con.

The stable job

His job offer was at a huge manufacturing facility in the very heart of the town he had grown up in. This place had made the town. It was the location of the corporate headquarters of what had become a multinational organization. It was the lifeblood of the place. His father had worked there before him, building a career and supporting a family through a pact made between company and employee. Each one had loyally served the other. Neither would falter in their commitment.

The training program “with relocations required” job

My job had also been with a large, well-known corporation. I had been recruited there through the magical portal of the Industrial Engineering department of my university (and my husband’s university as well). But, by comparison, my job seemed somewhat less stable than my husband’s. His job offer (where he already technically worked as a co-op, as he is always sure to remind me) was ripe with promises of multiple work experiences, on-site training, and upward mobility all within one physical location. The would-be train of my continued career, however, was headed down a much more decentralized track and set of expectations.

My job was with a major American textile manufacturer (at the time), with many mills scattered throughout the southeast. My five-year plan there would have consisted of me doing one to two-year stints learning various aspects of the business at various mill locations until I finally settled into working in management at one of these locations. Ok, to be honest here, maybe it would have been more like a ten-year plan living in that manner, who knows. In any case, it was not to be.

The compromise

My story is not one of suspense. There are no red herrings in my narrative. My fate is not unique. I have given away the ending from the very beginning. In our youth, my husband and I came to an agreement that I would give up my job and move to his hometown where we would begin our new life together. The solid rocks on which our shared future would be built would consist of his job and his familiar stomping grounds.

The missing piece

So, I left my job, got married, and moved 250 miles away to the town that would become my new home.

Soon after we were married, I can remember riding in the car with my husband and having a conversation regarding my concerns on finding a job in line with my education and background in his (now our) hometown. After all, it’s common knowledge that America is not exactly a homogeneous land, with equal opportunity for all in every region. Even in the America of the early 1990s, in my youthful ignorance, I could still see that. But, opportunities also require flexibility, as does life.

Even though we had decided where we would live, there was still one unanswered question. What would become of me and my career when I agreed to follow my husband’s job? That was the missing piece of the puzzle in my young life’s plan.

“Life is an enigma. We have to approach it not scientifically but poetically.” ― Ronald Frame, Havisham

The “Aha” moment, well sort of…

Anyway, so back to that car ride. On that particular day, I was undoubtedly going on and on, as I tend to do, about my concerns. I probably said something to the effect of, “What am I going to do if I can’t find a job in the area?” with some air of uncertainty about the future, and a worried look on my face, a habit which by now has undoubtedly led to untold lines resting across my forehead (nothing perhaps, a little Botox couldn’t take care of if I ever muster the courage).

However, it is not what I said to my young husband that has stuck with me all these years, but rather his reply. (You know how we women never forget anything, right?) He looked over at me on that day (or else he didn’t…he was driving after all, and who can remember all the details) and said the words, “Well, you know, you don’t HAVE to work!”

What!?!…

Have you ever had those moments in life when time seemed to stand still? Those points in time where life as you previously knew it falls away like tempered glass shattering into one million pieces? Of course, you have! We all have! Well, I count this one particular time and conversation as one of those instances, because it marked a juncture in how I felt that my husband saw me and indeed in how I saw myself.

You see, I had never before even considered that I would not work. Not for a minute. Wasn’t even on the radar. Until that moment.

What about my education?

I mean, how could my husband, basically my favorite person on earth, sit there with a straight face and say that I did not have to work? I mean, why the heck had I worked so hard in college, then? It was a shocking statement to mull over at the tender, yet still ambitious age of twenty-four.

Just look at all I had pushed through! I had completed a rather grueling course of study in engineering, gotten my degree, secured a year’s worth of experience in the “real world” and was now ready to take on the world. I was raring to assume the role of the professional I had studied so diligently to become.

Changing perspectives

As a newly married young woman, I realized I was also something else — a woman of privilege — not that I thought of those specific words, exactly. It’s just that I now had options. The world of work would not necessarily define me. Or would it?

Back to work

Alright, so I got over it. My worry about what I would do with myself, that is. I found a job. Remember those want ads? Turns out there was a large distribution center advertising for an Industrial Engineer right there near where we lived. Now, it was OUR hometown. My fears were quelled.

