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Where I was in my life
Set the scene. What was your life like then?
I was preparing to move to another country with my family and transfer to the company's office there. Before the move, I'd been assured that relocating would not affect my chances of a promotion or a raise. That assurance mattered. The city we were moving to was twice as expensive as the one we were leaving. With three children to provide for, I needed to know that moving wouldn't put my career on hold. I'd been working toward a promotion for months. I had more than ten years of experience, degrees, happy clients, and campaigns that were crushing their targets. I believed my work gave me a strong case, and I expected to be assessed fairly. I was approaching forty: a wife, a mother of three, and a working professional. I managed a home, a career, bath time, homework, scraped knees, fights, birthdays, activities, and everything that wasn't officially lost until Mom had looked for it. I was exhausted. But my work helped provide for my children. The money I earned had a purpose before it even reached my account. And I didn't like being micromanaged. Maybe it had something to do with being the middle child. I don't know. But after ten years, I wanted to be trusted to do the job I'd been hired to do. Instead, I felt watched. Copying my director on email after email. Explaining decisions I was capable of making. Sitting through several meetings a week, including meetings about the last meeting and meetings to prepare for the next one. When we ran out of things to discuss, somehow there was always a colleague who wasn't in the room to talk about. That was where I pulled back. I'd heard people speak badly about colleagues, then watched them smile at those same people a few minutes later. I didn't want my personal life becoming material for another conversation. And I didn't want to join in with theirs. Some people called me transactional. I talked about the work, asked what I needed to ask, and got on with my day. What they didn't know was that I'd heard enough to be careful. Outside work, there was already so much of me being given away. I was a wife, mother, sister, friend, and confidante. I listened to fifteen-minute voice messages and answered every point. Someone always needed something. My lunch break was the hour when I could be alone, in peace. Sometimes I just needed nobody to need me. I thought I could be respectful, deliver results, and keep that space for myself. I thought my progression would depend on the quality of my work.
