Words for the Woman With a Story to Share

During a coaching session last week, a client of mine shared one of her biggest fears with me.

Maybe you can relate.
 
It’s a fear that I’ve heard many women I’ve worked with express. 
A fear that I’ve grappled with ad nauseam. 
And a fear that still visits me each time I sit down to write. 
In fact this fear is riding shotgun right now as I type these words. 
 
It’s the fear of sharing her voice. In her work, and in her life. 
Without apology or negotiation.
 
I’ve heard this challenge from women so often, and have felt it so acutely myself, that it seems important to address. 
For the sake of all of us who have a story to share, or a possibility we're yearning to create— 
but choose to stay quiet, or hide out, or sterilize our point of view into something more pleasing and agreeable for the sake of others.
 
Here’s my plea to you:
 
We need your strong voices. Your stories are valuable. 
Especially voices and stories that share the truth. 
We need as many as we can get
The truth of your experience... the truth of your perspective...
Tell us like it is. 
It’s what keeps us connected, how wisdom is passed down, how we all feel a little less alone. 
Speaking our truth without apology is how we set ourselves free…
From the constant concern of how others will see us.
From the expectations of who we “should” be. 
 
One hard truth. No one will ever give you the permission to take up space or be vocal. 
That permission is only self-granted.
Not to gender generalize, but this is especially true for women. 
It’s sucky, I know, but it’s the material that we’re working with. 
Which means that it’s up to us to learn how to share our voices in way that is decisive and meaningful. 
It’s our work. No one can hand us the permission slip. 
In fact..

Either we tell our stories or someone else will shape them for us.
There are plenty of people who are happy to tell us who they think we “should” be. It’s often well intentioned. In the guise of friendly advice. It also shapes us in their image. Which is not necessarily the truth of who we are. Something precious is lost in our silence. 

1:: NAME THE ARCHITECTS OF YOUR GLASS CIELINGS

Somewhere in our lives we’ve learned to fear what might happen if we let our voices be heard. 
The concern of negative impact or outcome.
 
If we sift through the contents of our experiences we can probably name the moments when our personal glass ceilings were constructed. 
 
Perhaps it was well meaning friends and family who encouraged you to “never change”. 
Maybe it was the mocking or teasing you faced when you let yourself be vulnerable. 
Or the mythology that women should be pretty and quiet that seeped into your family tree. 
 
One of my thickest glass ceilings was built in the 4th grade, when my well-intentioned mom forbade me from performing at the school talent show. 
 
I was planning a one-woman lip sync to En Vogue’s “Free Your Mind”, complete with a neon-green leotard and floppy brimmed hat, circa 1992. (Lord, I wish I had photo of this.)
I thought I was hot shit. I couldn’t wait to do my show. 
She told me I would embarrass myself. And put the kibosh on my performance.
 
In retrospect, I can understand where my mom was coming from. 
I was a chubby kid in a neon leotard, and it is a song with undertones that I was too young to understand. 
Her intention was to save me from the ridicule of my peers.
 
But It’s the first time I became painfully aware that making myself visible would also make me look foolish. 
 
We all have moments like this, as we learned how the world works, and how to safely navigate it. 
It’s our jobs to recognize where our beliefs stem from. Understand who helped us build them and why. Then give them a bless and release. 
 
Sometimes our glass ceilings crack in the moment we witness their construction. 
Oftentimes, it takes repeated work.  Like a mantra we carry with us, to chip at our ceiling each time that we hit it. 
Breaking through means truly releasing the story with full-on blessing and understanding. 
Because when we release our old hangups, fears, and mythologies, it’s actually us who is released. 
 
(Thank you mom, for protecting me. I set that story free.)

2:: INTERROGATE YOUR ANXIETY

If you’re skittish at the thought of sharing your voice, it might be time to take it to trial.
Invite your anxiety up to the witness stand and ask it to make a testimony. 
Chances are the evidence it will present sounds a little something like this:
 
“What if I share what I have to say and no one listens to me?
Or worse. They think I’m a fraud?
What if I’m criticized for what I believe in? 
Or people think I’m arrogant or a know it all? 
What if I fall flat on my face (and prove my worst fears right)?"
 
Cross examine your anxiety with a little Socratic Questioning: 

Is it True?

How do I know it’s true? 

Could it be another way?  

2 :: INVITE YOUR FEAR TO RIDE SHOTGUN 

Sometimes the most skillful thing we can do is make space for our fear to come along for the ride. 
 
Fear is a shape-shifter, especially when it comes to speaking up for ourselves.
 
In one moment, it may seem that we have our anxiety licked— after we’ve stood up for ourselves in a new way, or shared our story in a way that is brave and honest. 
And then…
Our anxiety puts on a different hat and shiny new shoes and manifests as a fresh doubt or hesitation when we’re reaching for our gumption. 
Slippery little sucker. 
 
Rather than trying to fight, crush, battle, or do something equally aggressive to our anxieties, take a moment to recognize that Fear’s main job is to look out for us. To keep us safe. To make sure we don’t hurt ourselves. 
 
Anxiety is actually our advocate, in a twisted, often misinformed way. 
 
