
I had been planning to write a post on the work that women do, or rather the work we are expected to do. It was to be a commentary on the automatic default, the assumption that certain work is left to women. No discussion, just an assumption that she will do this or that. My desire to write such a post came out of quiet rage at seeing how women were immediately disadvantaged during the COVID-19 pandemic.
While businesses were lauded for “pivoting,” many of them did so on the shoulders of women who pivoted back into arcane roles of stay-at-home superwoman expected to be everything to everyone.
The foundation of my rage was solidified during the pandemic, but the evidence of default assumptions with regard to the work that women do could be seen long before COVID-19 hijacked our lives. It is a constant. The assumption that women will be the primary caregivers for their children and their elderly parents, the cooks, the housekeepers, the laundress, and the secretary, without much discussion or thought, supplies me with a sufficient source of resentment to fuel my rage for years.
As I unpacked the rage and sorted out my post, thinking about the origins of this flawed bias, I was derailed by an email from a senior manager in my company. It floored me and left me with new, although related, rage to unpack.
This senior manager had sent an email to all supervisors and leads in my department. The poorly written and meandering message was intended to motivate us to influence employees and correct a recent behavior trend. Glaring at me like a worm in the midst of this word salad was a phrase that left me nauseated: “I will be praying over all of you.”
I read it again just to be sure I read what I read. My brain was not playing tricks on me. In 2022, a senior manager at my company said, “I will be praying over all of you.” Not just “for you” but “over you.” I will address that disturbing preposition later in this post, and yes, it matters. I felt a rush of emotions, one toppling over the next. Confusion set in first, then indignation, followed by shame, and then fear. The shame caught me off guard.
I felt ashamed for being so offended at the thought of someone praying over me. I had been raised better. Having grown up in a strict religious environment, both at home and at school, I have solid justification for my shame and fear.
Growing up as a woman in the mainstream Christian church makes you acutely aware of your place in this world.
Although it’s been decades since I have been to church, the oppression I experienced during my formative years in the church still has the power to cast long shadows. Growing up as a woman in the mainstream Christian church makes you acutely aware of your place in this world. I knew that my place would never be to lead, but to follow. I would submit to the will of God, and one day, when I married, I would submit to my husband. I knew that my worth would only be tallied in the number of children I bore. I knew that I was never to question my father or the men in the church. To do so was to question the will of God.
My soul was never at home in the church. I felt like a foreigner. I knew from an early age that I wanted freedom and independence far more than I wanted the approval of my father or the church. My departure from the church was not a dramatic jail break. It was a slow recognition of hypocrisy, gaslighting, and corruption that would reveal itself over time. I grew more skeptical with each passing year until I was courageous enough to walk away from the darkness and into the warm light of my own independence.
One of the greatest frauds perpetuated by the church is its low expectations for women.
The road to my independence was filled with self-doubt and staggering lack of confidence. One of the greatest frauds perpetuated by the church is its low expectations for women. Beyond the expectation of marriage and children, there isn’t much else. I remember when I was accepted to a small liberal arts college on the West Coast, my father was disappointed. He felt that it was a waste of time and money (my money), and that college was only to serve the purpose of my own selfish fulfillment. He advised me instead to attend a local secretarial school. Looking back now, I see that fight to attend college as a pivotal moment in my life. I had won a battle for my autonomy in a war I didn’t know I was fighting.
My life has not been easy, but it is my own.
As I write this post, I am living an independent life. I am single, never married, and I own a home in a quaint and trendy neighborhood. I work in middle management, earning a comfortable salary, at a well-respected company. My life has not been easy, but it is my own. I have risen above the oppression of low expectations and escaped the prison of submission. Every bit of progress in my life has been my own private revolution.
As I unpack my visceral reaction, to what I am sure was intended to be a statement of comfort, I am once again reminded of my place. It is precarious. I am in management in a male-dominated industry in a red state steeped in toxic masculinity. My seat at the table, albeit meager, would not have been possible had a man not first pulled out the chair for me. My place is fragile. I envision myself and my independent life bouncing through the back yard in a soap bubble, aware that one tiny blade of grass could mean destruction.
I felt like Julia Roberts’ character in Sleeping with the Enemy after she sees the canned goods neatly sorted. Even I thought my reaction was overblown initially until I began to realize that not only was I fearing a loss of power, opportunity, and autonomy, but a loss of safety. My fear was primal.
Imagine if that senior manager knew the apocalyptic thought spiral I went down after reading his words. Would he feel shame? I think not. This brings me to his use of “over” and not “for.” “I will be praying over you.” To say you will pray “for” someone is to be thoughtful, supportive, to give a gift. It is an act of service to pray “for” someone. To pray “over” someone is authoritarian. I felt no comfort, only fear.
The recent Supreme Court decision, Kennedy v. Bremerton School District adds fuel to my fear. It seems innocent enough to allow a prayer in public institutions, and certainly private companies. We know; however, that isn’t about the prayer. It’s about the retaliation toward those of us who chose not to pray. When my senior manager grows more confident, no doubt bolstered by this latest Supreme Court decision, and wants to open our weekly meetings with a prayer, and I refuse to submit and bow my head, the retaliation may not be immediate, but it will come. That blade of grass just waiting to burst my bubble.
All major religions, at their most fundamental, threaten the autonomy of women.
While my fear stems from my experience in the Christian church, I am in no way discriminating against that specific religion. All major religions, at their most fundamental, threaten the autonomy of women. And in the bigger picture, the erosion of the line between church and state shifts us further away from a true democracy and into a theocracy. Theocracies are a bad idea, even if your god is on the throne. You don’t have to go back to the crusades to prove this point, just look at modern-day Iran, or the Taliban-ruled Afghanistan.
We should all be afraid. If you dream of a world where your daughters garner equal respect, opportunity, pay, autonomy, and a reasonable expectation of safety, learn to recognize and resist the seemingly innocent invasions of religion in the places they shouldn’t be.
If true equality is ever to be anything more than a dream, religion must stay in its box. Keep it in your church, in your home, and in your heart, but keep it out of my workplace. Your right to prayer should hold no more weight than my freedom from it.

