Why Tech Companies Can't Keep Good Women Employees

Nathalie Miller pitches Doxa to a Venture Capitalist

My son recently got a job in development at a Tech firm, and one of the many praises he has for the company, SmartSheet, is that half of its staff are men and half women.

"That's not the usual composition in a tech company," he adds, and indeed, a story on the cover of the New York Times Business section by Claire Cain Miller bears him out, noting that "30 percent of employees at big tech companies including Google, Facebook and Apple are women..."

The question is, "Why?" The NY Times story implies why, but you'll never find the answer stated explicitly, because it's completely politically incorrect--though hardly a secret.

The reason is that women choose to divert attention to their families.

Nathalie Miller, now 34, went on the fast track to career success. Raised in Berkeley, California, she got a degree from Harvard, then moved to VietNam (she's of Vietnamese and European descent), starting a micro-finance nonprofit.

Returning to the US in 2013, she signed on as employee number 20 with Instacart, a grocery-delivery start-up, and watched it expand to 120 employees and 4,000 contractors within a year.

Then "a new employee told her that he had ranked the hottest women at the company, and she was No. 1. She reported the comment to managers, and the employee was fired the next day," reports the NY Times piece.

This brought interest in matching female candidates with pro-women high-tech openings, leading her to leave Instacart, partner with an engineer, and create Doxa, a site that would collect data on companies, give job seekers online personality tests, and facilitate hiring. She hoped to increase awareness of issues important to women by including info on companies' policies.

She built the company to "820 active users and 300 companies on a waiting list to be included," and so sought money to expand. About then she discovered that she and her husband were expecting their first child. She "plotted strategy," and planned to mention her impending parenthood only on a second meeting with potential investors, and then say "...I'm married to a man who will be a primary caregiver, and this is no different from investing in a man whose wife is pregnant."

Nathalie Miller worked diligently to hone her pitch, refining her content and look with a mentor. She met with more than 40 venture capitalists, one a Ms. Yuan of Cowboy Ventures, who said of the software, "It enables companies to be responsive: 'Let's get a maternity policy because we don't want to be up on your platform without that.'" Still, none she approached chose to fund Doxa, and when her engineer partner got greater responsibility at this day job, Ms. Miller was faced with finding a new technical expert. 

The article details issues facing women in Silicon Valley, including differences in men's and women's presentation styles, and the way women are received by male execs and co-workers. It relates the difficulties of a start-up in the competitive tech world to the problems encountered by Doxa.

 Ultimately, however, Nathalie Miller chose another worthwhile path: motherhood.

"Ms. Miller's plan was to take a month off and get back to work," explains the NY Times story. "Then...she gave birth to a girl, Zadie Mai, and changed her mind. 'I feel a mixture of intense love and protectiveness,' she said. 'I want to hang out with the baby forever. There are my real physical needs and the physical dependence of the baby, all this stuff I didn't expect to be so consuming.'

...She decided to take at least six months off, doing some work from home after three or four months," the article notes. "Her husband, meanwhile, had found a full-time job in advertising."

Yep. The setting might now be Silicon Valley, but the same switch of ambition happened to a generation before the millennials. Feminist baby boomers (like me), took advantage of new openings in a raft of fields, and yet found themselves pairing up, responding to biology and, when their babies came on the scene, falling in love. Whether it's hormones, or simply gaining the perspective that raising your own child is valuable and rewarding, women often opt out of promising careers at a certain stage. Is this really a surprise? Or a problem?

Companies may find that they can populate their tech staffs with competent, sharp women right out of college, who serve them eagerly and well for several years and then realize they've "been there, done that." These women know they've got a window of time to have children and raise families, and prefer to fully participate in that (just as they fully embraced their tech jobs) rather than take a month or even a few and then leave their babies in day care or with a nanny.

It's ironic that Nathalie Miller, whose start-up aimed to place women in responsible roles in companies sensitive to women's needs, stepped away from her own such position, lured by the sweet coos of her baby--but it's also laudable and not unusual. Silicon Valley and Seattle, where I live, are filled with growing tech companies snapping up capable college grads, but most of their hires aren't women in the mothering phase (who often carve out part-time or work-from-home alternatives), or older males or females.

I'll be interested to see the proportion of tech companies who keep their women employees throughout long careers. But I expect that many women launched in upward trajectories in these demanding enterprises will be attracted to a pause, the kind that brings a payoff far exceeding dollars and cents.

Photo credits: Top, Jason Henry for the New York Times

Mom Nursing 4-year-old on "Time" Cover Belittles Motherhood

People are shocked at the Time Magazine cover showing a beautiful, lithe, tank-top-clad blond with a child standing on a stool latched onto her barely-there breast. It's meant to sell magazines, and is a pretty clever lure.

