Recently I have been trying something. It’s totally counterintuitive in many ways, not least because I am a woman, but also because of the
Job I do. My professional role is underpinned by my capabilities to talk and keep the conversation flowing. I need to disrupt the normal rules of engagement at times and poke through the cliches too, while, yes, keeping that conversation flowing. In fact, I often say I am in the business of conversation, where all of the boring bits, the filler, are produced out, in the hope of a dazzling radio or TV programme emerging. That’s the ultimate goal. And yet in my personal life, far from the mic, I have been experimenting with not making conversation with someone if they are not reciprocating. I am not talking about shy people or people who are a bit reticent. Those are some of my favourite types to try and unlock; it happens slowly but often produces great and unexpected insights. Working harder to connect with someone others may not flock towards is one of my favourite pastimes. No, I am talking about those who are expecting me to do all of the work and giving deliberately short or vague answers. They might not be doing it with mal-intent, but who exactly are they expecting to pick up the slack and make the moment OK? Or less awkward? Me? No ta. I have been downing tools on this particular form of emotional
Labour for some time. Like with the man who said to me recently: “I work in PE.” Suspecting he meant private equity, I feigned ignorance and replied: “Physical education?” Despite probably having loved the idea of being a PE teacher at school (he was also a keen cyclist – full lycra squad job), he looked at me like I’d just crawled out of a rock and had no understanding of the world. He then corrected me and offered little else. So I did and said nothing. I drank my drink and looked at him. And just waited. Can I tell you something else I am good at beyond facilitating and guiding people though any sort of conversional quagmire? Silence. Sitting in it. Standing in it. Holding eye contact in it. I am exquisite at it and almost revel in the stinky awkwardness of it. I have had years of training, both professionally and personally, and like most people, I used to struggle with it, overcompensating and talking too much. But now I am fully at one with zero chat. My personal best: I once sat in 12 seconds of silence on air as a would-be MP laboured over what their answer should be to a question. I looked at them, they at me, and the seconds rolled by. Twelve might not sound like a lot but try it now and you will realise that on a radio show it is an age. As my producer frantically looked at me, beseeching me to break it for fear our listeners might have thought we had dropped off the network or worse, I’d keeled over and was no more, I waited. And waited. An answer eventually came and the social order was restored; my producer’s breathing resumed. I don’t know how many seconds passed with PE man, but he was then forced to make the next remark, while I had time to eat some more of my food at the formal dinner where we were thrust together. The work was on him. Read Next We’ve forgotten how to find time for our
Friends Over the last six months or so, since returning to working life from my second maternity leave , I have been on a social strike of sorts when I am not at work. It began during my stint full-time caring for both of our children. This is often a period when
Women feel their most invisible and bloody knackered, like they have nothing to say or offer conversationally beyond the minutiae of our caring work. But while I may not have had the range of a more varied work day to pull upon for vignettes or stories, I had a stronger need for adult conversation than ever before. And yet with little energy in the tank, I couldn’t do all of the heavy lifting with an unwilling or lazier conversational partner, so I simply stopped compensating for them. I was reminded of this slightly unwitting new strategy of mine this week on Woman’s Hour when I had the pleasure of interviewing the journalist and author Rose Hackman, who wrote the book Emotional Labour. She argues brilliantly that there is no such thing as “female intuition”, that nebulous thing held up as the reason why women often empathise and connect better with people than men. The work women do to connect with people is actually a form of emotional labour. Her
Social Media posts have been travelling far and wide as she explains that women’s intuition, the guessing of the feeling and actions of others, is actually a result of a power imbalance, typically between women and men. According to Rose, organisational psychologists call it “subordinate intuition”: “It isn’t a women’s issue because when studies have taken sex out of the equation by putting women in the dominant role, whoever is the subordinate works harder emotionally. It’s about a power imbalance. “When you have the power, you don’t have to filter your emotions. People who are subordinates filter their emotions, become intuitive and guess what their superiors want.” Women aren’t naturally better at this stuff. We have had to become better in order to survive at times, whether that is when living with a violent person and trying to second guess their needs, or keeping food on the table by not upsetting anyone’s expectations in the workplace. People recognise this dynamic in settings where race plays a part too: people are effectively forced to codify their behaviour in order to try and meet others’ preconceived ideas. The power imbalance is a constant feature. Rose’s work reached even more people on TikTok after she linked her observations and a piece of research entitled “ Women’s Intuition from 1985 “ to recent remarks by
Meryl Streep talking on a majority male panel. The global acting star and powerhouse said: “It’s like women have learned the language of men… we have lived in the house of men all of our lives… Women speak men. But men don’t speak women.” Quite. And for those who don’t believe this sort of emotional labour is real? Withdraw it. That’s Rose’s advice and mine too. Something becomes real when you notice it is not there anymore. I really recommend it and not just with strangers. It can be the sort of cold hard shock that family members or even friends need to see how much emotional heavy lifting you may do in those relationships. It is utterly liberating and thrillingly irreverent. Lean in to whatever happens next and perhaps put your feet up. You’ve earned it. Emma Barnett presents
BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour