Επιλέγοντας μεταξύ οικογένειας και καριέρας

Mummy, I don’t recognise you any more,» my daughter said, as we walked home from afterschool childcare one Friday evening. It was a simple statement of fact by a seven-year-old who was seeing her mother less and less. We giggled, agreed that was silly and tried to clasp our hands together but failed because of my stupid suitcase. I thought grimly of the pride I had felt when I bought it – the businesswoman required to travel for work. Now, how I hated the sound of those wheels following me everywhere.

I had arrived full of pride at making it to pick up Bella from childcare for the first time in months. I got there a couple of minutes before it closed, daydreaming of applause at my achievement. Instead, I had to avoid the staff’s pitying looks as I took in the fact that the room was empty and Bella was the last child there. «Oh, I haven’t seen you for a long time,» said the manager. «It’s usually Daddy these days, isn’t it?»

Once home with my husband, Dave – Bella tucked up in bed – I started to cry. It was my new Friday night routine, just worse this time. I wanted us to be the perfect family, the perfect parents and, in particular, I wanted to be the perfect mother. As weekends were the only time we had together, I really put the pressure on during those two days. So I destroyed my second daydream of the day – a romantic meal together with wine and a film. Dave and I were both exhausted from our jobs, but it didn’t stop me.

«We need to spend more time as a family, rather than you playing rugby all Saturday,» I began. «Bella needs to have fun with both her parents, so when are we going to squeeze in going to the park? And I need ‘me time’ to have a run or read a paper.»

The whining was replaced by my long list of all our failings and how we needed to fix them that same weekend. Nothing we did seemed good enough. My husband no longer seemed good enough. I didn’t seem good enough as a mother, and I knew I was being a rubbish wife.

As usual, Dave tried to reason, but eventually gave up, slammed the door, and went off to smoke three cigarettes, one after the other. I joined him, glass of wine in hand, and we hugged. Saturday turned out to be relaxing and calm, probably because we didn’t do anything I had planned. On Sunday, we went for lunch at a close friend’s house but I monopolised the conversation. My friend and I often take turns losing it, crying and babbling. That Sunday, it was my turn – but I was taking my turn far too often these days. At home, I repacked my barely touched suitcase and Dave and I fell into bed as soon as Bella’s lights were out.

The following morning, I felt different as we rushed out of the house at 6am, crossing paths with Bella’s nanny, Anna, who looked after her between 6am and 8am and took her to a preschool breakfast club. (Bella was being looked after by three sets of people before and after school to enable us to work.) That day, I didn’t just feel tiredness or shame over my behaviour on Friday night, I felt anger. Anger at being made to fail at the one thing I wanted to do perfectly. I ran back into the house. Anna told me off for waking up Bella, but I needed to see her look at me and sink into the hug and kiss before another week away.

I had always wanted children. I remember making people laugh when I was Bella’s age, saying that I would have six children and six dogs and live in a big farm with a barn for each. I’d had plenty of time to dream up the kind of mother I would become. I wanted to be there for my child, just like my own mother, who had always been there when we came home from school. But Dave and I also wanted to do it our way. I modelled my own maternal aspirations around the stereotypical American sitcom mum. I would disregard British dry humour and stiff upper-lip, and, instead, horrify my family with hugs, kisses and constant «I love yous». We would have a bond that meant my daughter would talk to me if she were being bullied and, later, would ask me about contraception and drugs. But how could that bond be built if I wasn’t there?

I sat on the 6.58am train, ready to rebel. I was not going to prepare for my presentations, nor the week ahead. I was going to write about how I believed it was impossible to be a good mother and a career woman at the same time. My mother was an active feminist. I had studied her copy of The Female Eunuch at university. But what for? I tapped away on my phone at breakneck speed. I didn’t even want to pause to pull out my laptop. The world had made me believe that, because I had a few brain cells, I could be Kate Adie and also have six children. Hard work and ambition had enabled me to skip through my early adult life. In my 20s, I schmoozed in the dotcom boom in San Francisco, served caviar and champagne care of the venture capitalists. I held a series of great jobs in great companies and also took a break to be a lifeguard and scuba-dive in Australia. Nothing could stop me. That is, until I got married and had a child.

I had finally achieved what I had always wanted – a family. And the first couple of years after Bella’s birth in Sydney were easier. I stayed at home for the first year and we lived frugally on rice and lentils. Then I worked part-time. In Australia, everyone seemed to agree that family came first, and it was fine to start at 7am and leave at 3pm. But back in London, I found it harder and harder to be the mother I wanted to be. The jigsaw puzzle I had built of my life was falling apart. My beliefs of what it was to be a good mother were being smashed, although I wasn’t sure if it was my beliefs that were at fault or my own ability.

I peered at the other women on the train. Their makeup and hair was perfect, they were on conference calls and it wasn’t even 8am. I felt as if society were telling me I had to try to be the perfect worker Monday to Friday, the perfect mother every weekend, and toned, healthy woman all year round. Oh, and, of course, wife, friend, sibling and daughter.