But meant as a Mother's Day paean, it's a flop, unlike the breasts of Jamie Lynne Grumet, 26, whose stare-me-down expression matches exactly what photo viewers are doing. The cover is really the tease to a story about baby doc William Sears, MD, who championed breast feeding as part of his "attachment parenting" method.

I nursed three children for a total of nine years straight. Yes, I nursed our son until he was four, at which time I had a frank conversation with him to explain that he was now a "big boy" and would be drinking exclusively from a cup. He took it like a (little) man.

So I know from whence I speak, and while I wholeheartedly support breast-feeding, I don't understand why it's now so tony to violate standards of modesty and privacy to do it. For goodness' sake, and I mean that, women ought to throw a blankie over their chests if they're going to whip out their equipment in public. Feed the baby--and I did, in parks, even restaurants-- discreetly. On airplanes, I'd unhook my bra rather than make seatmates suffer with wails. I considered my milk the salve of life, and holding and cuddling my children one of my greatest privileges ever.  There was absolutely no reason or excuse why I had to reveal my apparatus to anyone but my child, though, no matter where or when I went into action.

Stop this ridiculous claim that breast feeding is somehow impeded or even affected by the presence of a light cloth to cover it. No potential breast-feeding mom is discouraged from the effort because one of her role models shields her exposure from view.  I simply don't believe that women are often told to leave an environment when nursing if they are decent and subtle while doing it. If they're going to be juggling a protest placard, screaming injustice and holding their kid at the same time, well, then there might be a problem.

Don't put your breasts in my face, lady. I respect you and want you to keep nursing, but please respect my desire not to confront (or have my teen son confront) your boob in a public place. I don't want my19-year old boy to get the idea that breasts are available 24/7 when a woman is nursing, but they're off limits when dating, and otherwise taboo for ogling.  I can't teach him not to be a sexist voyeur when women are clamoring to show beyond their cleavage just because their baby's there, too.

I want both my male and female children to approach parenthood with joy but with reverence too, understanding that God made our miraculous bodies with amazing capabilities, some of which should be used in a context of humility and modesty.  Yes, breast feed! No, don't create laws that insist the term "indecent exposure" is obsolete.  Everyone wants Baby to have his dinner; not everyone wants to be party to a slurp-fest on Mom's chest in a nice restaurant, public lecture or on a bus.

The Time cover does a disservice to moms by suggesting that unshielded breast feeding is somehow symbolic of motherhood. Mothers deserve honor because they choose every day to get their child's breakfast instead of taking their own showers; because their greatest joys come from the accomplishments and milestones of their children; because they consider the moments when their youngsters say "I love you" to be the fuel of their souls. Motherhood is attachment, Dr. Sears, yes, but it's also a whole lot more.

As a mom whose children have now left home, I miss all that "attachment." I'd love to return, just for awhile, to those cuddly moments when my young ones were on my breast. But frankly, a much more difficult task of motherhood is letting them go; allowing them to separate and become individuals. The toughest part is when they unlatch, because you miss being with the people they have become.  And I hope they have enough confidence to realize they don't have to bare all--in any context--to make a difference.

Why Mothers Miss their Grown Children (and why this mother dislikes the movie "American Reunion")

I was incredibly touched by a beautifully-written New York Times article about how humans are affected by love. Not sex, which was the theme of a disgusting film I saw last night, "American Reunion," but the kind of visceral, integral connection forged originally by a mother's first bond with her baby, which research now shows determines all future relationships.

The foundation created in the earliest moments is then only subsequently shaped, clarified, and revised.  Those critical emergent, wordless interchanges define for each infant love, trust and the nature and character of the physical and emotional world.

"Every great love affair begins with a scream," writes Diane Ackerman. "An infant is steeped in bright, buzzing, bristling sensations, raw emotions and the curious feelings they unleash, weird objects, a flux of faces, shadowy images and dreams--but most of all a powerfully magnetic primary caregiver whose wizardry astounds."

The magnet propels both souls together in an inseparable joining that compels moms to throw themselves as shields before any threat to their children. It allows them to hear their baby's whimper from far away and identify their own infant's cry within two days of birth from among scores of babies' wails.

"Brain scans show synchrony between the brains of mother and child," Ackerman explains, "but what they can't show is the internal bond that belongs to neither alone, a fusion in which the self feels so permeable it doesn't matter whose body is whose."

"Yes!" I'm thinking, recalling the intensity the arrival my first daughter brought me, the astonishing, complete bonding that unexpectedly transformed my normally in-control being. It fueled my compulsion to leap to soothe her every whine, and to stare at her perfect sleeping face interminably.

"Wordlessly, relying on the heart's semaphores, the mother says all an infant needs to hear, communicating through eyes, face and voice," the article continues. "Thanks to advances in neuro-imaging, we now have evidence that a baby's first attachments imprint its brain. The patterns of a lifetime's behaviors, thoughts, self-regard and choice of sweethearts all begin in this crucible."

