The Job Women Are Naturally Good At That’s Burning Us Out
And how I’m working on resigning from it
My husband loves going to fancy restaurants and getting wined and dined for his birthdays.
If there’s a tasting menu, sign him up.
Wine pairings? Say less.
Different menu every week and surprise chef’s specials? We’re bordering on NSFW content here. 😮💨
He loves every minute of it. He all but left the planet at his last birthday tasting-menu-extravaganza.
But the whole experience gives me anxiety.
The subtle kind. Probably (hopefully) the imperceptible kind. But anxiety nonetheless.
Once a week, I spend the morning at one of my favorite local coffee shops with a latte (occasionally, a pop tart) and my backpack loaded down with my journal, my iPad, and 2 books because I can’t make that kind of decision until I’m in the moment, ya know?
The coffee shop opens at 6am, and by the time I get there around 7/7:30, seating is already limited. Securing a spot is often cut-throat. Like Costco parking lot cut-throat.
One particular morning, I was thoroughly enjoying my new book (as in, a casual 50-page binge) and had noticed more than a few folks saunter into the “living room” area of the cafe looking for seats every so often.
I was done with my coffee (and pop tart), but not done with my book. I wanted to stay. But these people… they needed a seat.
“But… so do you,” I told myself, jaw clenched, eyes focused on the place above the page but not the page itself. “You need a seat, too.”
I felt the tug-of-war inside me growing.
To give up my seat or to stay?
It was the fight of my life to keep reading. Ultimately, a great personal victory that would not have happened without my level of awareness about what was really going on.
So what was really going on?
And what’s going on at these Tasting Menu experiences that gives me that low-level background hum of anxiety?
→ I am a hostess.
All the time. Everywhere. (Except when I’m not, in a select few places that change all the time depending on a myriad of factors like how things are going at work, the last post I saw on Instagram, and whether or not someone was kind to me in the parking lot 6 minutes ago.)
But most of the time, in most places: I am a hostess.
In this coffee shop, I am a hostess. Oh did you need a seat? Here, take mine! It looks like your bag isn’t fitting next to you, did you wanna trade spots and take this primo corner loveseat so you can have all the room and really stretch out? Here!
In the senselessly-close-together rolling-racks of TJ Maxx: I am a hostess. Oh did you wanna browse at these clothes? Me too but you go ahead! I’ll shift to an entirely different aisle of clothes I have no interest in until you’re done. Take your time!
What is it in me that wants to ensure all these people in coffee shops and discount clothing stores have stellar experiences, to the point that my own experience takes the backseat?
The same part of me from which this behavior stems defends it with things like empathy, compassion, kindness, “being a good human.” She says oh please, quit making much ado about nothing. You were taught to share in kindergarten. You’re just sharing.
But sharing is when we pass back and forth a thing to which we both have equal claim.
This isn’t that.
This is abdication.
And only women are taught this.
Only for women is abdication not only encouraged, but also rebranded as sharing— hence the tug-of-war inside of me about whether not I should give up my seat. I am torn between wanting to share, but wondering if this is actually sharing.
For women, “putting our needs last and making sure everyone else is okay” gets called sharing, kindness, empathy, compassion, “being a good human,” and is ultimately equated with what caliber of mother we are.
This is how we become Hostesses: girls and women who abdicate, who over-apologize, who look out at the world through the Is Everyone Okay lens.
We abdicate our seats, our preferences, our needs, our questions, our comments, our anger lest we wrinkle the ambiance for all those around us.
We apologize for getting bumped into because the customer is always right, right?
We fill everyone’s glasses, know everyone’s favorites, get everyone ready, because we know who they will look to if we don’t.
This is the source of the low-level anxiety that’s humming in the back of my mind as the server exchanges the perfectly clean utensils in front of me for a fresh set and places a hot towelette in a decorative ramekin on the saucer before me.
My Hostess software is glitching.
How can I take care of this person taking care of me? This question is causing me such great angst. Every course, every pour, every new napkin and fresh fork pokes at the spot in me that wants to make sure these servers and crumb-scrapers and wine-pourers feel comfortable.
These 8-course dinners are a real test of the very thing my husband wishes I could master: my incessant tendency to acquiesce to others. In other words: to be Hostess.
I watch as he gleefully gets taken care of with ease— as he should. I don’t watch with resentment or scorn. I watch with curiosity. Envy. Admiration. And I hope he understands that overriding this Hostess tendency means overriding 30 years of programming while also finding that barely perceptible, ever-shifting line between beautiful compassion and unnecessary martyrdom. It means deciding how much of which parts of me to use and when instead of just using all the Empathy parts at full-force all the time.
Because yes, there’s being considerate.
But then there’s self-sacrifice.
There’s being cognizant of the fact that the world works better when we all look out for each other.
And then there’s the “me-and-mine” mentality.
The line between them is not firm or definitive.
Would I rather air on the side of compassion, generosity, empathy, consideration?
No question. Absolutely, yes.
But do I sometimes feel exhausted and want to get what I want, too? Also, yes.
Do I sometimes feel victorious for not giving up my seat in a crowded coffee shop when I’m not ready to leave yet because I see that as a sign that I’ve chosen my needs over some stranger’s and think that sometimes, that’s an important thing to do for ourselves? Once again, yes.
I do not want to quit being a hostess entirely.
That would mean denying parts of who I am, which is against my fundamental beliefs about Life, Love & Happiness. I do, however, want to untangle the associations between things like sharing and abdicating, being kind and self-sacrificing, caring for others and avoiding my own discomfort.
I don’t want to quit hostessing forever. But I want to enjoy my meal sometimes, too.
Especially those 8-course ones for my husband’s birthday.
We went to a fancy place for our first anniversary. My husband was elated I decided I had to enjoy it and get over this "hostess" mentality! It's so hard! I like how you put a name to it :)