For the past twenty years, I have considered myself an advocate for change. I have advocated from “the outside” for decision-makers and funders to change policies and financing priorities, and have worked on “the inside” in government and funding institutions, trying to shift things from within. My advocacy has been driven by a deep anger at the injustices and inequities in our world, but also by the shocking inefficiencies and ineffectiveness I have seen in our sector.
During these decades, I have not been afraid to speak out or walk away to where I feel I can have more impact. I often think of what a former boss of mine, and former Global Financing Facility (GFF) Director, Mariam Claeson once said about evaluating our own success. Our role is to leave systems and the most vulnerable people’s lives in a stronger place than when we began our work. At the time, heading GFF’s external relations, I was part of a small group of leadership staff who tried to push for an emphasis on that word “leave” by self-committing to having a one-off replenishment – to avoid becoming yet another institution of dependency for countries that fundraises and tries to grow in perpetuum. I’ve in my work since also tried to focus on impact. So much of what our sector does is in my extensive experience meaningless process, leading to little if no change.
Since October 7, and possibly since the COVID-19 pandemic, my advocacy and anger have deflated. I feel like a balloon that has little left to give – even in my blogs. Advocating for change feels meaningless, when companies and institutions that were part of the inequity problem during the pandemic continue to be celebrated and reap scarce funds. Advocating for change feels pointless, when most decision-makers and large segments of value-based organizations’ staff remain silent when basic human rights are rolled back, and entire population groups are being dehumanized or called “animals”. I have no anger left. I’m just disillusioned and sad. Yet is silence even an ethical option in these current times?
I’ve spoken about how I feel with many colleagues and friends. Kind as they are, they encourage me to keep writing. Other colleagues probably couldn’t care less – they probably find these blogs pointless and irrelevant – maybe they are. My aim was never to transform the world through blogs; rather, this was a way for me to organize my thoughts, and break a few taboos so that people wondering similar things feel less alone.
I’ve over the past years pulled the emergency breaks on many things I have been doing. At this point in my career and stage in my life, I’m unwilling to rat-race my way through my work, without reflecting on whether anything real changes as an effect. If my efforts are not leaving systems and the most vulnerable people in a better place than when I started, what am I doing, other than being paid lots of tax dollars that are direly needed elsewhere?
Silence is not an option for me. Yet advocating for change when nothing changes isn’t either.
I am fascinated by power and have worked with the highest levels of leadership throughout my career. In this blog, I ask whether a leader has to have followers?
A Leader: 5 million followers, 50K followers, 1 follower…?
I was recently notified I’d been selected as one of Germany’s top 100 women entrepreneurs. I had a good laugh (I’m not an entrepreneur, nor do I consider myself Top 100 of most things) until I saw that I would be listed publicly if I paid a five-figure sum. A few weeks before, I had been invited to two “predator” health conferences as a keynote speaker, where speakers were requested to pay a nominal sum, and participants were expected to pay thousands in participation fees.
There’s an entire predatory (or scam) industry around people’s hopes to be perceived as a leader. Paying to be listed in a Top 30 Under 30s, buying thousands of social media followers, and paying five-figure sums to have your article published in a journal, just to name a few.
I’ve never paid for a leadership title or followers this way, but these experiences have made me wonder what real leadership is. Are you a leader because 5 million people follow your work, path, or feed? Is 50K sufficient? What if it’s only one, or perhaps none…?
A Leader: A Visionary
One definition of a leader is someone who inspires followers. These are people who can mobilize and build movements for change. Think Gandhi, Mandela, or Malala.
Mobilizing leadership can also be dangerous. Think Hitler. Or any current authoritarian or populist leader or candidate – there are unfortunately many.
Some leaders are ahead of their times. A few become inspiring forces of change long after their deaths. Think of the figureheads of most religious movements.
These different types of visionary leaders inspire for different reasons. Someone like Mandela inspired hope for freedom and change. Trump inspires collective hate and a combination of power and destruction. Religious leaders – and perhaps even many artists and influencers – inspire a sense of belonging to a cause and community.
A Leader: An Enabler
I have in my career and life been inspired by many (hopefully positive) visionary leaders. I’ve read the biographies, watched the movies, followed and rooted for various careers and elections, and tried my part to support visions of progress and change. Yet looking at my own work experience and studies over the past 25 years, I’ve been most inspired by leaders who have been enablers.
Instead of seeking people to follow their path, enabling leaders try to support and elevate the people they interact with. Think of that special teacher or university professor who helped you discover your true passion and strength. Or the manager who gave full credit for your work in a board meeting.