The newspaper story then describes the bountiful, beneficial effects of love, as one matures and transfers primary conjunction to a spouse, whose mere touch can reassure, calm and even protect from disease.

But wait, what happens to the mother, the second half, or perhaps the foremost half of the original infant-parent connection?  The other part of the "fusion in which the self feels so permeable it doesn't matter whose body is whose"? Excuse me?

As the child grows and adds to his repertoire of relationships, the mother continues to provide unconditional nurturing, adapting her style to the youngster's ever-changing needs.  Mom teaches, scolds and indulges, carrying dirty plates to the sink and washing them willingly, with only a knowing shake of the head that her child didn't do it himself.  Later, she absorbs the teenager's moodiness and sometimes even rejection by increasing her capacity for patience.  The mother continues, no increases, her love and appreciation of the newly blossoming personality, seeking only that her child flourish.

And then, dum-dum DUM. The child leaves home. Oh sure, the kid's bedroom remains intact, but it instantly shifts from residence and cocoon to relic and souvenir. Storage for the chatchkes that don't look cool in the new apartment.

After all those years of caring, it isn't that mothers require someone to dote upon and respond to them. Speaking as a relatively recent empty nester, let me say, I miss my children because I miss who they are, how they speak, what they're thinking, and the unique whirlwinds of activity they create that reflect their interests and irritants, their basic needs (even the food-crusted empty bowls) and their emotional complexities. Skype doesn't cut it.

This article, called "The Brain on Love," capsulized for me the depth of connection that is lost when a child moves out and on.  For the child, it's replaced--with sorority life, with schoolwork, with generating new friendships and eventually that grand replacement in which the hand held for support and nurturing becomes a soul mate. Though parental devotion can be sublimated and redirected, the craving to hold, kiss and cuddle your unique child can no longer be fulfilled.

That may be life, but given how intrinsic and essential the mother-child bond is--and its permanent impact--adult children should at least humor their moms. "Honor thy father and thy mother" doesn't just mean to show up at Thanksgiving, but to let parents into your daily life; tell them the funny incident that happened today, let them know who you're mad at and the quandries you're pondering. Let them hear the sound of your voice and not feel they're imposing on your busy schedule.

"American Reunion" is rife with the adolescent scatological stupidity fans of the previous two "American Pie" films expect.  Having not viewed the originals, I was unprepared by the trailer for the extent of gross and graphic content, and was falsely lured by the notion of married-with-kids 31-year-olds (ie grown-ups) returning for their midwest high school's 13th reunion.  Part of the plot was the relationship between Jim (Jason Biggs) and his dad (Eugene Levy), and while a single contrived and superficial scene aims to illustrate their bond, it simply reinforces the pervasive message of the movie--that sex is constantly essential.

During the parts of the film when I closed my eyes (and there were plenty) I didn't hear the audience laughing--instead they went "eeew!" or "aargh!" or "ack!", responses to repulsive thwacks or, um, other actions that for some bring entertainment.

But none of the characters showed any real connection. The dad sat on the couch pathetically watching his son's bar mitzvah video. Stifler's mom reclined on a chaise with her anatomy bursting a satin gown. The cadre of friends seemed only to reinforce each others' immaturity, and the peripheral wives and girlfriends symbolized sanity but didn't exhibit it.

Watching that kind of display at least fueled my gratitude for the indelible connections that enrich real life. I'm glad I have my own husband's touch to soothe and reassure. But I do miss those little ones for whom I could define love.

What Parenthood is All About

From the headline, "Sharing the Shame After My Arrest," you'd think today's "Modern Love" column in the New York Times was about remorse at being caught breaking the law.  You'd be wrong: it's about the essence of parenthood.

I haven't cried as much over something I've read in quite a while.

The author, Brooke Rinehart, is a 28-year-old employee of a New York public relations firm whose new husband stole her identity and used it to commit wire and mail fraud, federal offenses.  Before that was established, she was awakened by officers one morning, handcuffed, and hauled out of her newly-purchased home in pajamas.  As her life unraveled over the 90-day period it took to clear her, her mother took on and traveled the emotional distance, physically and soulfully there for her, sleeping, contorted, in a living room chair so as not to be more than a few feet from her distraught daughter, who was sleeping on the couch.

The daughter lost her appetite. So too, the mother.  The daughter grieved her marriage, her lost home, her future, her assessment of reality. So too, the mother.  The father, being male, did his best to be supportive, but in a different (and equally important) way.

