What if in the change, we became invisible?
Often, when you find yourself in a situation, you don't realize all the efforts you are making. You just do it, and it becomes your "normal." In reality, it costs you in terms of energy, time, mistakes, and setbacks. The moment passes, and you, along with everyone around you, forget about that effort. It's done; it becomes a habit. It's all part of the process of change I talked about last week.
Today, though, I want to talk about something that happens during this journey. Whether the change is intentional, the result of a deliberate choice, or something that happens outside your control, it's possible to feel alone. To feel invisible.
Many women I know have gone through and are going through this experience with motherhood. It's a wonderful experience, but you may not recognize yourself, and your needs take a back seat. You accept it because you've been taught that it's part of the package. I won't dwell on this point; I'll address it in another article.
It happens in other circumstances, like relocating, for example. Before we permanently moved here to the Netherlands, we visited the school that would be my daughter's new school. Mouth agape, we admired the well-kept interiors, the spacious rooms, and the calm that reigned in the building. Wow! We had found the right place for her. The head of the "international" program, an experimental project dedicated to the children of migrants and useful for giving language foundations to kids, pulled me aside before saying goodbye and asked, "Your husband has settled with work, we'll take care of your daughter. And you? What will you do?" At that moment, I didn't realize how complicated my answer to this question would be.
Like many other women, my friends here and myself, you get labeled as "the spouse." In this context, it carries a more complex meaning: you are the person who accompanies someone who has found a job, mostly women. In this role, you ferry yourself, your children, and your partner into the new life. Everyone's needs accumulate. It's a different experience for each person, mind you. For my small community, it means you are the bridge between your family and the new reality you've immersed yourself in. Among various tasks, there's learning the language, dealing with the school and various extracurricular activities, playdates with other kids, and creating a social network. In this context, you develop remarkable skills, especially because you're not using your native language, and you're confronted with another culture, so you have to understand habits, attitudes, and approaches that are often distant from your own way of being. You become a cultural mediator.
It's a role as fundamental as it is underappreciated. In fact, you're a "stay at home mom".
Professional identitY
In summary (I talked about it here), professional identity is how we perceive ourselves in relation to our occupations or professions. It includes our beliefs, values, skills, and the sense of purpose we derive from our work. A strong professional identity gives us a clear understanding of our roles, increasing our self-confidence and fueling a sense of fulfillment.
Many women leave their jobs during these changes.
By setting aside our professional identity, we set aside a piece of our identity. It's like a maze of mirrors; if a piece is missing, the redundant effect disappears, and only a portion of our image remains in front of a mirror. Just one piece of the puzzle.
When they asked me why I started the #coachforbreakfast podcast, my answer was, "To not waste the knowledge I've learned, the experience, my professionalism," and also, "To reclaim my work, acquire clients, and so on." It's what I've seen in these years here: many spouses, highly educated and professionally skilled, set aside that piece of themselves to assume the new role of mediator. And I've always thought, "Wow, what a waste of talent and years of study!"
In most cases, I've seen them try something else, some other activity, almost never what they had dedicated time and energy to before coming here. What a waste. I thought.
The real reason we continue to do and try other projects is not just "to not waste." Not only that.
It's not just to be an example for the children. Not only that.
It's not just an economic matter. Not only that.
It's that spark, never extinguished and always protected. It's what illuminates and supports us. It's a powerful and overwhelming force. It's the instinct of survival. I exist. I am here.
The work of reassembling and integrating all our parts is an important and complex process. When we find ourselves living abroad, especially as spouses, it can feel like much of our identity has been lost or pushed to the background. Adapting to a new culture, language, and work reality can make us feel invisible, as if what we are and what we have built no longer matters.
While it's true that professional identity doesn't determine our worth as individuals and is not necessarily the only way to find our place in the world, it is a vehicle for self-expression. Not the only one, of course. There are many other things we can do.
And then, there's another point: economic dependence is a significant mental obstacle. Everyone makes do and considers their circumstances: maybe the bank account is jointly held, and certainly, everyone contributes. That's all true. But we're alone abroad. We can only rely on ourselves and each other. And if something happens, where do we start again?
As you can see, there are so many variables to consider that will inevitably swirl in your mind. "I am, I exist" encapsulates needs and desires.
An appropriate response to these inputs, listening to yourself, and the daily choice to dedicate yourself to yourself is essential for asserting yourself. I am here. I exist.
Comentarios