When I look at my colleagues who have in the past decade held various leadership positions (CEOs, Ministers, various chair roles), the ones with the strongest followership have not been those who have tried to gain or strengthen their power through threats or coercion (or carrots of buying favors), but those who have been inclusive, enabling, and who have strengthened entire teams and communities.
A Leader: A Tolerated Title
In many large bureaucracies that I have worked in (at international and national level), I have learned that some leaders are only so by title. I’d call them tolerated leaders, because people still (more or less) partner with them (externally) or follow their orders (internally), but most in private admit to just sitting the leader out. I’ve found this tenacity and immense patience baffling, if not terrifying. It has felt like zombie-like complacency and lack of any individual agency.
Where a leader is merely tolerated, the leader (most often himself, but at times also herself) may not be aware that they only command fake, symbolic followership. Looking at many conflated egos among leaders, they may not even care if their followers are real or not. Maybe they’re the same type who would simply buy a million followers on social media, or pay to be published in a journal. As long as they can make-believe they are leaders, and have some proxy title and status symbols to go with it, this seems to be sufficient for them.
My Hope: Stay real
Power works like a drug. People in leadership want more of it and find it immensely difficult to let go. At some point, many leaders stop caring whether they still lead with vision, or are enabling. Many don’t even care if their followers are only going through the motions and tolerating them, or may just be fake followers.
The same holds true in our social media age. Social media channels are known to be designed addictively, triggering dopamine (short-term happiness hormones) in our brains every time we see a new follower or like. To feel like a leader, you want more of this drug, at all costs.
As with all of my blogs, I’m not writing anything new. I just hope we all reflect more on what we are really doing, and why. This is my own reflection, and hope – also for myself – to stay real. We can’t in these current times afford to work for fake or poor leaders – or become one ourselves.
Over ten years ago, I received my first LinkedIn headhunter message. An organization in my sector was looking for a social media lead. I was apparently a perfect fit.
At the time, I laughed out loud and was baffled. I had a short career as a security policy researcher behind me, two policy degrees at master’s level under my belt, had recently left my PhD in international relations to join the World Bank, and had since had another policy position. I had just joined Twitter a year before, but surely that didn’t make me a perfect candidate to lead social media?
Over the next ten years, I learned that people – and organizations – think in boxes. Because you do something, you are something.
Because I tweeted, I was a communications expert.
I found it easy to engage with policymakers. I was an advocate.
I worked on replenishments and raised money. I was a fundraising expert.
I organized board meetings. I was a governance expert.
Because I headed teams and did planning, I was a manager.
You, not this
In my 20-year career, I have had many different types of roles. I’m generally motivated to work towards achieving a mission. I deliver best working with different teams (and across organizations), which is why I have started seeing myself first and foremost as a partnerships person.
But I have also learned that people – and organizations – rarely know what to do with someone like me, who doesn’t fit into one single box – or stay in one narrow lane.
Time and time again, I have had to listen to what I am apparently not.
The absurd thing is that I may, within a few years or even days, hear completely contradictory sentences.
Communications expert. Not a communications expert.
Policy expert. Not a policy expert.
Manager. Not a manager.
Typologies, budgets, power
It’s human nature to categorize things – and people. If you had to figure out what people do well based on everything they’ve done in the past, you’d get lost looking for a needle in a haystack. People look for signals, primers, or patterns.
She tweets – she must be a social media expert.
She has a PhD title – she must be a policy expert.
She’s in this board room – she must be relevant at the leadership level.
Having worked in many large organizations, and having managed budgets, I also know there’s an efficiency gain from having clear roles and budget lines. If the staff I’ve recruited to write policy reports suddenly spend all their time suggesting new colors for logos, someone’s not writing the policy reports I need and my communications team is likely to be having a mental breakdown.
In my experience, power and recognition also play a big role. If you take the role of defining what someone else is, you are not asking where a person is at in this specific time and place, you are showing them their place. As any woman, most will have a depressing anecdote on this front.
Stifling skills, growth, collaboration, and people
Placing people in boxes is typical of large bureaucracies, as Humanocracy, a recent Harvard Business Review book by Hamel and Zanini explains. In their book, they list all the downsides, including that most people end up hating their mind-blowingly repetitive and narrow jobs, and have by Monday morning lost their will to work.
In my own career, and over the past ten years in my experience as a manager, I have neither felt comfortable placing others nor wanted to be placed into a box (which I rarely fit inside). Instead, I have learned the following:
Recruit people with a growth mindset. Someone may be a perfect fit for what you need now but may develop or need to have a larger or different role later on. You may need to recruit for a box due to task and budget reasons, but don’t try to keep people in boxes.