My mom in action

When I got to the end of the article, where Brooke's female gynecologist finds out about the whole sordid story and is overcome with emotion about the mom's devotion, I was a basket case.  You can't really put into words the complete investment of a parent in a child, the extent of hopes and prayers for the child's well-being, and the ongoing urgency to prevent, and if necessary, cushion any negative experiences.  Not because the child is you, but because the child is more than you, your sense of possibility and continuity and the repository of years of tiny efforts that seem like privilege because the child then takes that, and from what you gave, becomes an individual.

My children, now launching into their own worlds, probably think me clingy when I want them to kiss me goodbye. When I ask about what they're doing, and need reassurance they're all right.  I was one of those guilty children who couldn't understand my own parents' protectiveness, and as a teen, when I'd grouse, they'd respond that I'd understand someday.  I thought it preposterous.

But here I am. I'd sleep in a chair, too, if my child were going through an ordeal.  That doesn't make me a heroine. That makes me a mother.

Jewish Sad Days, The Book of Job, and Mom's Nagging

With the arrival of the Jewish lunar month of Av, we enter the most intensely sad portion of the year, "the nine days" that culminate with Tisha b'Av, the ninth of the month, which was designated by God for tragedy for the Jewish people. It's tough to feel sad when the weather is balmy, the days luxuriously long, the school year pressures lifted. "Summer means fun," Jan and Dean sang in 1964, a phrase I've got posted in my kitchen in kids' magnet-letters. So "summer means mourning" is a bummer.

Unlike other religions where the days hum pretty much the same, save for a few happy holidays, Judaism has equal numbers of ups and downs implanted in the calendar. We see each day of the year as imbued with a special character; holidays landed where they are because their purposes match the nature of their dates. So when on the ninth of Av the biblical Jews wandering in the wilderness--who were beneficiaries of constant miracles!--complained when they heard the spies' reports about the land of Israel, God said, "Funny you should moan on this day--it's the perfect day for you to learn how bad things can really get."

I'm fortunate to be able to host a women's class every Wednesday in my home taught by a clever and articulate Rabbi, and lately we've been exploring The Book of Job. There's controversy over whether Job really existed, but nevertheless Jews call his story "The Book of Truth" because it explores the tough questions, especially why horrendous things happen to, well, in Job's case, perfect people. He's got three friends who try to help him sort out the awful circumstances in which he finds himself--physically afflicted, his home and wealth lost, his children all killed.

Are we supposed to look at such misery as God's punishment? Job can't think of anything he'd done that could warrant it, even though one of his friends insists that must be the case. Is it to prevent him from doing something unacceptable in the future? Does it mean God sets up the world and then steps back to watch man use his free will--even if it means collateral damage? Or does God bring calamity in order to inspire a deeper need and therefore closeness to Him? If that, then you could say God's actually doing a favor--providing a means to ascend closer--even as He's ruining your life.

The one thing we learn is that Job's friends do a bad job of responding to his plight--instead of insisting Job got what he deserved, they should have just sympathized and marveled with him at God's mystery.

Meanwhile, Jews all over the world are reading the same portion of the Torah, this week moving to the final of the Five Books of Moses, Devarim (Deuteronomy). Whereas the first four books are dictates directly from God, we're told that Devarim, still from God, repeats a lot of content from the prior books using Moshe's (Moses') angle (Source: the Maharal).

Relevant to Tisha b'Av and Job is the "tochacha," or rebuke of the Jewish people repeated by Moshe even though these consequences for disobeying Jewish law were presented earlier, in Vayikra (Leviticus). As a prophet, a buddy of God, Moshe must have known the Jews wouldn't listen to his rebuke. Just look at Jews throughout history--God gives them a potch (spank) to get their attention, and they just don't get it. Why bother with the rebuke if it won't have an effect?

Because the criticism, the instruction isn't just directions: do this; stop doing that. It's an expression of caring, of concern--of love. God wants to steer his people to the best outcomes, and out of that alone, must give advice.

The application? Appreciate mothers. Kids and husbands may call it nagging, or butting in, but we mothers are hard-wired to express our love and concern. Even criticism is usually a sign of attachment, of the importance of a child or spouse. We women can't just stand by and watch those we love fail, or even take chances that might lead to failure or harm. Drive carefully. Take your sweater. Protective admonitions are Mom's air-kisses.

Now, I do not understand why God sets things up the way they are (in the end, Job doesn't, either). I'm still perplexed about why bad things happen to good people (I do recommend an excellent 10-part set of lectures by Rabbi Benjamin Blech that does a pretty good job giving plausible explanations, though). I'm bewildered as to why God creates people and drops them into horrific circumstances where they'll suffer and die. And I don't know why God decided the saddest, most restrictive days of the year had to happen in the most beautiful weather, when the world is its most ripe and enticing.

Aargh, too many questions. But the message of both the Book of Job and "the nine days" is that underestimating God is a pretty dumb thing to do.