In February, I was part of a panel at the University of Tulsa asking questions in a school board candidate forum when a text came from my 16-year-old daughter. I had the phone visible only to keep track of time.
Instead, I found myself for a couple of minutes sneaking responses. Here is a bit of the exchange:
“I forgot my keys in my car,” she said.
“I’m on a stage asking school board members questions.”
“Dude. Does Dad have a key?” she asked.
“No. I’m done in an hour.”
“I’m trying to break into my car. How much longer do you have because I can drive to where you are. Or should I call AAA?” she asked
“Call Dad. I’m literally on a stage. And we have a different car service.”
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“No, I just need to know if I should come to you,” she repeated.
“ON STAGE NOW!! I’m done in 45 minutes.”
“So, I’ll just come to you then. On my way.”
She showed up just after the forum ended. I’ve wondered if she would have walked on stage to get the spare key had the forum been in progress.
When I showed the exchange to women with grown daughters, they laughed and added their own stories, creating a unique sorority.
There is just something about being the mom that kids and other family members gravitate toward.
That’s why the idea of a work-family life balance is laughable. At least, that was the sentiment from a recent women’s wellness forum hosted by Grand Mental Health.
Several women who are leaders in our community were on a panel discussing how they manage their lives. It was a relief to hear none found it easy but could appreciate humor in the situation.
Tulsa Public Schools Superintendent Ebony Johnson joked that she calls her college-age son “Cash App” because his name pops up automatically on that app. Her daughter is a high school junior and ranked as one of the nation’s top girls basketball players.
Accepting the superintendent job in December means missing a lot more of her daughter’s experiences, especially out-of-state competitions. Johnson’s typical day starts with a breakfast event before 8 a.m. and continues to evening meetings, scheduled down to the hour.
“There is no balance to this right now in my life. It’s so off-balance,” Johnson said.
However, she takes comfort in that the Tulsa community, particularly those who know her well, understands these sacrifices.
Johnson has been stopped while testing grapes in the grocery store (don’t judge, we all do that) or pulled aside at restaurants by people asking to pray for her and the district. She accepts those prayers.
“The demand is great, but I’m around people embracing what we need,” she said.
Not one woman on the panel complained about her own work. Not one woman thought she faced anything new. But the question remains: How can women be so many things to so many people?
All said they depend on a network of family and friends to help them do what they do. Simply, it’s community.
“I’m a part of a group of women … who for many, many years have balanced things that have been imbalanced,” Johnson said. “We are leaned upon and called upon in ways that — nothing against our men — but it’s different, especially when you have family.
“Our little people and older people in our lives want the woman; they want the mama. They want to lay upon our thigh and on our head and on our chest and ask us questions. They need us in a way. Then we are also here for all others in our community and in our lives.
“So I consider it an honor to stand alongside other women who have figured out how to do this and am honored to be able to try to find a little bit of balance in an imbalanced situation.”
That was a drop the mic moment.
Allie Friesen, who was appointed by Gov. Kevin Stitt in January to lead the Oklahoma State Department of Mental Health and Substance Abuse Services, said each change of life means a shift in how to manage everything.
Things that worked before having young children or in former jobs may not be effective now. She said that in her new position, she now takes breakfast and lunch meetings so she can be home for her toddler’s nighttime routine.
“There is not balance; it’s an illusion,” Friesen said. “In my opinion, there are unrealistic expectations placed on us, whether conscious or unconscious. In this new role, I’m trying to figure out what the schedule looks like and what the demands look like.
“I have humbled myself time and time again to say please advise me.”
Then, Susan Savage had wonderful pearls of wisdom and reassurance. She was the first woman to be elected Tulsa’s mayor, serving from 1992 to 2002. She was the Oklahoma secretary of state from 2003 to 2011 and now is CEO of Morton Comprehensive Health Services.
Savage entered public service with two elementary-age daughters.
“I will say to those of you with school-age children, the balance continues to be a challenge, but the language around these issues has changed a lot,” Savage said.
“I was asked questions about what my children do for child care, not in a ‘How do you manage it’ way. But it was a ‘Hmm, you’re in public office at age 40 with school-age children’ way. There was a lot of judgment behind those questions.
“The good news is I had incredibly supportive family and friends. And I relied on them. That’s how we all succeed. We either show up for our families, or we have our friends show up for us.”
Savage forged a path in modern politics in a state that continues to lag in equal representation for women. It’s safe to say she’s experienced a lot in that journey.
“There were no women around as role models for me except for a handful of people at the national level,” Savage said. “I remember the people who came before me — men and women — who opened doors. I’m trying to do the same for women who have followed me.
“And, looking at the achievements, I can look at both my daughters and granddaughter, who do not see barriers.”
After the event, Savage stopped me to say I would survive my daughter’s teen years. One thing is certain: Because of women like Savage, my daughter also sees no barriers, including a stage with her mother on it.