When we recognize that our fear of sharing our voices is simply a personal defense, we can turn and look at it head on. 
Perhaps even thank it for it’s information. 
And then make space for it to ride shotgun in the front seat with us. As we go ahead act bravely anyway

Notes on Sufficiency: Henry Miller

"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses.  That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty.  

Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths.  

We all derive from the same source.  There is no mystery about the origin of things.  We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, to discover what is already there."  

~Henry Miller, Sexus

The Pitfalls of Pursuing Your Purpose :: SONIMA article

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED 3/18/15 ON SONIMA.COM 

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The trajectory of my 20s reads like a dilettante’s handbook, or a drunk pirate’s treasure map; winding, dabbling, non-linear. Like most children of the 80s, I was raised in the height of the self-esteem movement, with its encouraging maxim that I could do anything I wanted to do, and be anything I wanted to be. Thankfully I’ve also had the privilege of parents who supported this view. When I proudly announced in 4th grade that I would be the first woman president, no one batted an eye. When I decided to move to Manhattan after high school, I was given a hug, two cans of mace, and a membership to Bally’s Sport’s Club; just in case I wound up homeless and needed a place to shower.

I had faith in my own resourcefulness and in the benevolence of mankind. I didn’t have a plan, per se, but I was on a mission to find my purpose. Oh, sweet purpose. The final frontier.

The importance of purpose is not a new concept, but one that seems to be on our minds quite a bit these days. According to the 2015 Deloitte Millennial Survey, 60% of the millennial generation listed a “sense of purpose” within the organization when asked why they chose their current employers. Purpose-driven books topped the New York Times bestsellers list in 2014, with titles like Your Life Calling by Jane Pauley, and The Promise of a Pencil: How an Ordinary Person Can Create Extraordinary Change by Adam Braun. And ranking third in the Top 10 most watched TED Talks of all time, Simon Sinek asks us what “our purpose, our cause, our belief” is; urging 21 million viewers worldwide to connect with our “WHY.” I’m responsible for at least 30 of those views, I’ve shared this gem so often.

On one hand, I find this turn toward purpose incredibly heartening. In a culture that traditionally values metrics of success, it suggests that we’re asking ourselves how to live by our own standards, collectively elevating meaning over measurement. When I was a Girl Scout our motto was: “Always leave things better than you found them,” which is an idea reflected in the popularity of purpose. We’re consciously contemplating what we’re built for, and how best to contribute to the world.

On the other hand, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that all of this “find your purpose” business is somehow missing the mark. There’s something lacking from the conversation; and it’s the small but mighty distinction between having a purpose and living a purposeful life.

It may seem like a matter of syntax, but syntax is important. The way that we talk about things reveals our relationship to them, and ultimately, how we approach them. In the case of purpose, it’s the difference between seeking the keys to redemption and revealing what’s already there.

During my decade as a dilettante, I would lay awake, fixed on the water stain above my bed wishing for some sort of map. I had tried my hand at acting and spent a year in film school. I wrote sketch comedy on the side, worked in food advocacy, studied design in undergrad, and worked enough crappy waitressing jobs to redefine my notion of humility. I had a passion for travel and yoga, but could that truly be my purpose? I’d always had a knack for organizing, but was this my soul’s North Star?

When given too much gravitas, finding “our purpose” can be frustrating, and at worst, a trap of paralysis. If we truly have a calling, a single purpose in this world, what if we never find it? Are we destined to go through the motions, a half-lived vessel of unrealized potential?

Related: How Making Time for Reflection Can Help Unlock Your Potential

Defining our purpose as a destination or a single pointed direction bears resemblance to searching for “The One”. Even if we do find our forever person, or the mission statement we can live by that fills our days with meaning, there might always the lingering question of whether we’ve made the right decision, if we’re missing out. Even if we feel a sense of certainty, it’s easy to attach the expectation that it will always remain the same; which pits our hopes against the laws of ever-changing nature.

Purpose was just another way of chasing that magical “someday” that precluded my self-acceptance.

If you had asked me about my purpose when I was 7, I would have given you a cock-eyed stare, most likely because I was busy discovering the world through first-time experiences. Everything had purpose; from crickets to kickball to Paula Abdul.

It all clicked into place during one of those crappy waitressing shifts. This wasn’t, by any stretch, my forever career. I smelled like fried calamari and had ketchup in my hair. However I decided to try an experiment. What if I tried treating all of this like it mattered? What might happen if rather than approaching this like a sidebar to my life’s purpose, I brought purpose into my approach? What if I am purposeful instead of waiting for one to redeem me? The answer is that I stopped looking for my purpose—the one I claimed ownership to—and allowed purpose to flavor my moments.

I can’t help but think that rather than having a purpose, we simply have purpose. It’s something akin to dignity or meaning, an inheritance of being alive. We can direct our purposefulness through clearly chosen intentions, but ultimately, it’s a quality we possess, not a statement, a job title, or a place that we find.