At work, over lunch, I watched my colleague eat his baked potato, bacon and chips, and worried about what Bella was having for lunch and, actually, for dinner. I realised I didn’t know what she was eating for any meal that week, nor did I have any idea how she was coping with her homework. It was at that point that I decided to resign.

Dave and I had made a conscious decision to have a child and we had always wanted to be the ones raising her. We talked about my decision. Financially, it was not a good move (Dave’s pay just covers our rent and bills), but he knew that, emotionally, it was important for our family.

I held off for a few weeks to coincide with my daughter’s last day of term, and then shocked my boss with the news. I stepped into the meeting room with a big smile. «What’s the news,» he asked. He had apparently nicknamed me «the uber-professional» and was expecting me to celebrate a win at work. I said, beaming: «I’m handing in my resignation.»

That final Friday, when I handed over my laptop and phone, and met Bella at school was one of the happiest days in my life. No cobbling childcare together during the holidays. We had seven weeks together, three of them camping with her daddy, our best family holiday in a long time.

Funnily enough, I realise now that my mother wasn’t the perfect feminist mother either. Although a successful historian, she also gave up her career to have children and look after them. And that meant stepping back at a point when she was far more successful than my father. While we have never discussed this, I think that she understands my choice – however irresponsible and unsustainable it is financially.

Now, all the angst and negativity have vanished. I feel happy, stable and strong because I took control of the problem in my life. But it also makes me uncomfortable writing all this because I am of the generation that takes equality for granted. So am I now in agreement with the sexist former colleague who always maintained that women belonged at home, and said «I told you so» when I resigned? No. What am I saying to all my female friends working outside the home? Am I saying they are bad mothers? No. I am saying that if I had stayed in my job and not changed anything, I think I would have been a bad mother.

I believe that women should have the choice, and I envy women who seem to be able to juggle it all – career, family and looking gorgeous at the same time. But I also believe that, just as with our body-image issues, we should stop pretending it is fine and dandy if it’s not, and stop trying to be superwomen at the expense of our families as well as our mental and physical health.

Now I know I will never be that perfect mother. And actually I don’t need to be. I’ve spent the past six months focusing on my family and I realise that my daughter is a very happy child, and was happy when I was working. But now she is happier, and so am I. All my crutches, such as cigarettes and wine, have gone, I can’t remember the last time I bought a takeaway coffee, and I haven’t bought a piece of clothing since I left my job.

I have a gentle part-time job while we put our family jigsaw puzzle back together. Our family is now the big piece in the middle and I am trying to slot my dream work around it. If I fail and the bank account gets too close to empty, I will humbly knock on doors, but at least I will have tried. But for now, Bella and my husband have me back.

Names have been changed

Πηγή: http://motherfirst.wordpress.com/

 

The happiest people pursue the most difficult problems

Ένα πολύ ωραίο άρθρο.

Lurking behind the question of jobs — whether there are enough of them, how hard we should work at them, and what kind the future will bring — is a major problem of job engagement. Too many people are tuned out, turned off, or ready to leave. But there’s one striking exception.

The happiest people I know are dedicated to dealing with the most difficult problems. Turning around inner city schools. Finding solutions to homelessness or unsafe drinking water. Supporting children with terminal illnesses. They face the seemingly worst of the world with a conviction that they can do something about it and serve others.

Ellen Goodman, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist (and long-time friend), has turned grief to social purpose. She was distraught over the treatment of her dying mother. After leaving her job as a syndicated columnist, she founded The Conversation Project, a campaign to get every family to face the difficult task of talking about death and end-of-life care.

Gilberto Dimenstein, another writer-turned-activist in Brazil, spreads happiness through social entrepreneurship. When famous Brazilian pianist Joao Carlos Martins lost the use of most of his fingers and almost gave into deepest despair, Dimenstein urged him to teach music to disadvantaged young people. A few years later, Martins, now a conductor, exudes happiness. He has nurtured musical talent throughout Brazil, brought his youth orchestras to play at Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center in New York, and has even regained some use of his fingers.

For many social entrepreneurs, happiness comes from the feeling they are making a difference.

I see that same spirit in business teams creating new initiatives that they believe in. Gillette’s Himalayan project team took on the challenge of changing the way men shave in India, where the common practice of barbers using rusty blades broken in two caused bloody infections. A team member who initially didn’t want to leave Boston for India found it his most inspiring assignment. Similarly, Procter & Gamble’s Pampers team in Nigeria find happiness facing the problem of infant mortality and devising solutions, such as mobile clinics that sent a physician and two nurses to areas lacking access to health care.

In research for my book Evolve!, I identified three primary sources of motivation in high-innovation companies: mastery, membership, and meaning. Another M, money, turned out to be a distant fourth. Money acted as a scorecard, but it did not get people up-and-at ’em for the daily work, nor did it help people go home every day with a feeling of fulfillment.

