Very true: "One problematic aspect of this department 'mom' work is that it’s unrewarded, and that it’s most often done by those with the least privilege—women, people of color, first-generation academics."
When I joined the English faculty at my former employer, I was young enough to be everyone's child (or grandchild). So it was a perfect glimpse of how these gender conventions worked for previous generations. There was a lot of infighting, and there was some shared leadership of the department, but really one motherly mentor was the longstanding chair. One senior professor even accused his nemesis at a department meeting of hiding behind her skirts. It was really something. She definitely mothered me through my tenure review. And then another female colleague took her place before I eventually completed a term as chair.
For that earlier generation, there was no doubt that female faculty predominantly served as committee secretary rather than chair and that the service load (particularly advising) fell more heavily upon those academic mothers. By my time, I think the service load and roles were more equitable, but my perception might be skewed. I was secretary just as often as I was chair (partly because I am a fast typist), and I took my mentorship role seriously when two junior colleagues were hired on my watch. In fact, one of them joked that I was trying to show them equal attention, the way I did with my two daughters.
Where I think female academics pay a steeper price if they choose not to conform to the motherly role is on student evaluations. It's something I was aware of when I reviewed tenure files. But I'm not sure every committee reflects deeply on that unfair expectation. And I think the expectations are particularly brutal for academics who are actual mothers of young children. In that case the pressure at home and at work must be relentless.
All true! FWIW, I served on the tenure and promotion committee for the last three years and the bias in student evaluations was always mentioned. We also discussed a clear pattern of women coming up for full professor much later than the men—because they’d taken on service or teaching roles that prevented them from getting to scholarship. That was a great committee, and I learned a lot from the other members.
That pattern of delayed full professor was undeniably part of the older generation in my department. I'll not say too much more, but in one case someone never went up for full, even though her credentials were solid. She chaired the department when I applied for full, and I admitted feeling guilty about it, because she was nearing retirement and I was barely 40.
But there is a sordid side to this, as well. Might as well share it. I was asked by the dean to direct the first-year seminar in my second year on the tenure-track. One of those mob boss phone calls -- the offer you can't refuse. Big risk because I had to supervise about 25 faculty and recruit people to teach in the program. Department chairs had the mentality that if someone didn't make enrollment for the major, they could always fall back on the first-year seminar. But I didn't want the bad teachers who couldn't fill their courses. I thought for a high-impact course like that, we needed the best teachers who were most equipped to reach first-year students. I had high standards. And so I pushed back with some chairs even though I didn't have any institutional protection.
One of my colleagues, who had started the same year as me and who also had been railroaded into chairing a major committee, decided to apply for tenure a year early. Tenure and promotion were split then -- you could get one and not the other. I felt that I'd achieved far more (had more publications, etc) and had been doing more leadership work, so I aired the idea with my department. They had a closed-door meeting about it, and it turned out that many of them felt (despite there being no written policy about this then) that I needed to put in my six years for tenure, just like they did. But they were begrudgingly willing to support me for promotion. The rationale offered, as I heard later, was that they couldn't let me get tenure a year early, because future female colleagues wouldn't do this (they were guessing, based on patterns in their own generation). I was being too aggressive, they thought. I thought I was asking something reasonable: the protection of tenure if I was going to be doing major leadership that left me exposed.
There are wheels within wheels. Sometimes the phrase that "hurt people hurt people" applies to women who have been hurt and who then, when they are in positions of influence, pass that hurt on to younger men. I think the solution is not to arbitrarily hold people back to try to even the pace of advancement so much as to address the things holding others back and give everyone a comparable chance. But it's complicated. Perhaps it's silly that I even care about any of this years later, but your post brought back some of those memories :)
Liz, this blog post makes me think of the chapter I have just read in Tara Mohr's Playing Big (I highly recommend by the way!). I think it is Chapter 5 where she talks about the behaviors or language we use as women that undermine us. We often do this to show friendliness or good will, but we end up looking less confident. However, the solution (for women and probably also for anyone from a minoritized background) isn't to just say what you think, because the reality is, while for men this makes them look like a competent leader, for women, there is a price: being blunt and direct can make us look "bossy, arrogant" etc... So, Mohr (and other authors I have read) suggest that women should actually try to establish likability first (I know, so unfair) and THEN say what they think, without using the undermining language. The key thing is though, you establish likability via genuine and honest ways for you.
The reason why your blog post made me think about this is, I think, in trying to stay away from these gendered roles, a lot of women hide or repress their awesome emotional intelligence that would also naturally establish their likability. Then they try to be like men, be direct, because why not, and that doesn't work in their favor.
So, I have been thinking, bringing the nurturing side actually has two advantages (of course as long as you aren't overdoing it to hurt your career): 1) It helps the individual feel more emotionally satisfied, bring their full self, and feel good because helping others make us feel good. 2) Establish likability, so that way you get to be more straightforward and "men-like" in other areas.
I agree with you! I think both men and women can repress their nurturing side. But I think women end up paying either way—either they are too icy or they aren’t serious about their work.