Nudge collaboration to achieve results. Turf wars kill motivation, and stifle results. Let people collaborate. In most cases, staff and teams are aware of their own and others’ strengths (and weaknesses). Support collaboration – not only across teams but also across organizations. Don’t try to create results through competition.
Keep roles fluid. Bureaucracies become useless when they begin to set boxes in stone. Policy always has to be together with publications. Fundraising has to be with communication, etc. People and teams change, as do skillsets and interests. Remain flexible.
Ask, and help people grow. I’ve as a manager always asked my staff what they’d like to do more of, or learn and grow into. Why? Because this is what has motivated me in my own career. If you provide a set path, with a few personal hours of training peppered in as carrots, it isn’t going to be the path that motivates your staff to be their best at work.
Beware of “othering”. The best organizations I have worked at value different skills and contributions. The worst have created caste-type cultures, where a certain type of work was considered generalist, and people were surprised if you mentioned you had an education or a brain. This othering is also frequently applied to anyone outside of the organization.
Don’t let someone else define you and belittle you.
Training for and throughout our careers, many of us wonder what we should work on, where, and with whom. 20 years into my career, I’ve realized that how I work is just as important as what I do, where, and with whom.
The older I get, the more questions I have
Some people have their careers fully planned out, from a felt age of 7. They’ll become doctors, work for MSF, and work for 40 years across all continents, saving as many lives as possible together with likeminded colleagues. They know what they’ll do, when they’ll do it, with whom, how, where, and why.
Then there are people like me, who have zig-zagged across fields, sectors, organisations and continents. Who have muddled through different dreams, aspirations, some successes, and many unfulfilled goals. Where life has sometimes happened, and sometimes opportunities have arisen or disappointments have occurred out of the blue.
The what
When I began working (in my early 20s), I thought the most important career question I’d have to answer was what I would do. As long as I’d find the right field of work, I would feel fulfilled, and contribute with my training and best of my abilities.
I began my career as a security policy researcher, moving from the LSE in London to work at a security policy institute in Germany. I soon realised I was in the wrong place.
The where
Just a few years into my career, I decided that where I work is just as important as what I do. I had been educated and socialised to aim high. As a young woman, I was proud that there were no limits to what I could do, or where I could go.
Over the next years, I studied at more renowned universities, and worked in reputable international organisations. And I was often miserable in my work places.
The who
Ten years into my career, in my first roles managing teams, I thought I’d finally figured it all out. The what and the where I worked were important, but what mattered most of all was whom I was working with.
If my immediate manager was supportive, and I had the chance to recruit a great team, there was little more that I could ask for.
Except that I learned that even with the best people, I simply shared the pain of being in some of the unhappiest of places.
The why, the when – and the how
I’ve written about being in an extremely privileged place many times before. Most people can not afford to quit jobs, switch careers or continents, or take the same risks that I have chosen to take in my career. Many don’t have the right visas or work permits, or do not qualify for the narrowly defined expectations defined in job descriptions, or unwritten social and status expectations.
But I know of hundreds of people who have these same privileges, but remain stuck in their work and careers. Because they worry what will happen if they don’t get the next job fast enough. Or they are stuck in golden cages where their incomes and perks keep them trapped in unhappy places for years or decades. Or, as has often been the case for me, they have been blinded by the status, shiny missions, and recruiting tactics of largely hollow, toxic organisations.
As regular readers of this blog know, I have over the past years been asking many why questions. Why do we waste time doing what we do? Why do we keep doing things when we know they don’t deliver? Why do we keep hollow, toxic organisations up and standing? And when on earth will anything change, if we don’t push for things to change – and sometimes topple the house of cards that everyone knew were not solid?
Twenty years into my career, I have been wondering where I fit in. The list of questions and criteria I have just gets longer with each year that I work.
I think I’ve figured out the what, where, when, with whom, and even why questions. I have taken time to self-reflect, listen, learn, and find my own voice and needs. The last remaining piece and question is how to work.
Purpose, people – with urgency and impact
I wrote a blog several years ago on not being able to get my work done in my (then) job. My long transition journey perhaps began with this exact blog, as I realised that I need to do so much more, together with many more likeminded people – and was not allowed to do most of this.
I started speaking out. Blogging. Writing. Meeting people. Joining groups and initiatives. Reaching out. Attending events and listening to others. Learning. Finding my voice and opinions.
Most importantly, I carved out or created the space I need to address issues where I felt there is an urgency, and a need to have real impact.
I won’t or can’t make any claims to having moved the needle one bit.
But I now have more of an answer for how. And together with the what, where, when, with whom, why – it feels like a very good place to be.
This blog is written acknowledging my privilege to have the financial means and independence to do some of my work for free.
Consciously deciding to do some of my work for free may sound absurd. In an era where gender paygaps continue to punish women – in the present but also in particular in older age with pension poverty – it may sound crazy that I am not maximizing my monthly income. It may appear counterproductive that I am not demonstrating for my own right as a mother of four children, with an absurd amount of logistical and household tasks, to demand to be paid for this work. In an era of start-up billionaires and entrepreneurship on every issue, it may appear to be plain stupid not to capitalize on every skill and service I have to offer, and to demand payment for every initiative I support.
So, why I don’t I try to make money and a business out of everything I do?
In this blog, I look at three areas of work that I could commercialize and capitalize on, but have consciously chosen not to – and explain why.
1) Mentoring and coaching. I love trying to help people in periods of transition or uncertainty. I try to build their confidence, and help where I can based on my experience and network. Whenever I can, I take time for calls, and offer guidance where asked. I’ve probably provided feedback on hundreds of CVs and cover letters over the past three years. I am always open about not having any coaching training, and don’t ask for anything in return. I don’t speak to or help people based on what they have done so far, or how successful they already are, or how useful they could become. I’ve been in touch with some people only once, with others over several years. By not asking for money, I am paying it forward, and hope others will too, no matter which phase they are in during their studies, first work roles, or as CEOs.
2) Reviewing, soundboarding. Many of my friends and colleagues are creative and entrepreneurial people. Some have built businesses or initiatives, and work in strategic leadership or change management roles. We know each others skills and strengths. There’s nearly always an article, a strategy plan, or a pitch deck on my table that I have agreed to review and provide honest feedback on. I’m part of several working groups, brainstorming on how we could have more impact in our sector. I don’t ask for a payment, because I trust that these same people will return the feedback and favor down the line, no matter what work role they happen to be in at the time.
3) Book reviewing. I do this without asking, simply because I read so much, and writing comes easy for me. I often share my feedback or reviews with authors, and have published a few global health-related reviews on this blog too. I’m considering publishing these more frequently, as most of my own personal reflections in this blog don’t come out of the blue; they build on and combine what I learn and read.
Within clear limits
As I’ve mentioned above, I am able to do this work above for free because I am privileged to have a successful career, and financial security and independence. It is a luxury, but I have also during heavy job periods learned that it is a necessity for me. If I only work to get paid, I start to burn out. And as I have written about, work for me is so much more than what fits into any single job I get paid for (https://katribertram.wordpress.com/2019/10/26/can-i-get-my-work-done-in-my-job/). As most people on the planet, I too, though, need to make sure I’m able to pay my bills, and accrue enough pension.
By not taking money for the tasks above, I am also able to set clear limits on what I do, when I do things, and for how long. If a project proposal or working group looks too complex or messy, I can simply respond that I don’t have the time or capacity to review and provide feedback, when I know I’d otherwise need to put in hours at night. If someone reaches out asking for help, but isn’t professional or courteous, or expects too much, I can simply decline. If someone asks me to review their academic book, and expects me to purchase it in hardback form for $180, I simply won’t.
In our capitalist “more-is-better” society, I have also spent many years asking myself what is enough. If I earn enough, do I really need to earn more? Do I really want to put a dollar-figure to all of my tasks and working hours? Is unpaid work always an evil, if it is a choice and not exploitative? Don’t many things we do have value even if we don’t get paid – or sometimes because we don’t get paid?
***
Thank you to everyone who continues to read and share this journey of pondering with me.
ps. Some of you have asked whether I’ve considered charging for this blog. No way! For so many reasons, but also those above.
I picked up gratitude journaling over a year ago, during a crisis that struck my family that kept me up for hours in panic each night, and wondering how we’d manage. As the crisis thankfully passed, I have to confess that I stopped journaling.
Each evening, before going to bed, I had listed three positive things about the day. Even in the deepest dark, there is supposed to be some light. Some days, it took me a while to find it.
During that time, I stopped working completely. I kept blogging occasionally, as that helped me get some distance, and also to remind me that there are other worlds out there.
Every crisis is a reminder of what truly counts. My family. Our health. Being together. Our friends. But it was also a real reminder of my own limits. I had moments where I just couldn’t. I knew if I didn’t take a rest, do something positive for myself, I’d break. I learned a lot during this time about myself. I think that for the first time, I really learned to respect my body, my health, and my mind. I learned that I need and deserve to feel fulfilled and happy – simply to be able to go on when the going gets really tough, and to enjoy the times in between when things were okay.
