Kept Woman

As of now, at the time of writing this, I am officially without an income. As mentioned in my bio, I have been an active member of the workforce since I was 13 years old and now I am officially unemployed, not unoccupied; as I write, my baby is crying for a feed and a soothe. She needs me. I am 38 and a stay at home mum.

My first job interview was unconventional. I used to go to a coffee shop, owned by two Greek brothers, before and after school, I was 13. I'd hang out with friends and we would buy a doughnut and a milkshake or something. The older of the brothers was married with a family. He was respectful. The younger brother was single, he was sleazy, sexist, but harmless. The interview went like this:

Sleazy guy: Hey you wanna wash my dishes?
Me: You gonna pay me?
Sleazy guy: Come Thursday night.
Me: Ok

I worked a four hour shift on the Thursday night, learning about how to clean the coffee and soft serve machines and clearing tables and of course, washing the dishes, by hand, they didn't let me use the dishwasher. The older brother cooked; burgers, chips, battered goods. The younger brother served at the counter and made coffees. I helped out where I could. They were impressed and asked me to come back for four hours during the day on Saturday. For the two shifts I got $50. I thought I was rich! Back then, a 13 year old making $50 a week, cash in hand, no tax and getting some work experience as well as keeping myself occupied and learning some great skills. My parents encouraged me to earn an income, but they wanted me to spend half of the money I earned as I pleased, as long as I saved the other half. That never happened. I saved up if I wanted something, like my first pair of Doc Marten boots, but I spent the lot. I loved the independence.

That job led to others and I haven't been unemployed for very long since. I worked in food service some more, I got some casual shifts at a factory with my dad and this supported me throughout university. I got my dream job in a Women and Children's Refuge upon graduating from an Arts Degree at Sydney Uni. I got great marks after high school and had my choice of courses and universities, but I chose the biggest and oldest one in Australia, mainly because great bands played there and they had awesome old buildings and gargoyles and I could hang out in Newtown if I wanted to; and I did Arts because at 17 I had no idea what vocation I wanted to pursue. I did my three years and left. I majored in Sociology, Anthropology and Women's Studies and I still view the world and people through those eyes.

In third year, at enrollment (back then you had to go in person and queue up for hours to sign up for courses, there was no internet in 1995), I was told that I hadn't fulfilled my unit requirements to graduate. Unbeknownst to me, I had failed English in first year. I was great at English at school because I had a wonderful teacher and we studied interesting texts that he brought to life for us. He even ended the year with a study session in the form of a game show to help us remember stuff for the HSC. At the end of the gameshow, we all had to recite a memorised monologue from one of the texts; Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra. I'll never forget when the quietest most unassuming girl in the class recited Cleopatra's death monologue and the whole class gave her a standing ovation because she absolutely blew us away, she was that good. I still get goosebumps thinking about that moment. I got Cesar's monologue and I was crap. I always hated public speaking and I made a fucking idiot of myself, I was so nervous. 

Anyway, English in high school - good, at Uni - not so good. I had an old fart of a lecturer who had taught one of my high school teachers, he was ancient in the mind not just the body and he sapped every ounce of joy out of every text we ever looked at. He never made eye contact, he just waffled on for hours about what he thought the author meant. He destroyed any interest I had in the subject and failed me. Prick. I didn't even notice. 

So there I was at enrollment, smug about it being my last year when the student volunteer told me with glee that I would have to pick up another first year subject if I wanted to graduate. I did, Government 101. Boring as bat shit, but it came in pretty handy eventually and I passed with no trouble. 

On graduation day, our valedictorian was John Bell from the Bell Shakespeare Theater Company; all I remember from his speech was that he got drunk at Manning Bar heaps too. I have to say, I didn't make any friends at uni; I was so shy and completely unprepared for the social and political side of study at that age. I drank and watched bands alone and hung out at the library or in quiet corners of the magnificent buildings by myself. I wish I had my personality now, back then. Oh and for the record, no body EVER, in any job interview EVER, has given a flying toss about my degree. Well maybe once; my Women's Studies major impressed them at the interview at the refuge. That's about it. The piece of paper now hangs proudly in my old bedroom at home at my parents' place. I loved studying and being a student, but I couldn't do it for very long because I had to make a living. I wish I could go back to it. I have considered doing some post graduate studies, perhaps via correspondence; these days it is so easy to do that, but it's expensive and time consuming and well that ship has sailed.

