When the President (or Chancellor) Is Your Spouse (or Mom)

From the family of a current chancellor.

10-year-old kiddo: I think one of the benefits of having Mom as a chancellor, or, let me rephrase that, having a chancellor as a mom, is that you have to learn how to spend time by yourself. For kids especially, it’s easy to get the idea that if you wanna do something with your parents, they can always do something with you, and that’s not true. But it’s fun anyways.

Spouse: It sounds really corny, but I’m always proud of you. Often that’s abstract because I’m not seeing what you’re doing, but when I see people who know you and how they react to you—it’s always very positive. I see how good you are with people, which is something that’s always been true, but when I first knew you, you were more reticent.

Kiddo: It seems Mom’s really respected, which makes sense because she’s the chancellor, but some bosses are not respected. That’s why it’s not only just good to have a chancellor for a mom, but it’s also good to meet people that you probably would have never met. Like the vice chancellor. 

Chancellor: Do your friends or your teachers ever ask about me? What do you tell them? 

Kiddo: Sometimes. Usually I tell them you work at a college. Sometimes I don’t include the name of the college and [that] you are the chancellor. Other times I say the name of the college and don’t include “chancellor.” I’m a little bit hesitant not because I don’t trust them but—how do I phrase this?—I just don’t feel comfortable giving that much away about who I’m related to. 

Spouse: After you defended your Ph.D. dissertation, your dad said to me, “I bet you’re glad that this is over and she’s gonna be around a lot more,” and I said, “Well, she didn’t get this degree so that she could come home and be around a bunch.” The shortage of hours is the only thing really difficult, because we like to be around you and sometimes we can’t be. And the hours are constantly irregular. Your work schedule involves doing a lot of stuff at 10:30 at night. Some weekends you have to work basically the whole weekend. I think we’re all fairly flexible. We’ve all learned how to do that. Any spouse who would have a problem with it would probably have a problem with most things. 

Chancellor: Any final words? 

Kiddo: If you have any final words, I want you to say them first, because my final words are probably a good ending to this.

Spouse: I cannot imagine doing what you do. I also try to keep in mind all of this stuff I can’t imagine is sitting on you all the time, and the best thing that I can do is be conscious of that. 

Kiddo: Over all, having a chancellor as a mom or dad can be a little tough. It’s usually not as hard as you might think. It’s usually really nice. It’s usually really helpful. I’m just proud of her.

The writer’s spouse is a current president.

One of the biggest fights my spouse and I ever had came after decades of marriage and just a few months into our new roles. I’d had a chance to meet some other presidential spouses and partners, from a variety of institutions. I’d encountered a range of experiences. Some had nothing to do with their spouse’s/partner’s institution. Others were intimately involved, even to the point of being active participants in donor asks.

Not yet sure where I fit in, I brought up the topic with my spouse. When I mentioned how integrated and active some spouses and partners were, my spouse balked. “I don’t think that’s what I want you to do. I don’t really know what you should do, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”

The metaphor I sometimes use to describe that feeling—and it’s one that happens somewhat regularly in this role—is of being shelved. No matter how important I am in our friendship and marriage, in the role of presidential spouse, I am just one thing to be considered in relation to all the other things.

I shared my feelings of frustration with my spouse. What followed was a months-long emotional winter. We just didn’t talk about it. I threw myself into my regular full-time job, which was at another university. I found myself settling into the “don’t know/don’t care” end of the spouse/partner involvement spectrum.

Things finally came to an inflection point months later when my spouse asked if I would like to go to an alumni event in another city. “Do you need me there?” I asked. “No,” my spouse replied, “I just think it might be nice if you were there.”

Something about “might be nice” got under my skin. I felt like I was being included out of pity, not necessity. I told my spouse, “You chose this job, but I didn’t choose this ill-defined role. If there is something college-related you want me to do, phrase it as ‘this is a must-do’ and I’ll do it. Otherwise, forget it.”

I realize that this clip won’t win me any Spouse of the Year awards. I could have been more understanding. After all, my spouse was still learning the job and didn’t know any better than I did what I was supposed to be doing. But in that moment, I needed something—definition, boundaries, a purpose—that I could use to stabilize myself.

Over the next few months and many—sometimes difficult—conversations, we learned that we needed to talk through every opportunity for my involvement. Board of Trustees dinner? Commencement? Football game? We talked through what made some of them must-dos and others might-be-nices.

We also made some difficult adjustments. For example, I scaled back my career, in part so that we could travel together more often. At first, we thought travel was a might-be-nice (and it’s definitely nice!), but it turns out that I’m more helpful than either of us anticipated, almost to the point of making it a must-do.

I also learned that, even as an introvert, I’m pretty good at certain social situations—so long as I keep things in my comfort zone. For example, in conversations where my spouse has had to talk at length, I’ve learned to pick a spot to tag in with an anecdote or follow-up question, giving my spouse a minute to regather themselves. And because I’m typically not the center of attention, I can focus on being a helpful observer. At a crowded alumni event, my spouse might not catch a prospective donor mentioning their favorite restaurant. If I pass it on later, my spouse can suggest it next time they’re in town.

There are other things we’ve discovered about how to be happy together in our roles, but only because we made the effort to be honest and direct with ourselves and one another about what does—and does not—work for us.

Kind of like a marriage.