A Structural Problem

I am seven. Wooden blocks from a wooden box are my favorite toys and I spend hours constructing miniature houses on the brown linoleum floor of our family room. I want to build houses like the ones my grandpa and uncles build, like the houses they live in. But I never see them build. Only my cousin Joe is invited to join them at their work sites, to watch, to practice, to learn. Joe is a boy.

Along the WayJulia NusbaumFebruary 1, 2024sexism, women at work Comment

Reminder: Be Durable Polyester Carpet In the Next Life

All “business professionals” crawl under their desks to cry, their bank account overdrawn (again), munching candy that coworkers slide beneath the plywood desktop. We all decorate our cubicle walls with drawings by our children, photos of our families, and potted plants that we fail to water, then revive, then fail again. All of us place small plastic goats to the left of our desktops that scream when we push down on them—wild, ugly, depraved screams that fill the room, saying “I’m okay. See? I’m fine.” Screams that ease laughs from workers drowning in hyper-focus, drowning in code, drowning in editing edits.

Women at WorkJulia NusbaumApril 26, 2023women at work, workplace, writing, technology, mental healthComment

To Capitalize on the Misfortune of Others

The women who wear athletic leisure apparel are the same women who use the thin, translucent toilet seat covers to protect themselves from the scary whiteness of the plastic seat. When there are no toilet seat covers available, they hover. These women are the same women who look at me horrified when I exit the stall.

Women at WorkJulia NusbaumJune 26, 2020women at work, working, LGBTQ+ Comment

Not Allowed Bad Days

A twelve hour shift feels like forever when you’re waiting on bad news. If you’re busy, the time might pass easily enough. Otherwise, it’s a relentless crawl. Even the most mundane tasks feel insurmountably hard.

Women at WorkJulia NusbaumJune 25, 2020women at work, family, grief, workplaceComment

Captivity

The day after my husband brought our first batch of piglets home to our farm, they escaped. The forty little black creatures that had seemed so content gamboling in our barnyard throughout the morning had, by noon, slipped out of their fencing and assembled under the ornamental crab apple tree on the lawn.

How I Became an Actual Doctor

Because I spent too long in Boston with its long and twisted streets, bikers and Priuses negotiating for space, college students converging at the end of summer, forming clusters along the Charles River, Birkenstocks in spring and Blundstones in winter. Because I was tired of texts from my mother asking if I wanted to pop out for a jog.

The Balancing Act

I hear the retching vomit and feel my breasts seize up. Even the mechanical waves of my pump can’t drown out the sick splattering on the linoleum floor under fluorescent lights. I’ve never understood fluorescent lights in schools. Research says they stress and strain, and yet they populate our buildings as if the sun might disappear one day.

Women at WorkGuest UserJune 22, 2020Motherhood, women at work, teacher Comment

The Chapter I Don't Read Out Loud

Everyone has a chapter they don't read out loud. The Why is different for everyone. Why don't they talk about it? Sometimes, it is feelings of shame, guilt, regret, pain, or loss. Other times it is feelings of joy, hope, love, triumph. If the feelings about a situation are considered to be negative, I guess I understand more why someone wouldn't share it.

Women at WorkJulia NusbaumFebruary 2, 2018women at work, feminist, story, women of powerComment

A Love Letter to All the Advocates Who Have Had Enough

I still get pangs of guilt when I go by a hospital
and I remember the 3am, 7am, 11pm or Saturday 1pm calls
beckoning me to reach into myself and pull out some sort of aid for another person.
Reaching into the mess,

Women at WorkJulia NusbaumFebruary 1, 2018women at work, story, feminist, poetry, Mental Health, #metooComment

Building My Future in a Man's World

I laid all my clothes out the night before my big day, a light blue top with ironed dress pants. I spent the previous three years wearing yoga pants and a black T shirt to work. I was finally leaving food service and getting a desk job. No more slinging sandwiches. No more smelling like eggs and cheese after a long day.

Women at WorkJulia NusbaumJanuary 31, 2018women at work, story, feministComment