Myths and Lies Successful Women Kick to the Curb
E-Book, Englisch, 100 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-61339-862-3
Verlag: Made for Success
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)
Autoren/Hrsg.
Weitere Infos & Material
CHAPTER 1 The Day I Was Born... The day I was born, I was given a nickname that stayed with me for the rest of my life. Even today, after fifty plus years, my mother will still occasionally introduce me to people as her “little angel – her God-given miracle.” No pressure, right! Our family dynamic was not unusual for today, but in the mid-fifties, it was a new concept. My father fell in love with and married my mother and adopted my older sister (from my mother’s first marriage) without hesitation. In 1954, my mother and father brought a new member into the family. Unfortunately, my brother died at twenty-three months of age to a congenital heart failure. In the mid-1950s, a woman having a baby later in life was not encouraged. So after losing my brother, my older parents were encouraged not to have another baby. But alas, fate intervened, and two years later, exactly twenty-four hours after the birthdate of my deceased brother, I screamed my way into this world and was immediately given the nickname. As a result of this nickname (and the constant reminder of it), I often felt like I was a replacement child and that I was expected to do great things. In another decade that probably would have been easier. But as a baby-boomer who was raised by older “veteran” parents, I became the victim of a changing world and was being guided by older parents who did not understand the changing opportunities and requirements for women. Neither of my parents completed high school. In fact, both of them took their GEDs later in life. Nevertheless, even without a high school diploma, my father became a supervisor for a pipeline company. That was entirely possible in that decade. As a result, my parents did not understand the importance of my having a college education as we entered a new decade, and therefore they did not really plan for or encourage me to attend college. Looking back I would say I was a “type A” kid…a classic overachiever. I started my own business and was making money in second grade. Yes, you heard me right, in second grade. Clearly I started experiencing entrepreneurial tendencies at a very early age! I consistently had a straight “A” average in school. At the ripe age of twelve, I was actively involved in our church Sunday school program, not as a participant, but as a leader and teacher. Because I grew up on the back of a horse, my hobby as an early teen was riding and competing in horse shows. I learned early to work hard by taking care of my horses and equipment, and helping my father on the farm. It was in the middle of my seventh-grade year that my father was transferred to Chatham, Illinois (south of Springfield) to take a supervisory position with his pipeline company. This was when my classic overachiever took a nose dive. Being transplanted to a new school is always traumatic, but transferring mid-year was even more devastating. My new school had a very unusual way of assigning classrooms. Each grade had different class levels within the grade (i.e. 7A, 7B, 7C, 7D). So when I arrived, based on my “A” average, I was placed in the 7A class. Unfortunately, this school was more advanced than my previous school and I was not at the same learning curve. As a result, I completed my seventh-grade year with a straight D average. The next year I was moved to the 8D class. Talk about a slap in the face! Now I was in a new school, had no friends, and was the laughing stock of my class because I was the new “stupid” kid. Do I even need to tell you what this did to my confidence and self-esteem? For the first time in my life, I began to experience insecurity. Like a brilliant flower taken out of its rich soil, I began to wilt. The only escape from the loneliness was my horses. They became my confidants and closest friends, and I spent every free moment with them. It was the one place I retained any confidence and felt comforted. I would spend hours brushing, saddling and riding, all while crying and telling my horses how I felt about this move and how my life had been ruined. In my thirteen-year-old desperation, I made the decision to write someone I really looked up to for advice on what to do. My hope was that he would be able to provide some sound suggestions, support and friendship that I was missing. I began drafting this all-important letter with great care, pouring my heart and soul out on vellum. I was sure this was the one person who would be able to help me make sense of it all. One day in class, I was peeking at my handcrafted masterpiece when my teacher walked over to me. He took the letter off my desk and asked me what I was doing. Oh no, my confidante had been discovered. When I didn’t reply to his question, he started reading my very private letter out loud to the class: “Dear Donny…” Even as I write this story, I cringe. I had written my heartfelt letter of desperation to Donny Osmond of the Osmond Brothers (for those of you who don’t know, the Osmond Brothers were one of the original boy groups of our time along with the Jackson 5. Today it would be the equivalent of writing a letter to Harry with One Direction). Donny Osmond was my teen idol and I just knew that we would be married one day. So it only made sense that I would write to him for advice. But now my private letter was thumbtacked to the bulletin board at the front of the classroom for everyone to see. Embarrassment and humiliation began setting in, and all I wanted to do was curl up and die. In addition to being the new stupid kid, I was now a big, fat, loser nerd too. Right before we were transferred, my orthodontist announced that I would need braces. After the move and the embarrassment I had just endured, adding another level of humiliation like a mouth full of braces wasn’t going to do me any favors. So I begged my parents relentlessly to forgo the braces. Even though my mother should have done what was in my long-term best interest, watching her “God-given miracle” in so much misery was more than she could stand. She decided to give in. No braces for me! A decision I later painfully regretted. Fast forward a few years. I entered high school, made some friends, was involved in the music department and had become involved with the church that sponsored the vocal touring group I mentioned earlier. I had survived my first major life crises and life didn’t seem so bad. However, as high school began to come to a close, another set of challenges presented themselves. As I mentioned earlier, my parents simply did not understand how the world was changing and what I was going to need to get ahead in my career choices. While many of my fellow high school students were being groomed for college, I was being taught that in order to get ahead in life, I had to work hard. “You trade an honest day’s work for an honest day’s wage,” my father would tell me. In fact, I wasn’t encouraged to take college preparatory classes in high school. Instead, during my senior year, I joined the work-study program and worked every afternoon as a secretary at the attached junior high school office. My preparation for a career and life started with my first job in high school, rather than discussions of a college education. I even remember the day my mother sat down with me and said, “Your father is eligible for retirement now. If you go to college, he’ll have to work another four years to pay for it.” Guilt trip for one, please! Looking back on those conversations, I would like to believe that had I told my parents I wanted to go to college, they would have made that happen. But as a seventeen-year-old who had a job, a boyfriend, was involved in a wonderful church, and was traveling and performing with a semi-professional gospel group, I really didn’t want to go to college. Based on my upbringing and what I had been taught by my parents, I was already living the “American dream.” Unfortunately, the American dream was about to take a hard left turn without me. My father retired, and my parents planned to move from Illinois back to Kansas. I was quickly informed that I was not going to be permitted to stay in Illinois by myself, and since I was seventeen years old, I did not have the legal ability to do so. I was forced to give up my job, my boyfriend, my church and my singing group to move back to my birthplace. My parents, having lived there when I was born, called in favors and got me a new job without my knowledge, input or approval. Although I started my “career” working as a secretary for the school district in Illinois and traveling across the country performing with a singing group, I suddenly found myself working in a library at an old Catholic school in small-town middle America. That was the next chapter of my “career” whether I liked it or not. It’s right here that this story could take two different paths. I would either work at that library, or other entry-level/menial jobs for the rest of my life, or I could choose the path less traveled and do something my future self would thank me for later. I came to the fork in that road and I...I chose the path less traveled. What I learned in my life is: You don’t need a man. You don’t need wealth. You don’t need a degree. You don’t need a perfect body. You don’t need a genius IQ. What you need is MOXIE! Enough Moxie to overcome whatever life throws at you without wasting years and years feeling sorry for...
