urple background a white skinned mama holding a baby and a phone and looking at a laptop with a turquoise thought bubble. worried but optimistic vibes.
Image: Tina Tiller

OPINIONSocietyMarch 16, 2023

It shouldn’t be this hard to return to work after maternity leave

urple background a white skinned mama holding a baby and a phone and looking at a laptop with a turquoise thought bubble. worried but optimistic vibes.
Image: Tina Tiller

It took me 10 years to work my way back to a technical role at the same level as what I had before going on maternity leave. Returning to work shouldn’t be like this.

I am a Systems Development Support engineer by trade, and I’m very good at it. I’m also a mother of two.

Sure, taking seven years off to raise my children left me behind the latest technologies. But despite applying for countless roles in software development and engineering, when I was ready to return to the workforce I couldn’t even get an interview. My experience wasn’t current, and no business had the willingness to train me back up to speed, despite the success I’d had in my technical career before having kids.

To make matters worse, when I applied for junior roles, I was told I was overqualified. In the end, I had no choice but to take an entry level position, right alongside new graduates.

A decade of hard work later, I am back where I started. During this time my husband, who also has a career in technology, continued to climb the corporate ladder and rise to prominent positions.

The technology industry in Aotearoa is desperate to retain women, but after my experience I can see why it’s making slow progress. The system simply isn’t built to flex around the lives of women, and those who take on primary caregiver roles. Few organisations have reviewed how they operate to get the most out of female talent.

A mum holding her baby.
Parenting teaches valuable skills that are an asset, not a weakness, at work. (Photo: File)

My original foray into the tech industry was a coincidence. I’d been accepted to study osteopathy at  university at age 17 but I was technically too young to begin, so I found part time jobs to whittle away the time.

I started selling and building computers. I loved it but was the only female on the team. The boss put them through some “PC” training before I began; they weren’t allowed to swear anymore, too disrespectful around a young woman. In a twist the men certainly didn’t see coming, I swore just as much as them. By the time I left I was leading a team of six technicians, all males. I stayed in tech and ended up with a great technical job in one of New Zealand’s largest organisations. During these years, being a woman never stopped me from achieving my career goals.

I loved my work, but at the same time I knew I wanted to be a stay-at-home mum for my children when they were young. Had I known what the ramifications of this decision would be then, perhaps my thought process would have played out differently.

I took to parenthood similarly to my career, trying to upskill as much as possible. Although I maintained that I would return to tech, I studied early childhood, learning about brain development. I grew and learnt so much during these years, but by the time my youngest started school and I was ready to focus back on my own development, I seemed to be locked out of my old technical career.

cartony picture of two women high fiving
If New Zealand companies want parents to work for them, they need to support people who return after parental leave (Image: Tina Tiller)

Humbled and willing to take anything I could to get back on the ladder, I took a low salary desk job. I eventually became a PBX engineer, happy to be back engineering, but painfully aware I was no longer at the level of seniority I had previously achieved. It wasn’t until I found my role at Kordia and was promoted into their SDS team that I felt I was back-on-track. To be honest, there were points during this time where I pondered giving up totally, but now I’m with an organisation that plays to my strengths.

Comparatively, I’m lucky. There are thousands of women who have similar experiences, many of whom may not have had the continuous support I had from my husband, who was there to carry the domestic load as I worked long hours to regain my foothold.

Here’s the thing: the skills I learnt as a full-time mother and a trained early childhood teacher transferred seamlessly to my return to tech and management once I had the opportunity to apply them. Time management, sensitivity in communication and achieving under immense pressure are all skills I’m certain every stay-at-home mother possesses. It is frustrating that we place little to no value on these skills in a professional environment.

It is important to acknowledge the inherent shortfalls of the tech industry in allowing time, space and discussions around the re-integration of women back into their line of work after having children. The professional complex has somehow not worked out a way to meld these two things together. While we have come a long way regarding gender and diversity in tech, women still only make up roughly a quarter of the sector worldwide. The higher you go up that food chain, the more those numbers dwindle.

If tech and engineering companies are sincere about seeing more women progress in the workforce, they need to appreciate the importance of the skills women can bring and create environments that utilise these strengths, not just feel as though they are filling a quota. We need more clever business leaders with lived experience who comprehend the importance of parental leave and can help implement plans to support their female talent re-enter the workforce. With the pandemic, we proved that businesses canadapt to flexible working – we need to extend that same problem-solving approach to this issue.