Very true: "One problematic aspect of this department 'mom' work is that it’s unrewarded, and that it’s most often done by those with the least privilege—women, people of color, first-generation academics."
When I joined the English faculty at my former employer, I was young enough to be everyone's child (or grandchild). So it was a perfect glimpse of how these gender conventions worked for previous generations. There was a lot of infighting, and there was some shared leadership of the department, but really one motherly mentor was the longstanding chair. One senior professor even accused his nemesis at a department meeting of hiding behind her skirts. It was really something. She definitely mothered me through my tenure review. And then another female colleague took her place before I eventually completed a term as chair.
For that earlier generation, there was no doubt that female faculty predominantly served as committee secretary rather than chair and that the service load (particularly advising) fell more heavily upon those academic mothers. By my time, I think the service load and roles were more equitable, but my perception might be skewed. I was secretary just as often as I was chair (partly because I am a fast typist), and I took my mentorship role seriously when two junior colleagues were hired on my watch. In fact, one of them joked that I was trying to show them equal attention, the way I did with my two daughters.
Where I think female academics pay a steeper price if they choose not to conform to the motherly role is on student evaluations. It's something I was aware of when I reviewed tenure files. But I'm not sure every committee reflects deeply on that unfair expectation. And I think the expectations are particularly brutal for academics who are actual mothers of young children. In that case the pressure at home and at work must be relentless.
All true! FWIW, I served on the tenure and promotion committee for the last three years and the bias in student evaluations was always mentioned. We also discussed a clear pattern of women coming up for full professor much later than the men—because they’d taken on service or teaching roles that prevented them from getting to scholarship. That was a great committee, and I learned a lot from the other members.
That pattern of delayed full professor was undeniably part of the older generation in my department. I'll not say too much more, but in one case someone never went up for full, even though her credentials were solid. She chaired the department when I applied for full, and I admitted feeling guilty about it, because she was nearing retirement and I was barely 40.
But there is a sordid side to this, as well. Might as well share it. I was asked by the dean to direct the first-year seminar in my second year on the tenure-track. One of those mob boss phone calls -- the offer you can't refuse. Big risk because I had to supervise about 25 faculty and recruit people to teach in the program. Department chairs had the mentality that if someone didn't make enrollment for the major, they could always fall back on the first-year seminar. But I didn't want the bad teachers who couldn't fill their courses. I thought for a high-impact course like that, we needed the best teachers who were most equipped to reach first-year students. I had high standards. And so I pushed back with some chairs even though I didn't have any institutional protection.
One of my colleagues, who had started the same year as me and who also had been railroaded into chairing a major committee, decided to apply for tenure a year early. Tenure and promotion were split then -- you could get one and not the other. I felt that I'd achieved far more (had more publications, etc) and had been doing more leadership work, so I aired the idea with my department. They had a closed-door meeting about it, and it turned out that many of them felt (despite there being no written policy about this then) that I needed to put in my six years for tenure, just like they did. But they were begrudgingly willing to support me for promotion. The rationale offered, as I heard later, was that they couldn't let me get tenure a year early, because future female colleagues wouldn't do this (they were guessing, based on patterns in their own generation). I was being too aggressive, they thought. I thought I was asking something reasonable: the protection of tenure if I was going to be doing major leadership that left me exposed.
There are wheels within wheels. Sometimes the phrase that "hurt people hurt people" applies to women who have been hurt and who then, when they are in positions of influence, pass that hurt on to younger men. I think the solution is not to arbitrarily hold people back to try to even the pace of advancement so much as to address the things holding others back and give everyone a comparable chance. But it's complicated. Perhaps it's silly that I even care about any of this years later, but your post brought back some of those memories :)
Liz, this blog post makes me think of the chapter I have just read in Tara Mohr's Playing Big (I highly recommend by the way!). I think it is Chapter 5 where she talks about the behaviors or language we use as women that undermine us. We often do this to show friendliness or good will, but we end up looking less confident. However, the solution (for women and probably also for anyone from a minoritized background) isn't to just say what you think, because the reality is, while for men this makes them look like a competent leader, for women, there is a price: being blunt and direct can make us look "bossy, arrogant" etc... So, Mohr (and other authors I have read) suggest that women should actually try to establish likability first (I know, so unfair) and THEN say what they think, without using the undermining language. The key thing is though, you establish likability via genuine and honest ways for you.
The reason why your blog post made me think about this is, I think, in trying to stay away from these gendered roles, a lot of women hide or repress their awesome emotional intelligence that would also naturally establish their likability. Then they try to be like men, be direct, because why not, and that doesn't work in their favor.
So, I have been thinking, bringing the nurturing side actually has two advantages (of course as long as you aren't overdoing it to hurt your career): 1) It helps the individual feel more emotionally satisfied, bring their full self, and feel good because helping others make us feel good. 2) Establish likability, so that way you get to be more straightforward and "men-like" in other areas.
I loved that Tara Mohr book.
I agree with you! I think both men and women can repress their nurturing side. But I think women end up paying either way—either they are too icy or they aren’t serious about their work.