I am a broken woman. After three years together, my work-wife and I have parted ways. Despite the fact that, really, this was not our decision, but rather a new supervisor’s, it hasn’t made the transition any easier. This conscious uncoupling (damn you, Gwenyth) has practically made my work life spiral out of control, as I have been trying put myself back together. Where I could once lean on my work-wife, I am stumbling and falling as she is no longer there to catch me.
Ja Rule once said, “Every thug needs a down ass bitch” and this could not ring more true in the workplace. I’m not talking about some babe in the office that you want to shimmy between your sheets: I’m talking about a work wife. (Fine, “work spouse” for everyone out there that’s all #equality.) I will repeat this for my slow learners in the back of the room; a work wife is 100 percent platonic. Your partnership is pure, and it’s true. You both collaborate, you cooperate, and you complement each other, making two halves a whole. A work wife is not a desire: it’s a necessity. Having a number one, having a go-to for when times are rough (read: Monday mornings), and having a supportive ear to listen to your gripes are essential for anyone to be successful.
Let’s face it, your family, your friends, your significant other, your cat(s), will never understand the true ins-and-outs of your job. But you know who will? Your work wife. Your work wife understands why you do not want to sit next to Becky (with the bad breath) at the 3:00 p.m. meeting, and she will get there first and save you a seat far away from Mary. Your work wife gets why you’re nervous to pitch your idea to your supervisor, and will listen to your pitch three times until you’ve gotten it just right. Not only will your work wife tell you when you have lipstick on your teeth and keep the secret Advil supply stocked; your work wife will tell you when you need to back down and your work wife will tell you when you need to sack the fuck up.
The separation has been tough – just like when any relationship ends. Fine, it’s been absolute hell. Both of us have been transferred to other teams within our team. Sure, we still see each other and talk, but it’s just not the same. When we see each other during mutual meetings, we crack a smile and roll our eyes over our old inside joke every time Tom says, “Um, ya know.” But our conversations have been dwindling and have become more awkward as she somehow brings up her new team, or I bring up mine. Awkward pauses and lulls in conversations have led to shorter, more abrupt goodbyes. We said we would keep in touch with the best intentions, but who are we kidding – we both know that we won’t.
So, treat your work wife well. You never know when she may be gone. .
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