The Black British Trailing Spouse
Our society is so obsessed with labels. We’re always conjuring up the right words to put into search engines to find exactly what we’re looking for. We long to be discovered. So we accept labels in an attempt to define who we are, but in doing so, we play into stereotypes.
But such words only tell part of our stories.
I’m very aware of my labels. I can be defined by many words, some of which don’t fit together at all. My parents are from Ghana but I was born and raised in the UK. When I’m in Ghana, I’m ‘obroni’ but in England, I’m constantly reminded that I’m African and will never really belong. I’m a teacher by profession and I’m creative so my mind is always running overtime. I’m a female and so I’m always doing the most.
“Becoming financially dependent on your spouse, when you have never been before, is a particularly hard pill to swallow for anyone, and the other aspects of my identity made this pill get stuck in my throat.”
In 2016, my husband and I left our teaching jobs in England to begin our expat journey in Abu Dhabi. My husband managed to secure a job as an English teacher and I didn’t. I was told that I should find a job once I landed in the UAE, but my teaching qualifications prevented me from obtaining one initially. Although I was able to teach English in England with a Psychology degree and English PGCE, Abu Dhabi Education Council requires a degree in the same subject to be able to teach in their schools. So I became what’s known as a ‘trailing spouse.’ Another label to attach to my already complex identity.
Like the phrase suggests, trailing spouses follow their partners abroad and are dependent on them for sustenance. Becoming financially dependent on your spouse, when you have never been before, is a particularly hard pill to swallow for anyone, and the other aspects of my identity made this pill get stuck in my throat.
I’m not just Black, I’m West African. I’m not just British, I’m from London. And I’m a woman.
What does that mean? In short, it means I’m a hustler. The most hustling hustler ever. It means there was absolutely no way I could sit at home and do nothing. It means apart from the pressure coming in from all angles to secure a job, I put an immense amount of pressure on myself too. At 26, I moved to the UAE to chase my dreams but was plunged into unemployment in a foreign country. It actually says ‘housewife’ in my passport, can you imagine? A whole me! These new labels made me feel like a failure.
“I had something to prove to a world which told me I was not good enough. Now I know my identity is not found in those things and my life is worth so much more.”
Being isolated at home while my husband was out making that ‘Arab money’ was demoralising. I was as equally as qualified as him but felt as though I was being pitted against him. It was either his career or mine. And although no one forced me to come, I kept thinking ‘what about me?’ The isolation made it worse and it didn’t take long before I took out my own insecurities on him. I got upset about things that normally wouldn’t phase me and would create arguments just to air my frustrations about my lack of work. I had to change my perspective otherwise I would’ve spiralled into depression, a common symptom of Trailing Spouse Syndrome.
Fast forward four years, ladies and gentlemen, and I’m still a trailing spouse. I never did secure that classroom teaching gig (update: I now have the role of an educational coordinator). But you know what? I chose to view my circumstance as a blessing rather than a curse. Apart from teaching, which I do privately from time to time, I have spent the past four years creating online businesses and developing skills I never knew I had. It has been the most challenging four years of my life — yes, harder than teacher training — but I have emerged with an unshakeable understanding of my worth. I looked back at things I’ve always done since time began: writing and something involving hair. Now I get paid to write and have created an Afro hair community for women in the UAE.
I realised that before I moved out here, I found my identity in my career. Once that had been stripped away, I was lost. Being Black and from London, the aspiration was always to work hard, become qualified to the nines and max out my earning potential (even if it killed me). I had something to prove to a world which told me I was not good enough. Now I know my identity is not found in those things and my life is worth so much more. Without a particular job title or salary, I’m still me. I’m still an ozzla (hustler for those of you struggling lol) and I’ll still eat fish and chips with Shito on the side. I’ll still do me and see where that leads me.
