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Let’s stop glorifying being overworked

Last year I read an article by Amanda Miller Littlejohn entitled “Black professional women are exhausted. They’re finally claiming the time to rest.” It was in the Washington Post if you wish to look it up.

This article resonated with me and I sat there and thought “yup, we need to do this”. But did I follow that advice? Oh no, because we always feel that we have to prove ourselves. We never learn until it is too late that we can be replaced; be it in our jobs, in our marriages, or even in our friendships if we don’t contribute or add value in some way. But when we spend every possible moment trying to be the best in that role and don’t take care of ourselves and collapse, what then? Or when we spend every moment trying to be everything for everyone and miss the really important things, how do we make up for it?

Two years ago on July 25, I experienced a devastating reality. My mother was taking her last breath and I had spent so much of her last moments trying to finish a work project. I worked from beside her bed so often during that time believing that I was spending time with her, but we did not get to share as much as I wish that we had. I did complete the project, and she did say how proud she was of me, but when she closed her eyes for the final time with me there beside her in her room, all I could think about was the time I had lost. She never saw the end results of the work, never read the newspaper clippings or saw the television coverage but she said she was proud of me. She always gave us unwavering support.

I was exhausted from going to work early in the morning and then heading to her house later to spend time with her and still finish everything needed for work. I had to prove that I could do it all. Inevitably I got sick. But did I listen to my body…of course not. I had things to do, reports to write, projects to complete and I did all of those things while my doctor and my friends and family kept saying “girl you need rest”. But in my head, I kept thinking, “what will people say if I don’t finish this?” No, I have no idea who these people were but somehow they were very important. So I continued without stopping or even resting.

Now we are in 2022 and once again I got sick or is it that I never fully recovered. But this time my doctor indicated that if I did not take care of myself, I could see a stint in the hospital in my future. Once again in my head, I am hearing “girl go to work”; “take the medication and work through this”; “you have things to do”; “if you don’t go to work what will people say”. Now everyone knows that I am one of those people you hear about who will be sending work emails from her hospital bed so receiving calls and emails at all hours is the norm. So when the doctor said I am starting you with two weeks off I wondered if he was mad, but did not say anything because I already had planned to just work from home. Yes, I know that was stupid. But what made me take stock was when my son said to me “you are standing there but you are swaying mummy. I am worried”. Wow. Okay, when the teenage boy is worried, this is not good. So I took the leave and this time I did the unthinkable and turned off my phone and closed my laptop. And the office continued to function, good or bad, it did not close. This was a reality check moment.

Meanwhile, I am at home on medication with my family worried because of the health risks. Why hadn’t I taken a break? It is not as if I don’t have the time accumulated. I have so much time accumulated that this could be a different issue. Not taking leave is not a good management strategy. I guess I had to learn that “Hard ears yuh won’t hear, own way you gine feel“

The absurdity of what was happening in my life finally got through to me. I was making myself sick thinking I had to do it all and when I faltered, things either got handled or they did not but the world had not stopped.

The article that I had read said that Reba Peoples, a psychiatrist and founder of Imara Health and Wellness center in Atlanta who specializes in helping women do this kind of reprogramming, says the inability to rest is equal parts history and science.

“We live in a culture that values productivity, so we’re measured by that capacity to produce,” Peoples said. “But for Black people, that idea goes even deeper because our [enslaved] ancestors were literally valued based on their capacity to produce labor. Not working up to capacity could mean beatings, or you could be sold off and separated from your family. So it was dangerous to rest, and we’ve had that encoded into our DNA.”

Are we still so enslaved? Maybe we are.

So how do we reset? Life is too short to waste. Self-care is such an important part of being the best that you can be. Someone once said that we need to stop glorifying being overworked and tired. This is true more so now than ever. So my new strategy is going to be based on the poem by Erma Bombeck, If I Had My Life to Live Over.

Specifically, these lines which I am taking the liberty to tweak for me:

I will go to be bed when I am sick instead of pretending the world will go into a holding pattern if I am not there – Because it won’t

I will seize every moment, look at it and really see it …..live it and never give it back. Make memories, lots and lots of memories

But most importantly, I will not be worrying about who doesn’t like me, who has more, or who is doing what; although to be truthful I really don’t do this now. But I do intend to spend more time cherishing and appreciating what I already have. Also taking some of that accumulated holiday time so that I can relax, rejuvenate and just rejoice about being alive. I will also spend time getting my health in order.

The office will continue to function as I am really not as necessary as I want to fool myself that I am. If something happens to me that I can’t work, I will be replaced. However, missing moments with my family and friends is something that can never be recovered.

Hoping that you do the same so that we can meet somewhere in the future and celebrate.

Let’s make a memory soon so that we keep our regrets to a minimum.

Bajan Brown Sugar

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Corn Soup for the Soul

So I like to think that I am a foodie. Among other dishes, I do a wicked corn soup. So much so that my fellow foodies have nick-named me the VP of Corn Soup. What is corn soup you may ask?  It is a refreshing soup that can be a meal. It is usually found outside of a fete or at a lime and was originally a Trinidadian and Guyanese thing.  But we here in Barbados like to share and copy, so we now have corn soup.

Now my corn soup has in sweet potatoes, pumpkin, split peas, English potatoes, vegetables, in fact, everything plus cream corn, corn kernels and small pieces of corn on the cob.  And importantly the bite-size pieces of pigtail and the pepper.  In fact, if a piece of pepper does not get “lost way”  in the soup something is wrong.

But more than just a great meal suitable for consumption after a period of drinking, corn soup for me signifies the women of my tribe.  You take a number of ingredients that by themselves might or might not be healthy and good for you, put them together add some heat and you get a masterpiece. We in the Caribbean, specifically the women, are a diverse group of individuals with our own idiosyncrasies but when tossed together under pressure, we are resilient.  “Necessity is the mother of invention” has always been one of our mottos. And although physically weaker than most of our male counterparts, we have shouldered burdens that they cannot begin to fathom.

For example, while sitting chatting with a male colleague recently I told him a few of my #lifeinleggings stories.  He totally could not understand why I was self-conscious about compliments until I share some of those stories.   After listening to me rant for a few I had to stop as his “flabber was totally gassed”, he could not wrap his brain around some of what I considered everyday events. Like how to walk the fine line between being seen as gracious when receiving a compliment or being seen as bitchy if you don’t respond in a manner that the person (read male) giving the compliment thinks is appropriate. Picture this …… you are walking from your car to your office and some random person shouts how nice you look in your outfit, you smile graciously and say thank you but keep walking.  You are hailed as the best female in the area.  Now picture the same scenario but this time you merely wave your hand and keep going but this time you are bombarded with negative comments “who she think she is?”, “Was just paying she a compliment to make she feel good” etc. Now you are persona non grata. Few men ever experience this situation.  Few ever have to monitor where they spend their time, who they engage in conversation, which roads they travel daily, etc but we as women have to.  This is our daily reality. We are very conscious that “ya betta don’t tek a six for a nine” In other words try very hard to understand your situation and “Do not misunderstand a person’s real intentions”

So we all develop and refine our tribe.  That group of strong, confident women that are always there to watch over you. To tell you stop, check  or re-think a position but most importantly to hold you down when needed because to be truthful no-one actually looks good in prison stripes and they DON’T HAVE WINE IN PRISON.

My tribe forms the ingredients for my corn soup; and when together, either physically or otherwise we cook up a fabulous corn soup for the soul. Because we need it.

See you somewhere around a corner or at a lime with a bowl of corn soup

Bajanbrownsugar