The refuge was the jewel in my working life's crown. In high school I was very passionate about human rights. I'd joined Amnesty International and participated in their letter writing campaign to help with the release of political prisoners. I loved the writing aspect of it and thought it was the least I could do from my privileged existence and I took on the task with gusto; memorising whole sections of the UN's Universal Declaration of Human Rights. At uni in first year, a mature aged student in my Sociology lecture befriended me and told me that she thought I would really enjoy Women's Studies, so in second year I dropped Medieval History (which, like English I nearly failed, but the lecturer at least had the decency to warn me that I was failing, so we agreed that if he gave me a score of 50 and passed me, he would never see me again) and enrolled into Women's Studies. This course changed my life. It validated my gendered experience, it allowed me to understand what viewing the world through a feminine perspective meant, regardless of a gendered body; men can be feminists too. It exposed me to incredible literature and texts, amazing female lecturers and tutors and topics that although directly affect women exclusively, half the population, have consequences for all of humanity. Everything clicked into place. I knew I wanted to work in women's services, so not long after graduation, when I saw the ad in the local paper for a junior to work in a women's refuge, I jumped at the opportunity and I got the job. I thought, 'sheez that was easy!' Especially after hearing that old Arts joke over and over again. You know the one that goes something like: What did the Arts student say to the Economics student? Would you like fries with that? 

Working at the refuge was a hard slog, but inspiring, emotional and empowering. I started there at a time of great transition for the refuge movement in NSW, particularly ours and was at the time working with three generations of women. The first generation were the women in their 70s who had been there from the beginning. They were old school. They still did things the way they did when refuges were first established in the 1970s. With a sense of emergency, they practiced separatist feminism. Men were the enemy most of the time, unless they wore a uniform and even then they weren't to be trusted too much. They didn't document their work other than in day books and journals and photos; they were secretive and cliquey. They were maternal and traditional, but radical for their time. The next wave were the baby boomers. They had money because they worked compared to their predecessors who were often happy to just volunteer, they were occasionally sole parents, they were business minded and professional. They were multicultural and multi denominational. Men too were the enemy, but they focused on educating the boys. Then my generation came along. We introduced computer programs to document our services and designed forms and manuals. We used a consultant and established a value and motto system. We created a structured service worthy of the stretched funding we received. We built upon the values and services that were established over the three generations and reached out further to the women in our community and the network of refuges across the entire state. In my opinion, we had easier relationships with men; we were fortunate to have the strength and independence fought for and won by the women before us. Men weren't the enemy, authority and systems were. Through all three generations - the personal was still the political.

We were a women and children's refuge - a service for families escaping and surviving domestic violence (physical/sexual/psychological/emotional violence) and where in the past, the services were focused on the family as a unit, we could now divide the services into those aimed at the woman's needs and those focused more on the needs of the child. That was the straw that broke this camel's back. I was 23 when I started, 26 when I left. I felt strong and motivated to empower a woman; an adult able to make her own choices, a woman whose potential and instinct for survival I could harness and reflect back to her to encourage her to fight for her rights, to respect herself, to demand safety and justice and the freedom to nurture herself and her children. But when I moved from the women's services section to the child protection aspect of my work, I crumbled. I didn't have the stomach for what I witnessed and saw. I didn't have a heart yet strong enough to protect those babies. I regressed to a child myself and felt too helpless, too weak to revive them. All I could do was suffer with them. As a mother now, I wonder if I could go back to that work. It was debilitating. I'm simply not strong enough and the rage just drowns the compassion and that doesn't help anyone. I quit after a particularly difficult case and after only three years took some time out to process what the refuge experience gave me. I tip my hat to the women who have made this their life. My refuge coordinator is still there 30 odd years later. Her salary was only slightly higher than what I earned as a junior admin clerk in the public service. I bumped into her recently at a union rally for community workers who were fighting for a pay rise. I asked her how she can still do it and not break after all these years and she said to me, "I just keep going".

I've worked in so many different industries: property valuations, community housing, disability support, engineering, domestic cleaning, child minding, fashion, insurance and banking, call centers, medical reception, mostly in a service or admin capacity, never really wielding any power, but certainly making a significant contribution. Eventually I ended up in the public service. I finally got to where I wanted to be; a secure, well paying job, with great benefits, interesting work focusing on social justice, unionised protection, a great bunch of people to work with, in the city - I secretly love Sydney for all it's fast paced, impersonal, aggressive flaws. By the time I was 30 I figured it didn't matter where I worked, as long as I was contributing something meaningful to society, was earning a decent wage so that I could be independent and self sufficient (pay rent, maintain a car, travel a little and not need anyone to support me like my parents or a partner) and build upon a foundation so that I could become a parent and do it right, planned, organised. People tell me you're never really ready to be a parent, but I disagree. You can aim towards being prepared somewhat. I take the role of creating humans rather seriously, shouldn't we? And one important lesson I learned in my studies about women's issues and working in women's services is that if you empower women; if you protect them; if you give them the right, education and freedom to determine and control their reproductive bodies; we would solve the world's problems.  It would certainly be a kinder and healthier society. Matriarchal societies have demonstrated this over and over again, but today we still choose to ignore them. We prefer the patriarchy, we let it win. It destroys men as much as women. Why can't we achieve a balance? What have we got to lose in trying?

