The victory of a made bed

I've been working for nearly 41 years now. I started as a night-school receptionist when I was fifteen. I put myself through university working as a member of the armed forces reserves. I got a job straight out of university and stayed there for sixteen years; changed companies but not industries and stayed another seventeen years. I've been pretty clear on my responsibility as an employee-professional:

• Safeguard public safety through responsible engineering practices
• Provide my employer with a professional level of engineering services, including providing any engineering advice that is in my domain of expertise even when the advice involves highlighting potential risks to the employer's pet projects
• Uphold the dignity of the engineering profession by ethical practice, ethical and courteous day-to-day behaviour, mentoring and training junior engineers, participating in self-regulation of the engineering profession.

There have been times when those duties are frankly not appreciated by the employer. Where taking a short-cut that just slightly lessens margins of safety was pushed by the employer. Where the employer did not want to hear about any possible downsides to his "great idea". Where the employer denigrated the need for ethics and professionalism. This is where the wisdom of the world diverges from actual wisdom: some people bend to please a less-than-wise or less-than-ethical employer. And those who don't, eventually have to pay a price for their ethics.

So a week ago today I was escorted out of my employer's building with the news that I am "not a fit" for the company's current direction. And after 41 years of uninterrupted gainful employment -- well, uninterrupted except for two maternity leaves, but those were leave: I had the assurance of a job to return to -- for the first time, I am without work. So I was shocked. I was in shock. I reeled.

And then, as the fog began to clear just a little, the first real emotion I became aware of was sheer overwhelming relief. I don't have to fight against bad policies and mandated mediocrity. I don't have to scramble to meet inflexible arbitrary deadlines with inadequate resources. I don't need to daily suck up the little insults of male co-workers who cannot tolerate needing a woman's insights. And I can make my bed.

That's right: after 41 years of rushing from home to work, from work to daycare, from daycare to home to extracurriculars; 41 years of simply not having enough hours in the day to invest in what matters, let alone invest in housework; for the first time in forever, I can enjoy the common everyday decency of sitting down to work knowing my breakfast dishes are washed and my bed is made.

I don't think that's something I will ever give up again. I deserve better.