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As a twentysomething with degrees from universities in Canada and Britain, I moved back to my home country of Pakistan last fall in hopes of finding a suitable position.
I didn’t aim for a high position – something mediocre, perhaps, that would allow me to get my foot in the door – because I soon realized there was no shortage of twentysomethings with foreign degrees parading the streets. Our sheer numbers overwhelmed the (practically non-existent) job market, and we could often be seen blocking the entrance ways to fancy offices, hoping, at least, for our presence to be acknowledged.
Being a twentysomething, I also maintained what I thought was a healthy, stable relationship with a man I cared deeply about, whom I absolutely adored, relied on for support, trusted with all I had to offer and envisioned a life with. Let’s call him X.
When I didn’t hear back from any of my excruciatingly high number of job applications, or get any results from my pro-active networking (some would call it stalking) at professional events attended by big development luminaries, X was often on the receiving end of my state of restlessness in our phone calls.
The majority of his responses were premised on the assumption that my worries were misplaced. Of course not getting a job was okay, he told me: I was of marriageable age, so it was only a matter of time before my family would pull the plug on my singlehood anyway.
Two weeks later, I got a call from an NGO offering me a lot more than I had expected: a high position with good pay at a respected organization. The first thing I did was call X, to tell him that somehow I had done it: There was the door, and my feet had landed a good couple of metres inside it.
“How is that even possible?” was X’s first reaction. And then: “You don’t have the intelligence or the experience for that position. They probably just did it because there are barely any educated people in the country to begin with. Or, knowing you, I’m sure you found a way to make the recruiter fancy you.” Strike one.
I should probably have mentioned that X was unemployed at the time. I understood his struggle only too well, so I shook off most of his comments over the next few conversations. He’s frustrated and feeling restless, I thought. I was in the same position not very long ago.
As the days went by, I would call X to tell him about my day: the struggles, the goods, the bads. My office hours became longer and our conversations shorter. One day, needing to meet a deadline, I got home close to midnight and fell asleep within minutes. The next day, I had a series of messages from X, doubting me when I told him I had been at work. He said they “wouldn’t give me work of actual substance,” so he was positive “it couldn’t have been very important.” Strike two.
Two weeks later, I called to tell him I had met a number of excellent development professionals, and had been assisting them with their research on a topic in which I believe I’m well versed in. After a couple of weeks, the organization asked me to come on board as a consultant. I was ecstatic. I finally felt as though I’d built myself a firm platform in the sector.
I wanted to call X, but I didn’t. I thought maybe the better approach would be to casually mention it midway into one of our regular conversations, and so I did. I got an immediate response: laughter. “That is unheard of,” he said. “Sure they didn’t just need to fill their institutional female quota?” Strike three.
In my culture, women are taught to deal with men with patience – to not do things that might hurt their self-esteem. One friend I turned to for advice told me to quit my job and not return to work until X had secured a stable position. And I should also ensure the work I did was valued less than his in society.
X was probably the only person who had the ability to alter the faith I had in myself.
After repeatedly hearing the same comments from the person I trusted most, I found myself doubting my achievements and second-guessing everything that happened around me. Some days, I sat at my desk thinking “I can’t do this, I’m in over my head.” Other days I questioned whether I’d been tasked with a certain responsibility because I was a woman, or whether there was sexual innuendo beneath the surface. It was only when I caught myself harbouring these thoughts that I found the strength to detach myself from a relationship that was no longer a safe haven.
X had let his inherent misogynistic tendencies consume him to the extent he felt the need to put me down in an attempt to secure his own insecurities. After an 18-month relationship, that was the only thing I took home with me.
There will be instances when your significant other is in a similar field and in a similar phase of life. Support them when they’re competing with the world for the best possible opportunity. But the day they feel the need to compete with you is the day you need to walk away. And so I walked.
Aisha Khan is a pseudonym for a Pakistani graduate of Canadian and British universities who works in the development field.