A good decision

And as for my first job, the one I had opted out of before getting married? Despite its having been a well-established company, a few short years after turning in my resignation, the place straight up went out of business! And not just the one location I had worked at either, but the whole kit and caboodle! Thanks to a little thing called the North American Free Trade Agreement, my former company was bought out by another, with the majority of the manufacturing being moved down to Mexico.

Our joint decision was vindicated. We had clearly made the right choice back then. But, of course, we had made the right decision! We were, after all, engineers (tongue in cheek).

Along comes baby

I remember walking the catwalk at my distribution facility job. I was wearing a pair of company-approved safety shoes while peering down from a bird’s eye view of conveyor belts. Brown boxes were carried along like toy rubber ducks caught in a current, heading out from their places of packing, towards the outbound area. From there, they would ship to locations across the country.

Also in my field of view were an assortment of material-handling vehicles whizzing by. Below were counterbalance forklifts, walkie stackers, and pallet jacks, each manned by a worker on a mission of moving the required material to its next destination.

Beep, beep!

Also, I remember the pulling feeling in my abdomen. I was about seven months pregnant at the time, and the feeling was not a good one. Not, that anything bad was happening per se. It was more of a realization that I didn’t want to be up there, and that my pelvic muscles were being pulled, with all of the climbing up and down the stairs, in a way that I just wasn’t comfortable with.

I gripped the handrail tightly with one hand while cradling my swollen belly with the other. I looked down at my feet and shuffled along the metal grating, feeling somewhat like a bumblebee trying to navigate its honeycomb, that is, if its wings had been clipped. I carefully walked down the open stairs to reach a more comfortable level, with the feel of solid concrete now below my feet.

I had been working temporarily as a floor supervisor during the peak season (as was expected yearly of all engineers and management types at this particular company). I wasn’t the only floor supervisor at the time who was also an expectant mother, so I didn’t expect any special accommodations for my “condition”.

Everything with the baby and my pregnancy would turn out fine (other than a brief doctor-ordered period of bed rest a bit later), but still, I went to my supervisor the very next day and handed in my resignation.

It turned out that the floor manager of the area I was working in would hand my resignation letter back to me, not wanting to lose his colleague, the Industrial Engineering manager’s only female engineer, in such a manner.

I was moved to a desk job back in the engineering department, where I would work for another month, until being ordered home by my doctor (for a couple weeks of bed rest).

Another decision

My son was born, healthy and strong. They say that having a baby changes everything. My experience was no different. He quickly became my world.

What would my work consist of from this point forward? The decision was mine to make.

Work, defined

So, what is work exactly? Let me attempt to paraphrase what the good folks at Merriam-Webster have to say on the subject.

In a nut shell…

• I could work for a sustained salary (think long-term career)
• I could work to get things done that need to be done (think homemaker/handywoman)
• I could work because I can’t stop myself (workaholic)
• I could work doing whatever (as long as it pays) because someone has to pay those pesky bills.

Boom! You’re welcome, Mr. Webster. I give you work, simplified!

But, having been an engineer (spoiler alert…I’m not doing that these days), I once spent a considerable amount of time solving math and physics problems.

As is commonly known, engineers are notorious for trying to explain obviously unexplainable things in the form of an equation. That being said, I will diverge for a moment to give it the old college try.

Work, the physics definition

Work, in physics, is based on both the amount of force applied to an object and the distance that object is moved by said force. The unit of measure for work is the joule, which is the amount of energy transferred when work is performed.

But, could this scientific definition apply where I am concerned?

If you didn’t know the details of my story (which, of course, you do … or rather, you are in the process of gathering information), one might wonder how it came to be that I, a female engineer, would end up moving, both physically and mentally, away from the prospects of a career in my once-chosen field?

So, as we just learned, movement requires the exertion of a force. What forces were exerted which moved me?

In my case, and possibly in the case of many women engineers, the first driving force was a powerful one. My initial physical move occurred in order to reach a compromise with my husband at the beginning of our life together. Everyone knows about the power of love, right?

That initial force, however, did not completely veer me off course from my early career goals. I had actually found another job in my field fairly quickly.

One might hypothesize, then, that as a woman engineer the system may have been “working” against me all along (sorry for the pun). I entered into an educational pipeline, came out with my degree, and perhaps before I knew it, unforeseen, if not invisible, forces were steering me off track.

Women make up only about 13 percent of the engineering workforce in the U.S. and leave the engineering profession at a higher rate than men. Some studies have pointed to marginalization of women in group settings with their male peers, as early as starting with college internships. Other reasons attributed are lesser quality work assignments being tasked to women, often leaving them “out of the loop” when it comes time for projects deemed more “masculine” in nature.

Some stressors exist for women engineers in the workplace which are more subtle in nature, such as women perceiving that they have received less recognition on projects than their male peers.

I leave these issues, along with others, to greater minds than mine to ponder. My point here is that it’s a real thing — this “women leaving the engineering field” phenomenon.

He’s got my back

Getting back to my story, the decision as to whether or not to go back to work after giving birth to our child was mine to make (forgive my repetition here, but it’s kind of one of my big points).

Why was I able to make this decision? Because my husband let me, pure and simple.

Remember my ire at my young husband’s mere suggestion that things might be ok, even if I didn’t find a job? (Well, perhaps I did have a point, given the timing of his comment, but come on, let’s give the guy a break!) As they say, things change, and an idea that was once despised now became cherished.

My husband’s willingness to carry our little family financially was an offer I could not refuse. Now, he in no way pushed me to leave this job, which was one that I had secured in my chosen field of study. Rather, he allowed me to follow the newly formed desire of my heart, which was to stay home and care for first our son, and later, our daughter as well.

This was the work, for me, that would be my labor of love.

Division of labor

Yes, ours has turned out to be a traditional marriage, in the old-school sense. Our division of labor has been just that — divided. While I have been lucky enough to have had a handful of good temporary and part-time jobs since becoming a mother, stay-at-home-mom is the title I most readily identify with.

My husband has provided a good life for us; we have never wanted for anything we truly need. And yet, it is undeniable that my contribution to this partnership, to our family, has been just as important as my husband’s.

But, now what?

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’ ’Cause I’ve built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I’m getting older too

— Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Landslide, by Fleetwood Mac, is such an awesome song. It seems like anytime I hear someone mentioning this song (which is a lot more often than you’d expect considering that it was recorded in 1975), the person speaking always seems to discuss it with such emotional intensity that their connection to the song’s lyrics is obvious.

I don’t know about anybody else, but for me, the lines that always get me choked up are when Stevie Nicks sings “even children get older, and I’m getting older too.” Whoa….

I mean, come on! It’s just a great set of lyrics! The reason it’s so great, I think, is that it is just so relatable for so many women. We women put so much into our families, and when children grow up, it can be a real kick in the pants.

For women especially perhaps, we do tend to build up our lives around our families. And when life’s changes start to happen, as they inevitably do, it can feel as if a huge weight is coming down on you for sure.

Yes, this midlife malaise, a common experience (from what I hear) is akin to a giant snowball that bowls you over, taking one along for the ride — an unwanted, yet unavoidable avalanche caused by natural and powerful (yet unforeseen) forces beyond your control.

And, for those without any kind of established career outside of the home, the loss of motherhood can also bring with it the loss of identity.

It’s like having finally built up tenure in a job field, and all of a sudden, that field no longer exists.

It can be quite the landslide indeed!

“What do you do, anyway?”

One of the questions I despise hearing these days is, “so, what do you do?” The truth? The answer to this question is rather complicated.

What do I do? I piddle. I worry. I look at my phone. I stare out the window. My mind lingers on things that could have been, and berates me for not having planned better for this season of life.

I have a close friend, a home-schooling mom, who recently gave up a time consuming, mostly volunteer position at her son’s soccer organization. (She was paid a pittance from the league’s meager yearly budget. While she was very proud of the money she earned, it didn’t go too far.)

When she told her cousin that she had decided to give up the position, my friend said that her relative had seemed somewhat confused, or perhaps even shocked, that my friend would now have so much unaccounted for time on her hands.

I have a family member, whom I recently visited, that was asking me what I’m doing with myself, now that my youngest is in college. While I was busy fumbling my words, trying to formulate some type of coherent answer, I detected a hint of concern, or perhaps it was pity, washing across my relative’s face.

