Labour, care and the invisible work

This post started with listening to Paris Paloma’s Labour and watching the video. It contains swearing, and so does my writing, because I find it useful when I feel this strongly.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_sSuViPBHs

On first listen to this track, though I clocked the brilliance of her arrangement and beats, I half wrote her off as another ethereal, slightly fragile-looking artist with an appealing but forgettable voice.

But then I heard what she had to say.

I also saw her throw her arms in the air, hairy armpits like two fuck yous to an industry that disturbingly infantilises yet sexualises women, squeezes beauty so hard it exploits every last drop, then disposes of the conduit of it like so many women “beyond their prime”.

Her reply seemed to be: I am not here to be beautiful for you. I am not just here to play the game. I am here to speak.

I had tears flowing as I listened. I felt like a proud auntie. It made me dance and shout as I heard her fiercely dance and shout for all those humans, whatever their gender, who have been and continue to be oppressed and damaged by patriarchy.

It also made me think about emotional labour, what it is and specifically who is expected to hold emotion.

Who notices, anticipates, smooths things over, thinks ahead, tries not to piss people off, and keeps everyone happy?

This is not always women, but historically has often been women. It is even more often caring people, with qualities that have been seen as feminine for longer than they haven’t.

Care is essential to society, but so often unseen, unpaid and undervalued. NHS staff are clapped for or called angels during crisis whilst holding everything up underfunded. Exhausted people are called heroes. Volunteers are praised for being good people, without enough attention paid to how overstrained they can become. Mums, nurses, carers and community are sentimentalised rather than seen as fundamental to the functioning of society.

When systems are not built around care being fundamentally valuable, and when that is the water we swim in, we start to believe it about ourselves. What gets dismissed out there gets dismissed inside us too.

Invisible care can show up in all sorts of ways: noticing what is unspoken, sensing what is needed, smoothing tensions, remembering the small things, making people feel safe, anticipating what might go wrong, holding people in mind, or trying to bring things back into balance.

I recognise this kind of stuff in myself more and more as I get older, but often a bit after I have gone over my own capacity. Though I am getting more boundaried about how much time I give, and staying in my own business, I am still letting go of the habit of giving away mental and emotional labour to situations that cannot hold it or support it.

For example, I can be asked to do one thing, but then think it through from every angle, looping back a few more laps just to check for error, and exhausting myself because I haven’t stopped when I have done enough. Comically, I am doing it RIGHT NOW, editing this post for the umpteenth time.

Instead of recognising my care-driven thinking as a valuable attribute that might be channelled for use and effect, then put to one side when not needed, like something precious you keep safe until it is needed, I have often kept giving more thought and consideration, somehow trying to earn the gold star that will never come. I have also felt the label of overthinking as something to be ashamed of.

I know I am not alone in this, and I think hurts and divides us when we believe the problem is us individually being at fault, rather than noticing the wider pattern we are living inside that keeps us locked into this kind of overgiving. Like a snake eating its tail until it chokes.

I think what I'm edging towards here is bigger than care alone.

Overcare, overwork and overgiving may all be “different symptoms of the same disease” (thank you to my good friend Emran, for this insight).

A culture that treats human beings, and the planet, as if our resources are infinite is one that damages us all. It disconnects us not only from own our nature as living beings , but also from our nature as interconnected beings, twisting interdependence into transaction.

It also pushes us to opposite ends of the same scale. Some of us become overly defended, focused on protecting our own interests. Some of us become overly responsible, focused on everyone else’s needs at the expense of our own. Either way, it creates exploitation, resentment and separation. It makes us mistrust each other across difference, instead of recognising that we are interconnected beings with many of the same needs, needs that can really only ever hope to be fulfilled in systems , not silos.

So, what’s next for me in this? How do I create some space from this stuff rather than just keep acting it out? I think it starts with recognising that I have freedoms and privileges that many before me, and many now, have not had. But that recognition is not a reason to silence myself or doubt what I feel. It is a reason to get more courageous about clearing my own version of this programme: the one that tells me to shrink, over-function, dismiss my own knowing, and call my care “too much”. Listening to that doesn't do anyone any favours really, does it it?

In my heart and bones, I imagine my ancestors striking the drum and cheering me on. Especially in my motherline. Don’t you dare believe the shit that says you are not enough, they say. Be who you are. Make the most of all of this. Care all you want, but do it honestly. Let love hold you too. Don’t pretend it costs nothing.

So I am learning to let go of internalised oppression, imperfectly and messily, with my arms flailing about as I rant. Within that dance I am stomping out the idea that my emotional and intuitive intelligence is “too much”, and the idea that diminishing myself is humble. It is not humble. It is a legacy of the same oppression I am trying to question, and as always, I need to start with myself before I can sustain the greater fight.

So this is my new song, sing it with me if you like:

My time and energy are deeply valuable.

So is everyone else’s.

And none of this is infinite.

We are not machines. We are organic beings.

We need rest, food, shelter, softness, support, laughter, time, money, love and room to breathe.

Care is real work.

Real work needs resourcing.

Art by Jolene Sheehan

I am writing this partly to help myself remember because I know I can forget what I have learned, or struggle to apply it, so to help me, I would love to hear your thoughts and stories too. You could answer one of these questions, or just reply in your own way.

• Does any of this relate to my experience, or clash with it?

  
  

• What emotional labour am I carrying, and how can I I honour it. Or, put some of this down if it is too much for me?

  
  

• What parts of myself have I criticised that might actually be forms of intelligence?

  
  

• Where does my care need a better outlet or more support to be sustainable?

  
  

• What would change if I treated my time, my care and my emotional energy as deeply valuable?

How to share your thoughts

If you want to write, you can post a comment below, or email me. I would love to read it.

I would also love to hear your voices. I’m hoping to combine the audio I receive and share some of it on the next Joy Ethic Show, so others can hear these reflections too.

If you would like to contribute, please send me a voice note by email at jolene.joyethic@gmail.com, or WhatsApp me if you have my number.

Please submit by 5th June.