I Am Woman

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an’ pretend
‘Cause I’ve heard it all before
And I’ve been down there on the floor
And no one’s ever gonna keep me down again

Yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I’ve gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
‘Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
‘Cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul

Yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I’ve gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

I am Woman. Helen Reddy

March 8, 2023. International Women’s Day. 

Another busy Wednesday at school with teaching, planning, and tons of emails. The record-breaking temperatures from the two previous days were finally starting to come down, and the classrooms were back to a balmy 30 degrees room temperature. We do have air-conditioning in our fancy classroom containers, but the heat usually wins by midday. I couldn’t wait for the school day to be over, so I could get home to enjoy a refreshing dip in the ocean and an evening in the cool ocean breeze.

Getting off the bus, I was greeted by a large sign in front of the local bakery: You are awesome! Well, not me specifically, but every person walking by. Every woman. Every man. What a lovely message. Soon thereafter, the first texts from Canada started coming in on my phone: Happy Women’s Day! You Ladies Rock! And a YouTube recording of the song “I am Woman”.

Right, I almost forgot! It was Women’s Day and ironically I had just spent the day filling out feedback surveys for the leaders at my new school. Which, interestingly enough (but not surprisingly) were all men! When I thought about it, so far all the leadership roles at the schools abroad that I have worked at had been filled by men. Montreal, Hong Kong, Toronto, Sydney. Principal. Deputy Principal. Head of Primary. You name it – always men. Lots and lots of highly qualified female teachers do the daily groundwork, yet not a single woman in any of the leadership positions of the German schools I had worked at. Coincidence? Maybe. I can only speak about my own experiences.

Flashback. May 1996. Düsseldorf, Germany. Hotel Nikko. 11am. My first job interview as a teacher. The position I was applying for: Primary School Teacher at the German Swiss International School, in Hong Kong.

My dad had found the tiny ad in the national newspaper. He knew of my wish to teach abroad and, having worked overseas himself, supported my dream. My mom tried to hide the newspaper clipping as she did not want me to leave. Too expensive to send letters and parcels to Hong Kong, she said. I knew what she wanted to say, was: Hong Kong was simply too far away for her youngest daughter to move to.

Yet I applied and received an invitation for an interview. This was 1996 and there were no zoom calls or online interviews. There weren’t even any computers or the internet, yet. Just an old-fashioned phone call from the Principal of the school, Herr Schierschke, inviting me to come to the Nikko Hotel near the central train station in Düsseldorf. With no internet around, I had no idea what kind of hotel this would be. But located right next to the train station, I pictured a dingy little love hotel. I decided to dress down, and wore a pair of jeans and a can of pepper spray in my pocket – you never know! And off. I went to the first job interview in my life.

Hotel Nikko turned out to be an upscale five-star hotel on the bustling Koenigsallee in Düsseldorf. I quickly realized that I was extremely underdressed when I walked into the gigantic foyer of the hotel. Beautiful people in beautiful little outfits. Expensive suits and elegant dresses. High heels and lots of make-up. And me in my washed-out jeans. At least I had thrown on my H&M blazer at the very last minute. I didn’t even need my pepper spray to make myself cry.

The interview went well until my potential future boss asked me about my partner.

“Frau Koehl, I am very impressed by your qualifications and I would like to offer you the position, but I have to ask: What is your husband going to do in Hong Kong?”

My first response must have been very polite, and well-rehearsed, I am sure. Probably something like him finding a job in one of the trading companies. After all – this was Hong Kong, an international business and trade hub. I was convinced he would find a job!

A couple of other questions were asked before the principal inquired once again about my husband’s plans on how to fill his time in the Far East. I paraphrased my answer and assured the interviewer that my partner would be fine, slightly annoyed by now.

Before the interview in the glitzy café at the best hotel in town ended, Herr Schierschke asked one last time about my spouse.

“You know!,” he explained in a condescending tone,” it’s not good for the husband to get bored. Then they get depressed, and the family has to return to Germany. A man needs to be busy. A man needs to work!”

I wanted this job. I always wanted to teach abroad and this was the perfect opportunity. But at that moment, I remember thinking: Screw it! I had had enough of this conversation.