I diverted attention from her query by answering that I was now a self-proclaimed, desperate housewife! Her face quickly transformed from a look of dismay to an air of delight, my amateur comedy having proven successful in cutting through the fog of tension previously rising up between us.

Calling oneself a “desperate housewife,” is a solid, socially acceptable retort. Trying to explain to people how your days now lack direction is not. “I’ll have to remember that one!” I remember thinking to myself.

Clearly, having to explain “what I’m up to these days” has become a bit of a struggle. Socializing, for me, has morphed into a seemingly endless stream of uncomfortable, unanswerable questions.

Work is self-worth

The thing is — when you get right down to it — I guess I’m embarrassed by what I now do, or rather, what I don’t do.

I loved being a stay-at-home mom. When my children were at home, I never really struggled with feelings of low self-worth, not the way I have lately. Why would I? There was always important work to be done.

Now that the kids are out of high school, things are a bit different. Without gainful employment outside the home, any work I now do is undefined. I have no title to grasp. There is no hierarchical order in place to explain the likes of me.

What is retirement, exactly?

Another friend of mine told me about a doctor’s visit she had gone to, a pre-admission appointment before having a minor surgery. During the paperwork portion of said appointment, the person across the desk from her asked a simple question — “so, are you retired?”

Again, what made this question particularly notable is the fact that my friend, like me, had been a stay-at-home mom. Her two girls were now grown and her husband actually had recently retired from his longtime career as an engineer.

My friend, being the easy going type, totally cracked up when telling me this story. She loved the thought that she herself was “retired.”

On one hand, the idea was completely hilarious to her, but on the other hand, she fully identified with the term “retired.” Her husband, whom she had spent all those years raising a family with, was now retired, so wasn’t she also?

“I never thought about it that way before,” she told me excitedly, “but I guess I am retired!”

Of course! Yes, I agreed with her that our careers had been just as crucial as our husbands’. It made total sense that our jobs as stay-at-home moms should garner recognition in terms equal to the titles our husbands would earn for the completion of theirs!

Two worlds collide

My husband and I share the same space, and in many ways the same life together. However, in other ways, our lives are very different.

My husband takes work calls at all hours while I piddle and look for projects to get into around the house. He has a large professional network of colleagues and friends he has built over decades of work in one company. My world is much more limited.

Quit your crying!

I know, I know — if you have stuck with my story for this long, I’m sure you are wondering the obvious — if I am bringing up all these points, then why, in heaven’s name, don’t I just go back to work?

Good question. And, hey, I will probably do that still! But, it’s not quite that simple. Remember when I talked about the forces affecting women engineers? Well here are two more, which I saved for the very end:

• Leaving engineering and later trying to get back into the field can prove difficult, at best.
• Having the word “engineer” written at the top of your resume can make things a bit tricky when applying for others jobs (whether engineering or not), even if your training was many years ago.

The first reason is from both my personal experience and proven research, while the second reason is my opinion alone.

Over the years, I have been hired for jobs other than engineering jobs. These turned out to mostly be short term jobs, and I enjoyed each and every one! It turned out, most of these were cut short due to company budget constraints. (I must admit, this actually kind of worked out in my life’s journey of stay at home motherhood).

But, I have noticed that whenever it comes time for me to look for another job, there seems to be at least a small component of unseen forces acting “against me.”

Ever hear of the terms “overqualified” or “under-qualified”? A female engineer with a spotty work history can easily fall into not one, but BOTH of these categories.

This may seem ridiculous, ego-driven, or even a tad paranoid of me to say this. But, perhaps the word “engineer” conjures images of someone “too big for their britches,” as my grandma used to say. Not every employer, it seems, is so eager to hire an “ex-engineer.”

Yes, it seems that, for some reason, the word “engineer” can be a loaded one for many people. I’m a sensitive person, and I just happen to notice these things. I now pass this information on to you, grasshopper. Do with it what you will!

Moving forward

When you come right down to it, regardless of employment status, aren’t we all working at something most of the time? Even if I am just sitting home perusing online job boards — that is work as well.

(Oh yeah — and sitting around worrying about what is in store next in life — that is work too!)

Perhaps, this is why I chose to get into writing — so that I could have something to show for all of that time spent overthinking on things.

For now, I guess I’ll just text my hubby and ask him to pick up that pizza I ordered on his way home from work!