Turning Points

Image by Tingey Injury Law Firm on Unsplash.

I was relaxing on my deck the Friday evening Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away. When I saw the news, I didn’t believe it was true. Ever the skeptic, I started checking news sites for confirmation, scrolling through announcement after announcement on my tiny screen. Then my phone blew up with texts from friends and family, our messages conveying a mix of disbelief, anger, and dismay. Most of them included some version of “F*ck 2020.”

I cried off and on all weekend. Not just for the loss of one of my heroes, but for our collective challenges and the suffering this year has brought to so many people. RBG’s death was the turning point where I broke down and said, “Enough, 2020. I can’t take any more.”

***

When I turned 30—a lifetime ago, it seems—I was at a different turning point. I’d worked in a series of entry- and mid-level comms and marketing jobs while freelance writing on the side, but I knew I could do more. I wanted to make a bigger impact, to make a real difference in the world. And I knew I had more to learn. I wanted to go back to school and take my career in a new direction.

I’d always been drawn to law. When I was a kid, I would make impassioned cases to my parents to negotiate more tv or longer play time with friends. Sometimes I even wrote out my “logical” points and slipped them under my parents’ bedroom door as a sort of closing argument. I’d grown up watching Perry Mason and reading legal thrillers, fantasizing about winning a landmark case and changing the course of history, or at least one person’s life—preferably on a weekly schedule like Mr. Mason. And, as an adult, I had immensely enjoyed my work for a law firm client when I worked at a small public relations agency.

I wanted to go to law school. I was still married to my ex-husband, so a big life decision like this required a family discussion. I knew it would be expensive, and I would need his support to navigate school while managing the rest of our life. When he had decided to pursue an MBA while working full time a few years earlier, I had taken on the bulk of our household chores to give him time to take night classes and study on weekends. The workload had never returned to the 50/50 split we’d previously shared, and that weighed on me. But I figured this would make up for it, would maybe even rebalance the scales. Besides, I had made it clear when he went back to school that one day I expected to do the same.

I created a spreadsheet of pros and cons, built a case for why law school was a good decision and how it would benefit our life in the long-term. I read One L, Scott Turow’s chronicle of his first year at Harvard Law School, and was undaunted. When I sat down to talk to my husband, I was elated. I could envision my next few years as a law student and then working as an attorney. It all made sense to me.

“But we decided we would plan our life around my career,” he said, as I recall, after I’d walked him through the plan. “I can’t be stuck here in St. Louis while you’re in school for three years and then taking the time to get established at a firm.” He reminded me that he was planning to be a CEO one day, that we would need to have the freedom to move as he received better job offers.

He was angry. I was, too.

We argued for weeks until, exhausted, I gave up. I kept working in public relations, and the next year he received an offer to move to Baltimore for a management role at his company’s headquarters.

A year after we settled in Charm City, two years after the law school discussion, I raised the topic of going back to school again. Law school was still off the table—by now he wanted to start a family and expected me to stay at home and raise our children. I have great respect for stay-at-home moms and the work they do, but I’ve always known it’s not the life for me. I would need some kind of work outside the home to feel fulfilled. So, I decided to apply to writing programs in the hopes that one day I could expand my freelance writing from a side gig into a career while working from home. Plus, my employer offered tuition reimbursement for degrees related to employees’ roles, and writing was a natural extension of the communications and editing work I was doing.

I loved writing, so if I couldn’t go to law school, this was a good alternative. And I expected this to be a sort of peace offering in my marriage, which had grown more turbulent since we’d moved to Maryland. When I received my acceptance letter from Johns Hopkins—my first choice—I almost fell down at the mailbox. I couldn’t wait to tell my husband. I called him even though he was still at work.

My news was met with silence.

“I’m so excited! Are you there?”

“I have to admit I’m jealous,” he said. He thought I had been accepted to a “better” university for grad school than he had, and instead of being happy for me, he was upset.

I was crushed.

*** 

RBG was not just a hero to me because of her pioneering career and her work to secure equal rights for women. She was also an inspiration for the relationship she had with her husband, Marty.

By all accounts, they had a wonderful marriage. She credited his support as instrumental to her career success, not only for his partnership in raising their children but also his professional support. He lobbied for her when she was nominated for the Supreme Court by President Clinton in 1993, and he later exceled in the role of SCOTUS spouse. He was her champion, and secure enough to celebrate her achievements without jealousy or resentment.

In an interview in 2014, Ruth said “I had a life partner who thought my work was as important as his. And I think that made all the difference for me, and Marty was an unusual man. In fact, he was the first boy I knew who cared that I had a brain.”

The kind of partnership Ruth and Marty Ginsburg shared may seem rare, but it’s something we can all strive for. More importantly, it’s something we all deserve. 

I made the case to my first husband that I should go to law school, and he shut it down, wouldn’t even entertain the idea. Not because he didn’t think I would succeed, but because my success would hinder his own. That was a turning point in our marriage. I learned that the relationship I was in had limits. It was lop-sided. The “law school issue” would come up repeatedly over the next several years. It was a sticking point for me, even after I found fulfillment on another career path.

In many ways I’m grateful for the experience and for what I learned. After getting divorced and spending a couple of years on my own, I knew what to look for in a relationship. I knew not only what kind of support I wanted from a partner, but also what kind of partner I wanted to be. I wanted what Ruth had in Marty—a champion, a best friend.

Yes, there is an element of luck in finding that person, but you also need to respect yourself enough to know what you deserve, you need to be honest about what you need, and you need to be willing to give the same love and support in return.  

I look at RBG’s legacy, and I think about the impact she had as a warrior for women. Even when she was in the minority on the Supreme Court, she was known for her poignant dissents—for using her voice to advocate for others and to stand up for what was right.

I don’t regret the path I’ve taken, but I do sometimes wonder how my life would be different if I’d advocated for myself and stood up for what I wanted all those years ago. I think what bothers me most is that my 30-year-old self didn’t have the confidence I have now—I didn’t realize I was at a turning point where I had the opportunity to choose my own course.