A year ago, as our lives were returning back to normal, also in some sense with the pandemic, I decided to accept a job offer for another full-time job. I knew the job would be extremely intense, but I knew most of the team and was super excited about the opportunity.
The work and team didn’t disappoint. My boss, whom I had known for a long time, threw me straight into complex negotiations and plans. I was able to build and manage a great team and group of consultants. I worked on what I considered some of the most important health issues of our time: the pandemic, strengthening health systems also in low- and middle-income countries, and shaping the global health financing architecture.
I slightly surreally spoke on behalf of the German government, as a Finnish national, but after having lived and worked in Germany for twenty years (on-and-off), and through the process how government positions and statements are formulated, I guess I somehow fit in (minus my grammar, which no-one complained about, thankfully).
And yet, as the months passed, and my workload continued to increase, I again started wondering what is happening to my life. I missed family vacations. I worked on my laptop through family dinners. I didn’t have time to meet people during lunch. I started worrying about my own health, and whether I’d manage a huge amount of hours, but even more concerning, a non-stop crazy pace. I saw middle-aged men in my sector pass away from heart attacks, and wondered whether I could follow down that route too one day if I kept going at this pace.
And the more I worked, the more responsibility I took over, the more I started asking myself again what for. I felt that I was briefing a Minister and State Secretary non-stop, and coordinating positions with other Ministries on endless loupe. The more I did, at an increasingly fast pace to manage the workload that kept piling up, the more I started wondering where my own expertise and positions were feeding in, with all the expectations, negotiations, and changes in agendas and policies. I felt that I was starting to become one of those technocrats who does and says what is expected, because it’s easier, than someone willing to stand up for what they think is right (nutshell summary: not easy).
I realised that if I’d keep going on like this, I’d reach my limits soon. I’ve learned to respect those limits, including my physical and mental health. I’ve crossed those limits at times in previous positions, and knew just how long it takes to recover, even if you don’t fully burn out. Perhaps as tough as the physical recovery is to believe in what we claim to do as work.
It may seem strange to some, but it was an easy decision for me to make already earlier this spring, to know that it’s time to go. I’ve been immensely grateful to have had the opportunity to work on the G7 health track and health for the G7 Elmau Leaders’ Summit, and for the opportunity to represent Germany in the G20 format shaping and establishing the FIF for pandemics. I’ve rarely had such a steep and exciting learning curve, and as a political scientist, this has been one lesson in not really having had a clue how government really works, until I was part of it.
I’m grateful for so many people I’ve worked with along the way. International partners, civil society (friends), colleagues from other Ministries, and most importantly my leadership and my fabulous team. My team has kept me laughing, has been there when I’ve felt like crying, and we’ve shared quite a ride of reorganisations und also shifts after an election. I’m really grateful for the past months, and I’m also glad I’ve made this decision to leave now.
Thank you!
As always, as I’ve slowly started communicating my departure (this is my last week), I immediately get asked what’s next.
For those of you who have followed this blog and known me for a while, you won’t be surprised when I answer, “I don’t know yet.”
I’m first and foremost taking a breather, after an immensely intense work period. I’m enjoying time with my family (a few Covid positive experiences to throw into the mix, just to highlight the word “enjoy”). I’m spending time with friends, and meeting colleagues whom I didn’t manage to catch even an espresso with last year. I’m enjoying the city and sun. And I’ll be taking the rest of July and August off fully, to finish something slightly crazy that I’ve started and am already quite far with: trying to write a first draft of a book.
Starting September, I hope I’ll start working again. I don’t know what that means yet, but I’ll keep everyone posted when I do. Hopefully I’ll stay in global health. Whether I’ll look for a job in a large organisation or just work as a free me, we’ll see.
As an intense work period is culminating in a peak, I‘m back, blogging about my long journey to find balance.
If you love your work, make sure your work fulfills your needs.
I picked up this book by Marlee Grace, How to not always be working, at an alternative bookstore in California a few years ago. I was at the time working in a very intense job, and taking a few days off before moving my family back across the Atlantic. I had asked friends for book tips, and with my pile of inspiring biographies (an indicator of mid-life crisis for us book lovers, or, at least for me), added this book spontaneously to my pile, simply because its title spoke to me and hit a nerve.
My job at the time was intense, but not a good fit. The structure and culture of the organization pitted policy experts against the rest, and my job was located in „the rest“. I felt a strong need to shape the world, not only through process expertise, but also through my learning, thoughts, and ideals. I knew I had an agenda. I was also working too much, for what I increasingly felt lacked purpose. For me, this is the zone of highest risk to start burning out.
Those of you who have followed this blog know that I left the job after moving and a period of reflection, and embarked on a learning journey to rediscover my own thoughts, connect with people who inspired me, and to explore how to influence policy change.
This period was extremely rewarding, although at times daunting. Personally, when Covid-19 and lockdowns struck, it was a phase that was a double-edged sword.
On the one hand, I was able to care for my four children, who were suddenly at home, as schools closed for nine months (my husband worked and paid the bills, the typical gender trap based on and exacerbating a pay gap).
On the other hand, as one of my children at the time was still in daycare that offered no online care or support, and another child fell very ill, I was unable to work regularly. Work needs and my own needs were secondary, or even irrelevant, during this very difficult time.
Thankfully, schools reopened last summer, and my sick child started recovering. I started working again, and was offered a job I felt I could not decline, working in government on the G7 Presidency.
And yet, here I am again, re-reading books that remind me that you can love your work, and even accept that you always work (any advocate who manages to switch off outside of 9-5 working hours, kudos, please share your advice!). But if you work in this way (or can‘t not not work), your work has to fulfill your needs too.
First, for someone who works as much as I do (and no, „take it slower“ or „try part-time“, are not pieces of advice that I‘ll take), there has to be a feeling of purpose. For me, the eternal question is: Does what I do have a real impact? If the answer feels like a clear no, burnout alert.
Second, can I in my work fulfill my needs to learn (in particular from others, as there are so many awesome people out there), and can I contribute in my work with what I have learned so far? In practice, for me these questions translate as: can I work in networks and build meaningful partnerships, and am I given enough space to contribute?
Third, and this seems like a luxury condition, but is absolutely essential for me: Am I able to surround myself with people I want to work with? The older I get, the more important this criteria becomes. I‘m also learning that the questions above (impact, leaning, partnerships, space) depend on this one. My team, my manager, my leadership, my colleagues – will make it or break it.
My current work is extremely intense, fast-paced and culminating in a peak over the next weeks. My learning curve has been steep, and I have (thanks to some fabulous bosses) been able to contribute to some of the most exciting processes in my field.
And maybe because I‘m again in a situation where I‘m doing exactly what I‘ve always dreamed to be a part of, I‘m asking these questions again (purposefully publicly): are my work needs fulfilling my own needs?
Ps. I still have an agenda. And I‘m still devouring biographies (currently Ai WeiWei).
Why do we in our work think we are worth more because we are affiliated with an organisation and brand? Isn’t “just me” sometimes enough?
Early on in my career, I worked for a large, renowned organisation. My work was interesting, but I wanted to continue to learn also from other areas. I at the time attended various conferences and events in my free time, many of which were organised by foundations or organisations that had funded scholarships for my university studies.
I noticed that even if I had signed up for an event as an alumni and private person, I’d find myself sitting behind a placard with my institutional affiliation from work. Even if I would ask for this to be changed, also for the next event, there I would be again, behind the same placard.
After I moved into a different job, I at various events still found myself sitting behind the same old placard.
It took a while for the penny to drop (I admit I was quite naive in those days!). The event organisers did not care who I was. They only wanted to list my organisation in the participants list, and showcase to others that such a prestigious organisation was in attendance.
Just me
Fast forward more than a decade.
When I in early 2020 decided to leave my job at the World Bank, again a prestigious organisation with a renowned brand, I made a conscious decision to have a period of transition, instead of jumping straight into another organisation.
I’ve publicly blogged about this transition: about my attempts to take time to listen and learn, find time to give back to others, rediscover my own role, value, opinions and voice.
One aspect I raised in my first transition blog was how difficult it is “to leave behind.. what has become part of my (professional) identity. From one day to the next, I am no longer ‘working for organisation X’. I am no longer ‘title Y’. What I am working towards is no longer something I can repeat from a fixed mission statement. I can not explain my position based on where it lies in an organogram.”
I have followed the transition journeys of many other people who have left high-prestige organisations, and nearly all of them have highlighted various institutional affiliations since. Universities as visiting lecturers, think tanks as visiting fellows, etc. Very few publicly voice opinions as “just me”.
Where do you work?
Perhaps because of my early experiences having been shoved behind placards, I wanted to see how people would react if I’d just be me. I removed the list of “ex Organisation Y and Z“ from my social media tags, and tried to focus on what I have to say now, and where I want to head, instead of reminiscing where I used to be.
