Tag Archives: workaholic

What would my Turkish kaynana (mother-in-law) think? On working women and workaholism

Posted on by
9

From Mary Yücel's article on Turkish matriarchs from Today''s ZamanThe Karagöz puppets would like me to announce that they are taking a sporadic vacation this month – and will only make occasional appearances here on Slowly-by-Slowly. They are exhausted and in need of a good, long nap. Instead, you will be hearing from me, Liz Cameron, as I have taken on the challenge of writing via dictation software for the coming month as part of Blogher’s December NaBloPoMo challenge – to write on the topic of “work” each day for the whole month. As some of you know, the past month has been a tough one for me, one in which I have realized that things are way out of whack for me when it comes to how I address my approach to work. Upon reflection, work is a central theme in the discussions and arguments that M. and I have as each half of a Turkish-American marital union, so I am hopeful for this to be a month of rich reflection on how east and west approach – work.

Lately, I have been realizing how my workaholism has caused iceberg-like problems in my life, problems floating just beneath the surface that are both medical and mental. Now that I am stuck without a writing hand and meekly dependant on dictation software, I have been unable to work, and have had a lot of time to think. And I have been spending a lot of thinking time sitting in our living room drinking glass upon glass of Turkish çay with lemon, meditating on the tiny tinker’s sound of demitasse spoon on glass as I stir the sugar into oblivion. And sitting there, with my çay, in our living room, I sit with three achingly gorgeous black and white photos of my kaynana (Turkish for mother-in-law). And as I sit with these photos, I think about my current-day workaholism and about how my life might be different if I was a wife in Istanbul in my kaynana’s era…and how there might be some middle path that would work for me, and for M.

When I get burned out on analyzing my situation too much, I just go back to the content of those photos of my mother-in-law again. Clearly, my kaynana is the epitome of graciousness. Always dressed to the nines, she poses perfectly in those photos, nary a hair out of place and always looking at me with what can only be described as a deeply kind, understanding and warm-hearted smile. She has a muted glow emanating from her, even in these photos, and it gives me great comfort to feel that glow from her. I can only imagine what my kaynana must have looked like in real life, as I never had the chance to meet her. She died the same year as my biological mother.

Now, many people joke about the best mother-in-law being a dead mother in law – and all I say to that is “how crass!” Although, truth be told, I have never experienced a terrible one, I suppose. As a woman married to a Turkish man, I have noted that many write about the challenges of marriage to a Turkish man – especially with regard to the relationship with their kaynana – just try a google search and you will come up with a veritable cornucopia of commentary on the topic. Mary Yücel, for example, provides a typology of Turkish mother-in-laws – but takes a positive spin. Natalie Sayin, for example, writes with hilarity about her short-lived membership in the elite Turkish housewives club in a way that is a tiny window into her life with her kaynana. Zeynep Kilic writes about her “exotification” in the dating process – after two marriages to Turkish men ended, with a slight but large enough mention of the ways that their mothers, perhaps, got in the way. American women who are married to Turkish men often find solace in a secret conversation with me about the challenges of their relationship with their kaynana – knowing that I won’t spill the beans. And Turkish women that I know too, have referenced the struggles with their particular kaynana as well. Clearly, the Turkish male worship of their mothers rivals that of Mary, Mother of God worship – or the Virgin of Guadelupe, perhaps, but perhaps in less of a healthy way. And it is for this reason that I feel extremely lucky, as I have a wonderful, imaginary relationship with my phantom kaynana.

And so over these past weeks on medical leave, sitting in my pajamas at mid-day, depressed as all get out with my arm in a sling, reflecting on the past 7 years of my workaholic academic life and floundering about where to go from here, I can only imagine what my kaynana would think of me. I must admit, I would rather keep the glowing image of her in these three photographs, with an idealist image of a friendly, respectful relationship in which she taught me all she knew about Turkish cuisine, for example. But I can only imagine what she might have thought of her American daughter-in-law, the workaholic with fly-away hair, unkempt fingernails, microwave meals and a racing, workaholic heart most of the time. Now, although she did have household help given the family economics and culture of Istanbul at the time, M. tells me that she did much of the cooking and tending to her boys. So, as a feminist, of course, I must honor the fact that she, too, was a working woman.

And as these last couple of months came crashing down into my shoulder injury and parallel major depressive episode, it was, in part, the observation of these photographs of my kaynana as I ran out the door to work in what can only be described as a harried and frenzied state, that made me realize that my life was indeed massively out-of-whack, so to speak. While we cannot afford the luxury of the life my kaynana led, there is a lesson in the need for self-care, order and calm seas in one’s life.

Tomorrow, I will talk about how I have imagined the presence of my kaynana during a typically crazy American academic work day. I hope you will stay tuned!

Related articles

Living in the blue light of the Write-a-Matrix

Posted on by
2

Blue light exposure

Blue light exposure (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Upon my return from the conference in Oregon (and yes, I did get the “special treatment” package from TSA, but it was fine), the puppets and I were startled awake by the dog at the side of the bed, who was running excitedly from our room to the dining room table, where flashes of blue light seemed to be emanating.  I really could not be sure, as I was mostly asleep and my eyes were not working right.  I wanted to turn back over and keep sleeping, but Karagoz and the entire troupe nudged me out of bed and made me walk into the dining room.

And there we stood, me, the dog, Karagoz, Esma, Kenne, Hacivad and all the rest, looking at the rounded-square shaped characters crawling out of the computer screen.  One by one, those oddly-shaped electronic tumbleweeds clip-clopped onto the table, down onto the floor until they surrounded us, each one of us, with their tinny but deep blue electricness and before I knew it, I was sitting in an armchair made of those oddly-shaped laptop-induced beings, typing away at all hours of the night just to keep up as my days at work had grown so long.

I became so enmeshed in those lights that they carried me through the days of meetings and classes and more meetings that left my head throbbing and tired despite chugging on day-quil to keep what must be a sinus infection at bay.  I could see the puppets waving and yelling at me through the blue silence that was at the same time a din – but I could not understand what they were saying other than “when are you going to come back?” and “we haven’t been able to deliver tea to you in days – you should really stop with the Starbuck’s green tea lattes and Dunkin Donuts creamy coffee in the drive through – you can’t survive on oatmeal, bananas, bagels and cream cheese, you know” and “your husband misses you.”

Suffice it to say, the Write-a-Matrix has found some keen allies in these tiny blue electric beings, but they are not long for this world.  Their power source is fading like the electric lamp in the projector in my classroom and their jig is going to be up soon.  My students end-of-year thesis presentations are tomorrow and this will be a major turning point back to life as we know it!  Done will be the student tears, angst, gnashing of teeth and arguing.  Done will be the battling for rooms large enough to accommodate our audiences.  Done will be the endless stream of complaints about the presentation schedule, the fact that I, the alleged toughest grader in the school (so say my students), will moderate their presentation and ask “a scary question.” Done will be the after-party celebration with  my students at our local camp-o-rama Fantasty Island tiki bar.  It will all be done and it will be time to go home and reconnoiter with my puppets and more importantly my people.  I can see the puppets reading my mind behind the electronic barrier – and they are jumping with joy at the idea of coming back soon!