emotional labor

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The Real Cost of Microaggressions

Constant microaggressions is something that really is a shared experience. My introduction to phenomenology was not that microaggressions takes a large toll. Microaggressions are comments that can be so subtle even I shake it off and disregard it with expression and then internalize it. Whenever I read something in this class, I always find myself reflecting on experiences and realizing how quickly I will “simply” internalize it and not express the discomfort. I put the term simply in quotes because how simple can it be to internalize the feeling of being put in a majority when you are not the same as every person in that majority? For me, the word “simply” in that context is the repeated, chronic discrimination is something that I have had to deal with my entire life. There is never a time when I think about what would be the outcome of this everyday internalized discrimination against myself.

“Perceptual practices can be organized, like bodily movements used to perform various operations, into integrated units that become habitual.”

Alcoff, Linda Martin. “Towards a phenomenology of racial embodiment.”

Alcoff’s article made me critically think about my own and shared experiences with discrimination. In her article, I took away a new perception about microaggressions. I think this shift is because of that “simple” term I mentioned before. Someone in a constant routine usually will start to be able to do those things with so much ease that it becomes automatic. So automatic I never thought about these costs. An emotional performance is put on when faced with microaggressions. An example is suppressing anger. Something you are constantly emotionally performing for is something that takes on the body. That constant suppression can lead to a breakdown and an overwhelming feeling that makes you feel exhausted. Some days there will just be all those performances that take a toll on self-efficacy.

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GAD and Emotional Labor — A Full-Time Job

Earlier today, I had to go grocery shopping. I was missing a few things around my apartment, and naturally had to make a quick stop at the Giant near campus to grab a couple of things. The trip itself didn’t take more than 30 minutes, and despite the crowds in the store, I had no issue finding and purchasing everything I needed.

By the time I returned to my apartment, my heart rate was averaging 120, I was covered in stress sweat, and I felt like my brain was scrambled eggs, just like the one “Your Brain on Drugs” ad — except my brain was just on tons of stress hormones.

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Reproductive + Emotional Labor = Wishing I was a Boy

(Image of a boy who looks dirty while doing science while two girls who look clean are surprised and giggle) – Crazy picture by the way

I grew up as a big sister. This role consisted of my unpaid labor, such as housework and childcare. In my house lived my single mom who worked 12+ hours a day and my little sister that is 5 years younger than me. Growing up, my friends never wanted to come over because my mom would ask us to clean the house and I was never in a position to say no. At other friends’ houses, it was always to clean up after ourselves which I especially didn’t mind doing. But one day, I realized that boys my age were rarely given this responsibility.

It feels so dumb to think that I was so upset about cleaning, but the extent of unequal treatment I felt still persists today. I saw my male classmates running around outside while the girls stayed behind and pushed in our chairs, put our stuff away, and followed directions. I saw my friends’ brothers run to play video games right after a meal while my friends and I would scrape our plates and at least put them in the sink. I saw my male cousins never once offer to do dishes, and my aunt always accepted that she would after spending hours cooking a dinner that she didn’t even eat. 

On top of that, my parents have always expected me, as the big sister, to understand why they hate each other. My divorced parents put me in the middle of their ‘friendly communication’ for 15 years. I’ve heard whining from both sides about how awful and unreasonable the other is being, and I am supposed to give advice and agree. When I ignore it, they feel bad but continue a few hours later. It’s a loop I’ve been stuck in that gets better until it doesn’t (and trust me, I’ve tried EVERYTHING).

All the emotional and reproductive labor I have done in my life makes me wish I was born a boy (I’m delighted to think that all of the mental anguish I’ve been through could be resolved if so). Although it’s an unrealistic thought, it lets me imagine what could’ve been, without my life’s pervasive reproductive and emotional labor. I wish I was a boy without a care in the world, who could eat mud pies and play with worms. Instead, I had to be clean and calm which has defined my past.