Seventeen years since having kids, I’m hopeful that sharing my story might galvanise change for the next generation of working mothers – because being parent shouldn’t have to be at odds with having a career.

Keep going!
Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

SocietyMarch 16, 2023

Help Me Hera: Is my famous boyfriend too good for me?

Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

This week, Hera Lindsay Bird explains why caring about fame is a big waste of time.

Want Hera’s help? Email your problem to helpme@thespinoff.co.nz

Help Me, Hera: I’m dating someone mildly famous and have yet to complete even one of my life goals. How do I rid myself of this crushing inferiority complex? 

First of all, I have good news for you, which is there is no such thing as being mildly famous. There is being famous (Elizabeth Taylor) and then there’s being invited to spin the wheel at the local rotary meat raffle.

If your partner is famous (Elizabeth Taylor), you have two options. Either you can skulk in the shadows of their limelight and dedicate your life to making nasty little dioramas that will garner you an air of mystique in their future biographies. Or you can Sylvia Plath them, aka intellectually and creatively dominate them, and shackle their legacy forever to your star, like an office chair to a beautiful runaway horse.

I’m assuming your boyfriend isn’t famous (Hugh Grant) otherwise, you’d be too busy laughing in a jacuzzi in a limousine to write to me. I’m willing to bet your boyfriend is – like a beautiful scarecrow – admired and respected in his field. But the world is full of people who are admired and respected in their fields. Every time I catch a plane I wonder how many international ice hockey champions or award-winning biographers of Plato are probably lurking aboard. Everyone’s famous to someone. This is Richard Scarry’s Busytown, and we’re all pigs in aprons.

Still, I understand the cause for concern. If the past has taught us anything, it’s that some of us get to be Charles Dickens, and others get to marry Charles Dickens, give birth to 10 of his children, and spend the next three decades stewing mutton, while our husband is off changing the face of Western literature. But it’s 2023, and now women can be Charles Dickens too.

Above all else, what you shouldn’t do is compare yourself to your boyfriend. Not only is it fundamentally detrimental to your relationship, it’s criminally unambitious. Instead, why not compare yourself to Emily Dickinson. Or Sun Tzu. Become the Barbra Streisand of whatever it is you want to do, even if that’s systems maintenance for online weapons infrastructure. Look beyond the accomplishments of your peers, and raise your eyes to the dead. My thinking is, if you’re going to feel inferior to someone, you might as well go all in. Feeling inferior to George Eliot is a lot more fun than feeling inferior to your boyfriend. And by setting your expectations outrageously high, you’re more likely to produce something good. Who knows. If you try to write The Great American Novel and fail, you may accidentally discover you’ve written the Great Canadian Novel instead.

You say you have goals you want to achieve. Congratulations. The hardest part in life is deciding what to do with it. That being said, achieving things is overrated. The moment you’ve achieved something, it’s already halfway gone, like a sausage roll dropped into the path of a golden retriever. But just because all the other girls are in a hurry to write their first opera before they turn 25, doesn’t mean you need to. You didn’t say how old you are or what your goals are (get published in the Paris Review? Avenge your dead wife?) But sometimes it’s advantageous to wait, and avenge your dead wife later in your career when you have more wife-avenging experience, and already know the sort of brutal, humiliating punishment you want to exact. In any case, the hardest thing about goals is learning to enjoy working towards them. If you can find a way to trick yourself into loving the daily routine of whatever it is you want to do, whether that’s long-distance running, writing philosophical treatises, or memorising every bone in the human body, that’s half the battle.

Right now you’re in the best possible position. By far the best time to make anything is when you haven’t already done the thing you’re going to do. You have time to copy. Invent. Make hideous mistakes and file them in a manila envelope titled “juvenilia”. Decide you’re going to direct a western, then change your mind and start researching neuroendocrinology halfway through. And the best part is you don’t even have to tell anyone what you’re doing.

You have to rid yourself of a crushing inferiority complex, by taking yourself seriously. You have to wear an invisible beret – the sort nobody but mimes can see. You have to pick your own grave and write your name on it. And if you get a few free lobster dinners out of your mildly famous boyfriend along the way, bon appetit!

Want Hera’s help? Email your problem to helpme@thespinoff.co.nz