My friend Marisa once told me a story of an MTA employee who worked in a Brooklyn subway booth. Each morning she would emerge from the train, and he would lock eyes with her, and greet her warmly. They became familiar through their daily exchange; a wave, a smile, a connection. She talks about how this always made her mornings, they joy he brought to his booth, his generosity of spirit. After some weeks she noticed that she wasn’t alone. This tollbooth employee had a relationship with every regular commuter, exiting the train and waving. Some mornings there would be dozens of people who would wave, and stop to say hello on their way to the subway stairs.

This man’s purpose wasn’t raised on a banner for the rest of the world to see, but rather he connected to the world through the act of purposeful living.

If you’ve decided that this is the year to find your purpose, the good news is you can relax. It’s already there and best lived through you. The way to find purpose is to apply it generously; to the crappy jobs, and the sleepless nights, and the hours stuck in traffic. If our lives are purposeful, then nothing gets excluded.

Our moments, after all, only have the meaning we give them.

The Beauty of Being Right Sized: An Antidote for Perfectionism

My mom is the kind of mom who receives messages from the Universe. 

This sounds a little "woo woo", I know. 

However, she speaks about it as Eastern philosophers speak of contemplation practices, or Judeo-Christians speak of prayer, holding a question or thought in mind until she receives a response, or spark of insight. 

Often this happens spontaneously, when her mind is relaxed with other activities, and sometimes the messages are for me. 

One evening during a very dark winter she called me up with just such a message. It was on the heels of botching something that was extremely important to me. I had planned it all month, certain I would receive accolades, praise, and tiny yellow tea roses thrown at my feet for being a quiet genius, revealed. 

Instead, I had a panic attack. Full out. Breathless, body quakes, phlegmy tears rolling down my chin while a circle of my peers watched me unfold.

Aka: The worst.

In a fit of humiliation, I had self-quarantined in my bedroom for the remainder of the weekend, hoping my bedsheets would swallow me whole, cocoon and transform me, eventually releasing me reborn on the beaches of Bali in June. 

This didn't happen.

Instead, my mom called. 

"The Universe has a message for you... It's 'Humility.'" 

OH. REALLY.

I received this "offering" the same way as I would if the Universe had a message for me: "You've let yourself go since high school", or, if the Universe had a message for me: "Your face is too round for that new haircut."

It seemed like a celestial-padded jab from my mother. 

NOT what I wanted to hear. 

But as we know, our needs and our wants are distinctly different devices.

So I did what any wallowing word-nerd would do, which is find the definition of "Humility" on Wiki, looking for even more reasons to be injured by this insult.

Humility. (n) Close to the Earth, grounded, right sized. 

It took a bit of contemplating (and a bit more wallowing), but eventually, I got it.

My expectations of myself and my performance had been so inflated, so dependent on grandiose standards, and my desire to be praised, that I collapsed when it didn't play out as desired.

Perfectionism in drag. Disproportionate thinking. The gap between expectation and a reality sandwich can be brutal. 

One of the finest antidotes is staying right sized. 

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3 Practices for Staying Right Sized 

1::Drop Expectations, Embrace Intentions.

Desire is the root of all action, but the intention we approach our desires with can be the linchpin difference between staying stuck, beating ourselves up afterwards, or shaking off slights and moving forward with personal permission. 

Is our reason for acting dependent on the outcome? Is it because we expect to change someone, be received a certain way, or to get something in return? 

Motivation that's dependent on outcomes that we can't control is the best recipe for staying in a perfectionist "freeze", or falling apart in the after wash. 

Rather, ask yourself "How do I want to participate in this? With compassion? Honesty? Dedication? Humor?" We can control how we 'show up', and honoring our intentions vs expectations keeps us right sized, and confident in our abilities; regardless of how the situation plays out. 

2:: When in doubt, Generosity trumps all. 

Humility doesn't mean thinking less of yourself, it means thinking of yourself less.

The concern that I hear most often from clients is some variation of: "What if I look silly?" or "What if they think I'm a fraud/chump/total loser" or "What if I make the wrong decision?" 

I've felt every one of these anxieties nestled in the pit of my stomach at some point, and the one thing that they all have in common, is that the anxiety lens is intently focused on ME. 

As my teacher, Venerable Robina Courtin so divinely put it: "We're so wrapped up in what other people think of us. It's a fucking nightmare."

I really like ordained nuns that drop F* bombs. I also think she's spot on. 

Peeling our attention off of ourselves and how we'll be perceived, while pinning it to what we want to contribute, offer, and create for the sake of others is the most effective way that I've found to navigate the tides of inflated/deflated thinking. 

When we do something for others, we organically drop into our right size. 

3.  Revel in Enoughness

Abundance is sexy. I get it.

The idea of living the luxe life, and chasing the dream of "having more and being more" is super seductive and ingrained in our cultural mythology. However, it also leaves us unsatisfied and unaware of what we have sitting right in front of us.

When we're prone to inflating who we are in the world with every new compliment/promotion/win/shiny thing, and deflating with every disappointment/discouragement/challenge/loss, our sense of self worth is always in flux.

As Alice said to the Caterpillar in Wonderland, "I'm not myself, you see...being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.". 

You said it, sister. And it's exhausting. Being right sized means being able to inhabit what we have right here right now, appreciate that it's not perfect, and admire that it's "enough".

Ourselves included.