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Twintuition

Growing up with a twin brother taught me more than I would like to know about emotional labor. From my first memories of us growing up together, I knew that the expectations I was held to were quite different from those that my brother was held to. I was expected to be the picture of emotional maturity. Conflict resolution, good communication, and empathy was something that was supposed to be built in. My brother was merely expected to be a boy. The worst part about the expectation of performing emotional labor is that it goes largely unnoticed and unvalued.

When I was a child, maybe 7 or 8, my twin brother and I would fight relentlessly. I would come to hang out with him and his friends, and the argument would usually start of by him declaring that he did not want me there because I was a girl. I would defend myself and my ability to hang with the boys, and eventually he would give in. This was not the end of the emotional torment. Once it was decided that I was allowed to stay, my brother would do anything he could to belittle me, whether that was emotionally or physically, many times both. Sometimes I would ignore and play nice, and sometimes I would snap back. Snapping back never worked. The fight would escalate with my attempts to defend myself. It always came down to the fact that he was bigger than me or meaner than me.

When I had finally had enough and went to my parents for help, I got the same answer most of the time: “Don’t take it personally, boys will be boys. Either don’t hang out with them or suck it up and go back in.” Here is where the imbalance lied. I was always expected to do one of two things. My first option was to go back into the room and diffuse the situation, either by apologizing or by pretending like nothing happened. My second option was to stop hanging out with my brother and spend the rest of the day alone, thinking about what had just occurred. Either way, I was expected to perform emotional labor while no emotional labor was ever expected of my brother.

You would think that being expected to perform emotional labor since childhood would make one better at communicating in emotionally charged situations. For me at least, it did the opposite. I have spent so long prioritizing the diffusion of social situations that I seem to have forgotten how to advocate for myself. Instead of assertively communicating when someone has hurt me or I want something different than someone else, I freeze or avoid, which ultimately makes the situation worlds worse than if I just stood up for myself. Emotional labor is something that should be taught with equity and highly valued, not something that is expected of someone because of who they are. When emotional labor is expected rather than taught and respected, it can quickly become a source of massive trauma.

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I Quit.

Why do we work ourselves the way that we do? Do I actually want to do my job or am I there due simply to societal expectation? How many jobs do I need to juggle to make a decent wage? Why am I told to work myself to death in order to “succeed”? 

Last week I quit a job for the first time ever. Sure, I’ve held many different jobs in the past, but I’ve always simply “moved on”, outgrown it, graduated; I’ve never just quit so suddenly. However, my work environment had become so toxic and taxing on my mental health, I had to leave. This was a really empowering experience if I’m being honest, but it has left me anxiously wondering and stressing. I haven’t been properly unemployed since I was about fourteen. Even though I’m a full time student now and my mental health has been suffering, I still am finding myself anxious about not having any income for an indefinite period. Though I know logically that I need the break and I will be okay if I take some time off, I feel anxious and somehow as though I am failing. 

This has led me to do a lot of reflecting. I feel such frustration at this system and society we have created for ourselves. Living as a full time student balancing classes, extracurriculars, and a social life is enough of a full time job by itself. Yet we live in a world where not having a consistent income is both damning and regarded as a disappointment. Why do we push ourselves to the breaking point every day, expecting the utmost effort and engagement no matter what? I can only dream of how much more productive and healthy we would all be if we simply prioritized our mental health and undertook a balanced, reasonable schedule. How long until I run out of gas money? When do I have time for job applications? Am I failing because I’m not employed while my friends are? What if we stepped back? What if we broke the cycle? What if we chose to prioritize ourselves instead of this toxic loop of waking, working, spending, sleeping, and repeating? Not to mention that emotional labor is interwoven between physical demands, in our jobs and lives. It is always simply expected. Don’t break down, don’t show weakness or frustration or exhaustion or anger. Be pleasant, be professional. 

What if we had universal healthcare? What if bills weren’t such a stressor? What if the cost of living didn’t grow exponentially faster than the average salary? 

How long until I’m too exhausted to function in this world anymore, until I have to quit?