I didn't know at the time the circumstances in which I would have a child and although I was raised in a fairly traditional nuclear family, I wasn't sure if I wanted to get married and have babies; I was never going to be a perpetual breeder, but I knew for sure that I wanted to have a child or two if I was fortunate enough. I also knew that I would risk not having children if the right circumstances didn't present themselves. If I wasn't financially and emotionally stable, healthy and well ready to give up myself, even for just a short time while they were babies and dependent on me completely. I would have rather not had kids than had them and not been prepared.

So here I am. At 38, married - I buckled under the pressure. Marriage wasn't important to me. I didn't care about it all, but mine and my husband's parents did and he did and well in the end I did too. We gave everyone, including ourselves a decent party. I wore green; I had a celebrant; we ate great food and cake and danced. I got a nice (cheap) ring, we had a great honeymoon in Tahiti and I took my husband's surname. I struggled with that one, but with every option it was a man's name anyway. My maiden name was dad's, my mother's maiden name her dad's, my grandmothers' names all went back to a man, so I stopped fighting it. My first name matters more to me anyway. So we gave our parents their first wedding, we were both the first born. My husband's sister and my brother soon followed. My sister is a lesbian. She lives with her girlfriend and they've been together for six years. They're still waiting for the government to pull their giant finger out of their sphincter and change the law. It's shit and not fair and we will keep fighting for equality. 

At 38, married and a stay at home mum. I felt a bit lost and emotional this week. This is what I worked towards, so why am I feeling like this? Nostalgic, afraid, ripped off, but ultimately content and vindicated. I earned this! I knew that if I had a baby I would stay at home as long as was necessary to look after it because I don't have my own business and the option from working from home. I'm slightly OCD and there is no way that I would be able to work from home and keep the baby and the house and everything clean and ordered and organised anyway. I'm learning to let things go and writing is one way to immerse myself in something that allows me to ignore everything else (except the baby of course). I also knew that I couldn't go back to the 9 - 5 or in my case 7 - 630 (work is an hour and a half away) straight away so I've decided to take a couple of years off without pay. This makes me utterly dependent on my husband's income; utterly dependent on someone else for money for the first time since I was 13 and I'm a bit terrified and sort of not really ok with it. Now that the maternity and parental pay have run out, and it has literally been a few days, I'm looking for the next way in which I can earn an income, even though I don't really have to.

I fared better than most. With a public service job I was entitled to 14 weeks at full pay (or 28 weeks at half pay - I took the former); then the government helped me out with the parenting payment - 18 weeks at minimum wage. I was happy to take a pay cut knowing that everyone gets the same, including a mother who may be struggling working in a low paying job without the generous maternity leave package that I have access to. I am completely astonished that the current government wants to allow mothers on maternity leave to be paid their actual pay up to $75,000 a year. That is really attractive to someone who earns a great wage, including myself, but what about the women working in factories or retail or the community sector and care industries or the million other jobs dominated by women that don't pay anywhere near what is necessary to live on, particularly when you have dependents to look after and either a low paid partner or an unemployed partner or no partner at all to rely on. A government's obligation is to ensure an even distribution of wealth by promoting and implementing equal opportunity and access. Who are they to determine the value of some mothers over others.

I'm a bit sad and uncomfortable about being without an income even though we more than manage financially because I feel like given all my experience and contributions, in the past and now as a mother, I must be worth something! I've never worked harder than what I do at home, by choice, but also because I care about this role more than any other occupation I've had before - including the refuge. But it's not a job as such is it? I don't clock in or out for that matter; I don't get paid, but I do have unlimited access to the household purse and I don't have a boss besides myself and the baby, she bloody owns me most days. 

For now I must accept this new me and I'm enjoying every fleeting moment of my daughter's childhood - when they say it flies and they grow up quick, they weren't even remotely incorrect. I'm taking pleasure in the little things. Yes they can be mundane and tedious, but I don't mind doing the house work and the cooking (although my husband contributes to both). I am loving spending days just watching my baby play and learn and develop. I don't mind changing her and feeding her and cleaning her and babbling back at her and chasing her around the house as she becomes mobile and ensuring her safety. I've been lucky to find a wonderful network of other women in my community in my mothers' group and on social networking who are doing the same and most of them have more than one child, do all of the above and hold down full time jobs! Women are amazing! And men too, some men, are becoming increasingly focused on the important things in life too. Working to live instead of the other way around. 

Come to think of it, it is exciting to think about the prospect of the next chapter in my working life. Perhaps another baby. Perhaps another job. Maybe neither, maybe both. Time will tell.