The Weight of the Invisible Manual
You might feel like you are starting at a disadvantage. I know that feeling. It isn’t just a thought; it’s a physical weight. It’s the sensation of walking into a room—any room—and feeling like everyone else was handed a manual that you somehow missed.
For me, that “disadvantage” showed up as a loud, persistent internal noise. Despite having the titles and the degrees, I was constantly checking the air to see if I was still “allowed” to be there. I was working harder than anyone else because I believed my “doing” was the only thing keeping me from being found out.
The Rewarding Trap of “Doingness”
My doing was rewarding. At least initially it was rewarding, I hit my five-year goal in two years. My dream job after completing my doctorate at Texas A&M University in 2010. In preparing for my dream job, I put a wrench in my most sacred relationship, my marriage.
I am a Christian. And from that perspective, marriage is ordained by God. It is a sacred union where two become one. Where two people join together for a kingdom purpose that is bigger than either of them. Where my husband as head of the household gets to set us on an adventure that everything in me as his wife and help mate was born and designed to support. Anything in me was his to use for the kingdom purpose that God gave him. My husband didn’t ask for that. If he knew it, he would have told me it was too much. And it was what I did. First was us, than him, than me.
I convinced my husband and myself that he hung the moon. So, when the dream job was in Dallas, TX almost 300 miles away from everything he knew, he couldn’t see where the dream came from. I had spent 12 years convincing him that us in College Station, TX was enough for me.
The Architect of the Mask
I perfected the doing to such a place that my being was hidden and unavailable. I knew my dream and I believed that in my doingness I was safe and others would come around to my way of thinking. Truth be told, in most of my relationships, if they didn’t come around I acted more like a toddler than an adult. I withdrew. Took my toys, ideas, presence, kept it internal. Today, I tell people I would take my toys and go home. Don’t get me wrong I’d still perform. They no longer had access to the authentic me. Well, at least not all of me.
When I told my husband, I got a second interview and that we may be moving to Dallas. He asked me, “Who was moving?”. At first, I was convinced that I might have to turn the job down. In fact, I tried to process the idea of saying “No”. I prepared to break dishes, to run till I was too tired, to body him up in basketball until the frustration that came with the No was deep down enough for me to get back to the mask.
He knew I was interviewing. And in my doing, I led him to believe that the reason for the interview was to counter my current position and position myself for a raise along with negotiating a higher salary for a job offer.
The Impossible Offer: A Negotiated Surrender
The job offer came with a salary equivalent to a first year elementary school teacher. I had a doctorate and 3 years of experience. I was told that that job comes with a colleague. More specifically, a white male colleague with a Masters who made more than me would give me the projects that were too much for him.
When I shared the offer with him and the possibility of an offer from Dallas, I remember the exact moment I tried to bury me. There we were sitting in our 3 bedroom, 2 bath house. The one that we both fell in love with after months of searching. The one where we painted accent walls in every room. The one where he converted the garage into his mancave. And I asked the question that I already knew the answer to “Do you want me to turn down the Dallas position if it comes?”. And he replied as expected, “Yes”. As I looked at him and pondered his answer. He and I both knew my response even without me voicing it. I would. Then he asked “Can you do that without resenting me?”
Breaking the Plates: The Physicality of Frustration
The tears came to my eyes. The heaviness settled in my chest. And I went to our room to get my shoes. I came back to the kitchen looking for the plates that I had brought into the marriage. I was careful not to grab plates that he had brought or ones that came from his family’s home. Just mine. And he asked “what was I doing?” I said “I gotta break something. I gotta get this out”. And he argued; told me that I couldn’t break things. I argued back. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t break my things. Then I changed to my running shoes. And he asked where I was going. I said I needed to run. I had to get it out. And he said it was too dark, too late. I said I gotta do something.
We met on the basketball court. So, he grabbed a ball and suggested we go to where we started. So, we did. And I ran into him hard, fouling him hard. And he took it. He was always a better shot than me. He could have won just by shooting his jump shots. And he gave me my moments to body him up to foul to get it out. And in that I saw that we were both doing the best that we could to make it to a version of us that worked.
We went back home. And I prepared myself for making the phone call hoping that I wouldn’t have to and that God would drop a miracle. Hoping that my current job would increase my salary, promote me. Anything, so that I could have my pride and my dignity.
My current job didn’t budge. I could stay at my current position and salary that I had had since I started. I started without a doctorate in a moment of desperation when my husband had been laid off. I accepted a salary that was less than market, less than my skills to cover us. And I told my boss when I finished my degree, that I wanted to revisit my salary and that there would be a competition for me, and this department will get to compete.
The Terminal Yes: A Breath After Twelve Years
I held out saying Yes to the job offer until they required an answer. In a layover in DFW for a trip to visit my great Aunt in Tulsa, I called my dream job and told them I would have to turn it down because I had an offer and they were requiring an answer. They hadn’t offered me the position. The hiring manager got off the phone with me. Told me he’d call me back with an offer. I called my husband to plead, to negotiate for this to be possible. He said he didn’t understand why we were even having the conversation. So, we came up with an impossible offer with the understanding that I would call him back before accepting.
I paced the terminal waiting on the call. I called my Small Group leader from my church and asked her to pray. She prayed with me over the phone. Told me she would spend time praying even as I waited.
I got off the phone and walked aimlessly back and forth in front of 5 chairs. I saw nothing, heard no one else. Someone could have stolen my carry-on and I wouldn’t have noticed. I wish I could describe the sounds, the smells, the people. The truth is it was a blur. There wasn’t a distinct sound. There weren’t any distinct people. Everybody blurred together into nothingness. The sound of the airport was more like the humming of a box fan. It was background noise.
I pleaded with God internally, one side of the conversation was “Lord, change me so that saying No would be fulfilling”. And at the same time, the conversation was “Lord, open his eyes let him see our purpose, his purpose, your purpose” I was immersed in how my doing the right thing had set me up to say No to my purpose. I don’t remember. Perhaps, I did. I don’t remember fighting for God to show my husband me.
This offer was my opportunity. My opportunity to move back to my family, my opportunity to build something in neighborhoods similar to my childhood. I called my husband back while I waited on the hiring manager to call. And I apologized. I apologized for hiding me. For making everything about him, for not sharing who I was. And even in that I ended by trying to convince him how this was good for him, too. Habits are ingrained and automatic.
And when they called back, they met everyone of my request. And I said Yes on the spot. I said Yes to me. Yes to breathing. Yes to purpose. Yes to gifts. And in that moment, I realized how much doingness held me and my marriage captive. For twelve years, I chose to hold my breath. I chose waiting. I was waiting for validation, waiting for permission. In that airport, I finally realized that I could change my choice. It took another 12 years to navigate the space between that move and our divorce last year.
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