“Herr Schierschke!”, I said, wiping my sweaty hands on my worn-out jeans.

“I appreciate your concern. And I can only assure you that my husband will be fine. But let me ask you this question: if I was a man, and we were having this job interview, would you ask about my wife and how she would feel not having anything to do while her spouse went to work every day? Would you be as concerned about her getting bored and sad and depressed?”

I don’t remember how the interview ended. I want to believe I turned around on the flat heels of my comfortable shoes, my messy hair, all frizzy from sweating through this interview, swishing through the air as I stormed out of the pompous reception hall of the Nikko Hotel. But I don’t remember.

I do remember receiving a phone call the next day, being offered the job. I started teaching at the German International School, in Hong Kong three months later. My husband worked for a Swiss trading company until we had our first son, born in 1998. He was the best stay-at-home dad there ever was. And the only time he was sad and depressed, was the time he was working nonstop 24/7. I loved being the sole breadwinner, supporting my little family.  A chance you don’t get very often as a woman on a meagre teacher salary. I was at the height of my career. I was woman!

Feeling like I had not acknowledged International Women’s Day enough, I decided to check out the All About Women’s Festival at the Sydney Opera House. A week-long event that celebrated extraordinary female thinkers, writers, and artists and posed vital questions about gender, equality and justice. I was interested in the Opening Gala hosted by Australian singer, actor and author Clare Bowditch. Sold out! I looked at the conversation with the American author Sloane Crosley. Sold out. Until I came across an event titled “Actually Autistic”. Intrigued by the topic and somewhat familiar with some members of the panel (Chloe Hayden, Australian actress in the Netflix show Heartbreak High as well as Grace Tame, Australian activist and advocate for survivors of sexual assault, named Australian of the year 2021) I purchased a ticket.

I was blown away  – by the event itself and the panel talk specifically. All four women on stage were autistic and listening to them speak – their experiences as neurodivergent women in a neurotypical world, their strategies, their struggles but also their strengths – was the most inspiring thing I had heard in a very long time. Ever. As a woman, I was touched by their struggles. As a teacher, I was mesmerized by their ways of explaining autism. As a human being, I was deeply humbled. I was moved by the sense of community in the room. I was energized by the overall positive energy of the event.

After the panel talk, lining up to have my newly purchased book by Chloe Hayden “Different but not Less” signed, I started chatting to a BIPOC woman behind me (and yes – I had to look up the term as well). We talked about women’s rights and equality in the film industry, which was her field of expertise.

“You know Cate Blanchett?” the woman asked.

I did. I mean – who doesn’t. In fact, I had just seen her lasted film “Tar” in what must have been one of the oldest theatres in the Northern Beaches. A local celebrity, Blanchett lived in Sydney – my friend even once spotted her at the Zoo!

“Yes!”, I said, glad to be able to contribute something to the conversation. “I loved the movie Tar!”

Silence. Had I said the wrong thing – again?

“Well, she is not very supportive of our cause.” 

The woman went on to tell me about “white feminism” and the call for a more inclusive and radical movement. Fair enough. I got that. I still liked her movie, though. And I was still concerned about all my superiors at school being white men. Did that make me a white feminist? I wasn’t sure and went quiet. Until the woman behind me nudged me and winked at me as if to say, “we are all fighting for the same thing!”

This week, someone accused me of always “turning everything into a feminist issue”. 

Maybe do, maybe I don’t. I don’t really know. It’s not my intention – I just feel strongly about certain issues and topics. To be honest, I wouldn’t consider myself a feminist, especially after my short conversation with the BICOP women in the line-up behind me. I often find myself rather naive and uneducated when it comes to feminist or political issues. 

Leaving your family and home to follow your dreams, as a woman, is unusual. Working abroad, as a woman, is unusual. Working on your career, after having stayed home for twelve years to raise five children, is unusual. It is unusual, but it is me. It comes at the price of guilt and loneliness and financial loss, but it is my goal. Always has been, and always will be.

And who knows – maybe one day I’ll be the Head of Primary. Or Deputy Principal. Or Principal. Not at this school, but somewhere else in this beautiful world. Who knows?

I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman.