Category: self awareness and growth

  • Confidence . . . .

    Confidence . . . .

    I have struggled with a lack of self-confidence for centuries it seems. I have always chalked it up to my upbringing, my own personal “demons”, never considering that it might be a gender issue. Now, I’m not so sure. I while ago I read Knowing Your Value, by Mika Brzezinski and found that my self-diagnosed lack of confidence might really be something else. It might be, at least in part, because I am a woman operating in – yes, let’s face it, it still is – a man’s world.

    I started reading Knowing Your Value because I wanted to see if my insecurities could be mended by looking at how women operate in the workplace. I thought that maybe I could translate the ideas expressed from these women in business to all aspects of my life. The book is intended to empower women so they can effectively compete with men…….as men do. It examines how women assume that they have reached their position because of luck and are grateful to have it. This idea of being grateful is not based on self-worth, talent, skill or brilliance. It is based on luck. Luck. An idea that really has no basis in fact – just a pendulum swinging randomly. As I thought about this, I realized that it aligns exactly with how I have always felt. Skill? Whatever. It’s chance and luck that has brought me here. And this realization really pissed me off.

    We all know that women are taught – whether it’s conscious or not – to be a peace-keeper, the one who holds it all together so we can move forward without discord. We massage egos, calm people down, make excuses, distract, give confidence, explain why everyone is right on some level, and differences in opinion are not fatal. But we are not taught to argue for our own different opinion, to stand up and be counted in our own right. Instead we are taught to support everyone else so THEY can be counted.

    As we try to establish ourselves these things only work against us. They make us cynical, unconfident, defensive, quick to take the blame. Most importantly, we immediately think that our opinions are really not worth voicing. They are irrelevant or unimportant and certainly won’t make a difference. Another consequence of this is that we often take down our own allies. Why would we do this – to them? They are our real support system and the only ones who REALLY understand this divisiveness. And yet those are the ones we punish. How easy to blame and take down those who are most like you – after all you know how to reach their deepest vulnerability since it’s yours as well.

    As a professional, I am a head down, tune everything out, zero-in scribe. A ‘make an outline, follow it through, check it 5 times, edit 5 more, then close your eyes and hold your breath while hitting send’, kind of person. These are not all bad qualities especially for a lawyer. In fact, they are important skills that have been carefully cultivated by my education. Edit, fact check, cite and re-cite everything you do ad nauseam to ensure that you are right. images-1Or as right as you can be. Don’t make a move or speak until you know what you are talking about. These are most certainly not bad traits.

    { And next I should say that this is what makes me a good lawyer.  But even writing those words is hard for me . . . .}

    These skills can certainly be bricks in the road to success. But they are also paralyzing and self-defeating. While I am a strong supporter of others, when it comes to advocating for myself I fall far, far short of a penny. I am doubtful to a fault. Praise is taken lightly. Silence is deafening. Asking for compensation is like a walk to the guillotine. I am a ‘thank you for letting me be here – no need to pay me’ – kind of person. And make no mistake these traits seep into your personal life. They become your instinctual first move in every game, including the relationship game.

    Considering all this and how it has likely been encouraged by the influence of our wider society, has me angry. And it’s no wonder. I’ve accepted all this as part of who I am, how I was raised, a flaw in my character that I have and will accommodate. What a misconception. This is not a personal flaw that I have to accommodate – it is an imposed belief that I can choose to fight. It might not be easy but it is a choice that I can make. That in itself is empowering enough to feel a little more confident and recognize that there has been a slight shift in the balance of skill vs. luck.

    So what’s the upshot. However this idea landed, wherever it came from, it landed on me.  It certainly seeps in around the edges of a lot of thought and action. But it does not define who I am and recognizing that immediately trims it down. Despite all that I carry around that is hard or at times self defeating, I have done pretty well. I have found the right space and the right people in all aspects of my life. And guess what? It hasn’t been just luck. I may never be able to say “Hey. You know what? I’m a smart Mother Fucker and deserve to be treated as such so step it up and deliver.” But I am learning to say that I am skilled, smart, careful and committed and deserve to be treated that way.

    Of course right now I can only say these things to myself. But hearing it in my own head? Well, that’s a start.

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  • Options . . . .

    Guilt.  “Guilt is optional”, once said my very best friend after I had initiated a particularly unexpected breakup.  Unexpected for the boyfriend anyway.  Given the situation at the time, I felt bad for a while and then moved on leaving my guilt on the floor with the knowledge that my actions had not been completely unexpected and were necessary – for both of us.   Ever since, I have proudly spouted this same edict many times to anyone who needed to hear it.  Most people just nod and thank me for giving them permission to let it go.  

    Now, after floundering around for a long time feeling unbalanced and restless, I find myself thinking a lot about the concept of guilt being optional. Actually, the thought dropped in on me one day when I heard my friend’s beautiful voice in my head loud and clear say, “Oh for God’s sake Karen, why can’t you remember –  “Guilt is optional. OPTIONAL. Let it gooooooo.”  

    The thing is, the uneasiness that has been nipping at my heels follows what was supposed to be a very liberating life change. All I can really think about is:

    “Wtf? Why, after all this seemingly forward movement, am I suddenly stuck in a pile of goo, slogging around getting more restless by the day?”

    So once the idea fell on my head, something inside me cracked just a little, letting in a bit of light and I understood that all this unease might be a product of guilt, pure and simple.  I realized that before I could rinse the goo off and start walking, I needed to figure out exactly what to do with it because it clearly isn’t feeling very optional.

    For starters, I’m not sure I ever really bought into the idea that guilt is actually an optional emotion.  I think it is likely circumstantial and also individual.  Some people have no ability to feel guilt or remorse.  Those people scare me because some things should make you feel guilt.  Most of us, though, feel guilty at one time or another for random actions that cause another person pain.  And when that happens how do we justify it?  How do we live knowing that we really caused pain to someone – maybe more than one someone?  

    The question is even more complicated if the pain was a result of “good”intentions and out of the need to live your “best life”.

    Live your best life . .

    “Oh no not THAT BS again.”

    What if you are compelled to do something that changes the lives of others forever, in order to save yourself.  I know that sounds a bit dramatic.  By “saving yourself” I simply mean action motivated by the knowledge that you can’t keep up the fight anymore – something has to change or you will surely lose your shit.  

    For me, the change was monumental in the moment, but not horrendous or even unusual.  Nonetheless, it caused hurt to the people that I love most in the world.  I knew that this would be the case at the time.  It wasn’t something I had done on a whim.  Quite the opposite.  It was something I had considered for many years.  The idea thrown in and out, over and over again until I knew that I really didn’t have a choice if I wanted to be a little more joyful, live a little lighter and, generally, be a better person.  So, forward I marched.  And now I find myself – all of us – on the other side, having adjusted for the most part, I think.  And me in a pool of emotion still losing some measure of my shit.

    And here is where that lovely loud voice chimed in, tapping her finger on my forehead until I identified the goo as guilt.  And if I’m honest with myself there is some measure of regret thrown into the mix.  But that I will leave for another day.  So, this “guilt is optional” thing has taken a front row seat in my mind.  It is human nature to search for the one thread that is within reach in order to create order out of chaos.  “Guilt is optional” was my thread.  So I yanked it out and started trying to figure out what to do with it.  

    I have concluded that the term “optional” is a relative one.  Extremely relative, in an ‘optional’ sort of way.  Maybe a determination of whether you can choose guilt or not goes something like this.  Yes, you feel guilt for overturning the apple cart and upsetting the “normal” dynamic but were your reasons for doing so honest and valid?  Is anyone better off?    If the answer is yes, then maybe you can choose Option A – let the guilt go. For me, as usual, the answer is not that easy, and I continue to endlessly pick at the scab . . . 


    And just to bring the point home, I find myself crying a lot these days.  Actually, blubbering when alone in the car is a more accurate discription.  This is very unusual because I am most certainly NOT a crier.  Or I wasn’t.  And it’s ugly crying I’m talking about. The occurrence of these random explosive moments while standing in the goo, are what have caused me to consider the guilt “option” in the first place.  I figure they are so atypical that there must be a reason for them.  

    So I consider all the things. Would I have been “ok” without the shift?  Yes, of course I would have been OK.  And maybe that should have been enough.  Maybe I should have tried harder to be “more OK”.  Maybe OK is really all we should ever really expect.  How much does my OK weigh when balanced with everyone’s else’s OK?  How permanent is the upset?  Is anyone besides you – or EVEN you – better off?  These are all questions that have different answers on different days – sometimes minutes.  And, honestly, it is likely that I will never have a firm answer for any of them and, if so, does that mean that my optional guilt will just keep following me around – sometimes letting it go and sometimes not?

    I do realize that other factors probably enter the equation here.  Like the absolutely crazy passage of time at lightning speed, children growing up and leaving home, job uncertainty, money or the lack of it, a pandemic, a seriously frightening threat to our democracy, and the list goes on.  But when push comes to shove it has boiled down to self-doubt about my choices and the impact of them.   I’m not sure the self-doubt is optional once it lands in your head and heart.  And until that is resolved the residue of guilt may also not be optional.

    One thing I DO know is that once certain decisions are made, actions taken, lives impacted, change launched – there is no going back. No matter the guilt, the remorse, the goo. We don’t get to reverse course on certain choices. It simply isn’t fair and not a privilege we can assume. So, maybe that is where the “option” to feel guilt or not is relevant. Maybe that is where you say, OK. what is done was done – with good intentions and without malice or any evil doing. It may not have been a perfect choice – for me or anyone – but it was a choice and with it comes a consequence. So, accept it for all that it is and is not – and move forward – letting any guilt go.

    Maybe.

  • She said she would and she did

    She said she would and she did

    It was a hot summer day when she noticed that a small house on the Creek was listed for sale. Not thinking much about it she decided to take a look. At first she thought, “Meh. It needs work, it’s pretty small and a house is not exactly on the top of my list of needs.” But for some reason she couldn’t get this tiny house on the Creek out of her mind. So she went back for another look. And another. And yet another. Finally, after hemming and hawing and begging for advice from any and everyone in sight, she realized that she was drawn to this space for a reason. Having made that declaration, there was no turning back. This woman – this Karen – was stubborn. She wanted what she wanted, when she wanted it. And now this space on the Creek was what she wanted.

    Little did she know – or maybe deep inside she did – that it would be an uphill battle all the way.

    Day after day the obstacles compounded. Most were real. Bankers asking for more than usual because she was . . . . well, herself.  Contractors fighting her decisions – “You can’t take this staircase out. How stupid. You think you can demo this yourself? Not likely”. Delays in supply delivery . . . . “Oh wait, that’ll take a few months to get here unless you pay with your first born for express shipping”.  59335755805__E8C8F860-0FB7-43CE-BEBE-DA8E705C921A

    But some obstacles were carefully placed in her way . . . . . by her. This was, of course, nothing new. Setting up for failure was a common occurrence. Years of practice had taught her how to strategically place boulders in her path, causing her to stumble at just the right moment. Of course this was for “good reason”. True happiness was elusive and likely fleeting. Why risk it? Best to stand back, throw up her arms and create the next storm that would swirl around her, confuse matters and shove her around until she either acquiesced or stomped her feet and took charge. In fact, she was known for this kind of sabotage. Be careful, be edgy, be suspicious and be contrary. It had worked numerous times in her life, keeping her “safe” from failure. After all you can’t fail at something that you sabotage away.

    But this time something had shifted. A slight nudge in her resolve opened up a place within her. One she had never found before. And so she dug her feet in the ground until the storm subsided and she acknowledged that she had committed herself to this house for a reason – all the right reasons. Nothing was going to alter that resolve. Not even her own superior sabotage skills.