When I was first interviewed on my various work topics a year ago, journalists would still list me as “formerly World Bank”, despite my attempts to have this removed. They would ask me what my title is, and I’d not have a ready response.
But as time passed, I noticed that I was being listed as “international development expert” or “global health expert” in various outlets, without requesting this. Yes, sometimes the “formerly at” still slipped in again, and that placard was shoved in front of my again, but thankfully decreasingly so.
Access?
When I left my Bank job, I knew that I would lose access to certain meetings and events. And without an institutional affiliation, there are certain governing bodies that I cannot apply for or join (which require either formal and endorsed private sector or civil society affiliation).
But I’ve been positively surprised how much I can still attend, participate in, and where I can join discussions and voice my views. To be honest, it has been liberating to join any conference and meeting I want to join, without having to request formal approval to do so. I can say whatever I want publicly, and write, co-author, and tweet my views.
I may not be in important inner circles of power. But those places can be extremely stifling, limiting and lack access or time or permission to join in where fresh thinking and real discussions are at.
The “we”
I do sometimes miss the sense of identity and community an institutional affiliation brings with it. It can grant status, access, and power.
But it can also make you forget who you are, what you think, what you’d really like to say, and why you are using your time and energy the way you are.
That placard isn’t always as shiny as it looks. It’s good to ask yourself whether you really need it. Sometimes just me is good enough.
This blog is about my personal experiences juggling four pregnancies and being in the job market, including while applying for and changing jobs. I also share my experiences from over ten years in recruiting staff, some of who were pregnant.
I once had a boss who walked into the office kitchen, declaring “Seriously, if anyone else announces they are pregnant, I’m going to quit.” To a group of young women.
I wished she would quit. What if one of those young women were early in their pregnancy, terrified she’d now lose her job or a promotion? What if one of them had just planned to get pregnant, and now put off that pregnancy for years – forever?
Another boss of mine once vetoed a recruitment of a dream candidate for my team. The candidate had after interviewing informed us she was pregnant, and my boss had fired back that the candidate had misled us, and this was unlikely to work.
The dream candidate dropped out and joined another team. I also left shortly thereafter.
Should I tell?
The above experiences are depressing, even more depressing because they are so common, and utterly depressing because both of these bosses were women – one who herself had children.
There is still a huge amount of discrimination against pregnant women, and women in childbearing age.
Some countries for this reason don’t legally allow for explicit questions about family planning in an interview process.
I myself have kept silent about having children for several years because of such discrimination. Because I really wanted that job – and had children, or wanted to get pregnant (again).
But as the above cases show as well, did I really want a job with a boss who didn’t treat staff like human beings? Who potentially drove people to not have children, terminate pregnancies, or just give up on trying to stay in the job market?
No, I didn’t want such jobs. I didn’t want to work under such leadership. And I didn’t want to support such toxic culture that devalued the private lives of human beings.
So I started to tell. I started to share publicly that I have children. Two, three, eventually four.
I once interviewed for a job, and was accepted. Two days later, I found out I was pregnant. I told my boss immediately. He was fully supportive. I was promoted during my pregnancy. We figured out my maternity leave. I returned and was again promoted.
Another boss of mine, after I told him I was pregnant, started bringing cake to our weekly meetings, to make sure I was getting enough calories. He brought cookies and presents to my home after I gave birth. We worked on a large research grant together, which was accepted.
Should I quit?
When I became pregnant with my first child, I was in the middle of a second Masters degree. My supervisor at the time told me to quit the high-intensity program, in her view I wouldn’t be able to cope with a baby.
Another professor, who later became the University President, supported me, and after switching supervisors I graduated second in my class, with a small baby.
My third child was born right after I finished a two-year position, which was to be renewed once I was ready to return. Two weeks after giving birth, I was informed my maternity cover would replace me, and I was left with a baby, but no job to return to.
I applied for other jobs. I rejoined the job market.
I know of so many people who because of similar experiences have put off having children for years, and are now having trouble getting pregnant.
I know of even more women who had good jobs, and who dropped down ladders with each pregnancy and baby, some dropping out of the job market fully.
I have since added all of the above to my list of “never, ever, treat people that way when you have the power to influence a decision or decide.”
Immediate decisions, immediate support
I once recruited for a full-time position, and found a dream candidate. At the end of the interview, she announced she had just given birth, and asked whether she could start a few months later, part-time.
I immediately agreed I’d try to support this, as did my own boss. She has been one of the best staff members I ever recruited.