People can be inspired to meet stretch goals and tackle impossible challenges if they care about the outcome. I’ll never forget the story of how a new general manager of the Daimler Benz operations in South Africa raised productivity and quality at the end of the apartheid era by giving the workers something to do that they valued: make a car for Nelson Mandela, just released from prison. A plant plagued by lost days, sluggish workers, and high rates of defects produced the car in record time with close to zero defects. The pride in giving Mandela the Mercedes, plus the feeling of achievement, helped the workers maintain a new level of performance. People stuck in boring, rote jobs will spring into action for causes they care about.

Heart-wrenching emotion also helps cultivate a human connection. It is hard to feel alone, or to whine about small things, when faced with really big matters of deprivation, poverty, and life or death. Social bonds and a feeling of membership augment the meaning that comes from values-based work.

Of course, daunting challenges can be demoralizing at times. City Year corps members working with at-risk middle school students with failing grades from dysfunctional homes see improvement one day, only to have new problems arise the next. Progress isn’t linear; it might not be apparent until after many long days of hard work have accumulated. It may show up in small victories, like a D student suddenly raising his hand in class because he understands the math principle. (I see this from service on the City Year board. You can find dozens of these stories on Twitter under #makebetterhappen.)

It’s now common to say that purpose is at the heart of leadership, and people should find their purpose and passion. I’d like to go a step further and urge that everyone regardless of their work situation, have a sense of responsibility for at least one aspect of changing the world. It’s as though we all have two jobs: our immediate tasks and the chance to make a difference.

Leaders everywhere should remember the M’s of motivation: mastery, membership, and meaning. Tapping these non-monetary rewards (while paying fairly) are central to engagement and happiness. And they are also likely to produce innovative solutions to difficult problems.

http://blogs.hbr.org/kanter/2013/04/to-find-happiness-at-work-tap.html?goback=.gde_2366430_member_231494521

Ψυχική νόσος και Εργασία

 Εδώ και κάποιο διάστημα βρίσκομαι σε ένα κοινοτικό πρόγραμμα, που αφορά στην εργασιακή ένταξη ατόμων με ψυχική νόσο στην ελεύθερη αγορά εργασίας. Με άλλα λόγια, υποστηρίζουμε άτομα με ψυχοκοινωνικές δυσκολίες να βρουν μια θέση εργασίας στην ελεύθερη αγορά και, ει δυνατόν, να την κρατήσουν..

 Η πρώτη αντίδραση, που μπορεί να έχει κάποιος σε αυτό, είναι του τύπου: » Εδώ δεν μπορούμε να βρούμε δουλειά όσοι δεν αντιμετωπίζουμε τέτοιες δυσκολίες, τι θέλετε και ασχολείστε;». Πράγματι, η οικονομία και οι επιχειρήσεις αντιμετωπίζουν μεγάλα προβλήματα, και τα ίδια αντιμετωπίζουν και οι πολίτες μεμονωμένα στις οικογένειές τους. Ποιός, όμως, έχει περισσότερο δικαίωμα στην εργασία; Ο νέος ή ο μεσήλικας πρίν τη σύνταξη; Η γυναίκα ή ο άνδρας; Αυτός που δεν έχει να πληρώσει το ενοίκιο ή αυτός που  αντιμετωπίζει μια νόσο;

 Το δικαίωμα στην εργασία υφίσταται οριζόντια για όλους τους ανθρώπους και είναι λάθος να υιοθετούμε λογικές διαχωριστικές, που προσπαθεί να επιβάλλει η παρούσα κατάσταση. Τα οφέλη, που έχουμε δει μέχρι στιγμής, από την ένταξη των ατόμων με ψυχική νόσο στην εργασία είναι πολλά και επηρεάζουν όλους τους τομείς της ζωής των ατόμων. Μάλιστα είναι τέτοια και τόσα, που δεν μπορούν να συγκριθούν ακόμα και με χρόνιες φαρμακευτικές αγωγές και τις καλύτερες ψυχοθεραπευτικές μεθόδους.

 Το να μπορεί κάποιος να αισθάνεται ενεργό μέλος της κοινωνίας, να κερδίζει με εργασία αμοιβή, να αισθάνεται χρήσιμος ξανά, να έχει συγκεκριμένο πρόγραμμα στη ζωή του, να αναπτύσσει επαγγελματικές και κοινωνικές σχέσεις, να μαθαίνει καινούργιες δεξιότητες και αντικείμενα, να μην εξαρτάται εφ’όρου ζωής από τους γονείς και τον οικογενειακό κύκλο και εντέλει να δουλεύει και να αναπτύσσει το προσωπικό δυναμικό του, αποτελούν, νομίζω, μόνο μερικούς από τους λόγους, που θα πρέπει να μας κάνουν να ξανασκεφτούμε την προκατάληψη απέναντι σε άτομα, που ανήκουν σε ευάλωτες κοινωνικές ομάδες. Εξάλλου, το ζήτημα δεν είναι οι ελλείψεις και οι αδυναμίες μας, αλλά το τι μπορούμε να κάνουμε..

http://gpma.gr/article/gefires-apasxolisis

Κατερίνα.