Just yesterday, I was completing a survey. It asked me for my title or how I would like myself to be described, e.g. writer, editor, chef, corporate titan, whatever. I could answer it however I wanted but I needed to actually type something, no drop-down choice of “Other” was possible. I am rarely without words, but that one always stumps me. I have been a dabbler and pretender, a try-it-on-for-sizer, an imposter without too much syndrome for my whole adult life. My professional life took me from software marketing to technical writing to project management to improbable high school teacher in big leaps of faith and circumstance. Those jobs gave me titles to which I could attach my identity. But for the last ten years, since I stopped working for money, when I am asked to put a label on myself, I am at a complete loss.
A few years ago, during a stint as a hardcore corporate wife (it’s a thing still), I frequently sat at round luncheon tables as one of “the wives”. Bra-burning and Gloria Steinem be damned, that is what the administrative staff called us. It was reductive, dismissive, kind of sexist, and also my reality in those years. We were women without careers and invitations were doled out to us by the admins according to our spouse’s rank and/or popularity. I was one of the wives who could be counted on to fill a seat and write a check while making polite small talk with strangers, a ready for prime-time player. I love meeting new people and learning about them so I enjoyed these events. At one of the luncheons, another woman at the table asked everyone who they were, and by that she meant “What is your job title and how can I work with you to bring more business to my law firm?” I get it, these are networking events with a side salad of philanthropy. When she got to me, I simply said that my spouse works for Company ABC, a sponsor of the event. I expected a head nod, a brief follow-up question just to be polite like, “Do you have children?” and then she would move on to another prospect. Her response to me, however, nearly knocked me out of my stackable, stiff-backed grey ballroom chair.
She said, “Oh, so you’re a cheerleader for Company ABC!” and then immediately moved on to the target sitting next to me who would hopefully be more profitable for her. My heart sank while my ire rose. I was both devastated and furious. Sure, I had gotten used to being one of “the wives”, but now was I just a cheerleader for a company that I don’t even work for?
Putting aside all issues of feminism and sisterhood because it was another woman who dismissed me as a cheerleader, this was a real punch in the gut. What am I? It’s not exactly an existential crisis because I was not wondering “Who am I?” but rather what is my label now that I don’t work for money? What is my worth if it is no longer measured in dollars? It sure makes your hand hesitate when you need to fill out another Avery label stick-on name tag. I could only write my name and would leave the second line blank.
This is the moment when my family and friends rush in and tell me that I do important work as a volunteer, that I am a mother (the kids are 27 and 21 so that doesn’t hold so much water anymore), that I “keep the home fires burning”. These are all true and important, but they aren’t a title in a world that needs you to have one so you can be appropriately valued, categorized, and put in a mental Rolodex. Housewife sounds weird in 2024, though it is probably most accurate. I’m happily a wife and find satisfaction in managing our house, but I feel like I am betraying the cause of feminism by using such an archaic word. I enjoy writing, but I am not a writer with a capital W. I don’t feed my family by my words nor do I suffer in a Parisian garret for my art, though that does sound romantic as heck. I can’t even brush off the question with “retired” because I am not quite old enough nor did I work enough years to warrant a retirement.
How did I answer the question on yesterday’s survey? Since I know the woman who is administering the survey, I replied that I don’t know WTF I am, knowing that she would chuckle. There are, however a few things that I do know for sure: I have not led a linear life and cannot be described by a single title; I and other women like me are frequently overlooked and often underestimated; and while I respect the work that goes into being an actual cheerleader, I am not a metaphorical one and I am not on the sidelines of anything. After that long ago luncheon, I told another woman that I was called a corporate wife cheerleader and I didn’t really know what to do with that. She looked distressed and said, “Kathy, you are so much more!” Maybe that’s the answer. The next time I’m asked for my title, I might write “So much more” and let ‘em choke on those pom-poms.
You are a writer! Whether or not you’re getting paid. There are no one word answers to this question but I love that you’re locked and loaded for the next time you’re asked that question! 💝
Yes, so much more it is!! You have a lot to offer, knowledge, love, fun, friendship, king of the castle.....I could go on. Also, who wants to know, it's personal, answer to your mood of the day! ;-)