I tried to give back what my own boss had given me: immediate support. Not an “oh, dear, well let’s see how we can figure something out.” Not an “erm, I’ll need to think about that.” But a “congratulations – and I’ll do everything I can to make this work.”
I once had another boss, who proactively tried to support maternity and paternity leaves, and smooth transitions back to work. She offered options to start working on projects again from home, once the parent was ready, and to return with 5-10% work time, and then ramp up to part-time and full-time once the parent was ready.
I asked her about this. Her response was that the parents who have seen such support, are her happiest employees – and most productive. They overcompensate.
Human beings, not just staff
In over a decade of supervising staff, I’ve dealt with pregnancies that just weren’t happening, and rounds of fertility treatments and missed meetings and hours at the office. I’ve dealt with miscarriages, and longer stays at the hospital. I’ve dealt with child sick days and months of maternity leave. I’ve dealt with CVs with large gaps that could stem from childcare.
I’ve recruited, managed, and supported human beings – not just staff.
Because I have have been a human being as well, as staff, as a manager, as a recruiter.
Everyone has non-work needs
As a manager, I always made a conscious point of saying (and trying to act) that every person has non-work needs. Some just need time to travel and wind down, others need to be active in their community or politically. Some need to skydive. Some have a baby to breastfeed at home. Others a sick child or older parent.
There’s still so much to do in this area, and if we don’t, the consequences are dire. The pay gap between women and men skyrockets with each additional child. Women with children are rarely in the highest leadership positions. Pension poverty is a reality for the majority of women. And too many people have delayed or fully sacrificed their hopes for a family in order to progress in their careers.
There are too many anecdotes and stories like the above, where unacceptable things have been said or done.
There are thankfully also good people and managers out there. People who have through their support and kindness made my own career possible – while allowing me to have a family.
Feel free to share your own story. This is another taboo are I’d like to try to help break. This is an insight into my story.
I‘ve worked in international development for over 15 years, and have lived in Berlin for most of this time. When I moved to Washington DC for a job at the World Bank a few years ago, I was incredibly excited to be able to attend policy debates at renowned think tanks, learn from thousands of experts working in development, and to engage with so many leaders in this sector.
During my time in DC, I think I attended one single event at a think tank. Aside from a few meetings organized by my own team and events held at the Spring and Annual meetings, I rarely had the chance to listen and learn from experts from other organizations or departments.
I worked with some of the most fabulous colleagues and partners, but nearly all of us kept wishing we‘d have more time to learn and engage more with what was on offer.
Listening to external inputs and hearing different perspectives is one of the most important reality-checks for your work. What are people discussing? What issues are contentious? What are people interested in? What arguments and facts are getting traction? What lacks evidence? Which issues are linked? What inspires?
Instead, so many great work places keep staff focused on internal issues and work, and keep them so busy that even attending a brownbag lunch becomes impossible. Attending external events during work time is in many office cultures considered as „slacking off“, ie not being present at your desk. It may be included as a footnote in your objectives for learning (which you in practice never get around to).
At least in my case, I had such an interest and desire to keep listening and learning (and maintaining a constant check on reality and what else is out there). But I simply lacked time, and eventually also mental space, to attend anything or take in much.
I stopped reading journals, not to mention books, that could in any way be related to my job. I stopped following newsletters and blogs. I no longer knew who was saying what on issues that were not directly related to my work. And worst of all, I no longer knew what I thought, what my own positions were, why my work was meaningful.
Hearing and reading about what others are saying and doing, learning about what is working in practice and what this means for theory, and engaging in debates is the best way to form your own opinions. If you don‘t have this input and sounding board, it‘s difficult to know where you stand on many issues. You also forget how to use your voice. At least that was the direction I felt I was heading in. And this in the middle of one of the most happening and expert-filled cities and organizations.
A year ago, I returned to Berlin and a few months ago, left my job. It‘s been a transition, and it was what I needed. I have my voice again, and am using it. I am listening, and I know who the people are who are saying some uncomfortable truths that need to be heard, because our sector needs fixing.
And I am learning, reading, and listening again, because my physical space and mental capacity are back. I may be utterly irrelevant in terms of status and position, an absolute „outsider“. But this is a space I need and will try to protect the best I can, also in the future. For myself, and any colleagues or staff.
Everyone deserves to continue to learn and be inspired. It makes us all better at our work, and it makes our work more relevant. We need to recreate this space as a core part of our work places, and bring it back from where it is now (a periphery nice-to-have, if you have time) to where it needs to be.
Katri Bertram 