    Make no mistake, there were many days when she thought:  “What the fuck am I doing?  This is insane. Too much commitment. Too much risk. How will I ever and I mean EVER pull this off.” Her best friend, “fear”, and its ugly stepmother, “paralysis”, stood up and demanded recognition. She stumbled. She fell. She faced off with obstacles that would rage on and on presenting doubt every which way, some not really being settled until the 11th hour. At times the uncertainty and doubt were overwhelming. It would be so easy to say “fuck it” and let it go. To give up. To let the other Karens win. Again.

    On the days that the other Karens peeked in and planted their seeds of fear, doubt and the need to run, she would force herself to remember all the things she had done over the course of her life – both big and small. All the steps taken after slapping down one or another Karen. ALL of them. Forward, backward, left, right, around and around in a circle, with some steps never actually landing. All these steps – good or bad, right or wrong were steps nonetheless. Steps that brought her to where she was. So instead, she held up her hands, pushed all the Karens back into their room, sometimes with great force and an arm she never knew she had, and marched on.

    Then one day as she was swinging her sparkly new sledge hammer, she realized that this place was, in fact, much more than a house on the Creek. There was no doubt that it was an investment in the future and for her children. This was a simple enough fact. But the real meaning was so much more than that. This house on the Creek was a vessel. A vessel that held all of her confidence and surety. This was the vessel that marked a fork in the road and a choice to turn left and not right. It carried a step out of her comfort zone and a giant step into her new stronger, more capable self. A step she was taking all alone. It required forethought, commitment and conviction. She might make mistakes  but they would be HER mistakes. This was her launch into the next chapter.

    Her mantra became:  “I belong here. I know what I want, I know what it can be and I am going to get it.”

    And she did. Despite all the fear, anger, doubt, boulders and gaping holes in the ground, she persisted and overcame them – all of them –  whether self-imposed or thrown at her from the outside. Now almost 6 months later there is a house on the Creek that is all hers.  It is lovely. It is exactly as she imagined it would be. A peaceful refuge created by her against all odds.

    She thinks every day how lucky she is to have this little place of peace and beauty. A place she fought for and created on her own. To her it is much more than a house. This vessel is her beginning. It contains all that she is and all that she is capable of. It exudes confidence, certainty, strength and not a little pride.

    She said she would and she did. Meet Karen9, The Badass.

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    *Special thanks to @heatherheigis for the push….

     

  • The Rising

    We are all rising to something.  In other words, we are moving toward some personal goal or on a wider scale looking for our place in the world.  The place where we feel most welcome.  For me, it is rising to peace, contentment, and happiness.  These seem to be such simple things.  Things I think we all seek.  Yet it amazes me how elusive they can be.  At times they seem to be reachable.  Then suddenly they move so far from view that I can no longer distinguish them from the coffee I am drinking.

    Recently, it has become evident to me that the goal or place we seek in and of itself is not necessarily all that we need to treasure.  Almost more than the destination is the process we endure to reach it.   There can be so much beauty there.  It may come with a cost.  It may come with some heartache.  It may come with some pain.  It may require such intense work.  But within all that is the fascination that comes with your journey as you unfold your life.  I am learning that it is important to let yourself watch it, embrace it, remember it because this journey can be as enchanting as the destination.

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    Each moment of it is priceless, a lesson, an opportunity.  Your passage through life is the weaving of your tapestry.  It is the growth and the evolution of your time.

    I finally see how imperative it is to remember to live in that and each and every moment.  I mean really live it.  I am learning not to be in such a hurry to get there.   I am learning that there is immeasurable beauty in the rising.

    This could not be more evident to me now.  Now that my destination is present and in sight.  And even though it is in view, I am trying hard to be patient and appreciate the climb and rise to meet it.

    Then there is this . . . . I find that the view to the top is heartstopping making the rising even more enjoyable.

     

    “Respect the rising as well as that to which you are rising.”