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On another note, I have a Zoom in 19 minutes that's going to be fierce.
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“The Gingerbread House has four walls, a roof, a door, a window, and a chimney. It is decorated with many sweet culinary delights on the outside.

But on the inside there is nothing—only the bare gingerbread walls.

It is not a real house—not until you decide to add a Gingerbread Room.

That’s when the stories can move in.

They will stay in residence for as long as you abstain from taking the first gingerbread bite.”


― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration


My office has a tradition of putting together gingerbread houses for our firm Christmas party. Last year, we started meeting at a restaurant instead of one of the partner's homes, so we skipped this particular tradition. That was a relief, y'all, because those little suckers are HARD to put together.

Monday morning two weeks ago, I came into my office to see a brightly colored wrapped package. I was super excited, because it wasn't the day for Secret Santa, so this was just a random gift.

Or, so I thought.

"Bring to the office on December 14 for judging."

There it was, in all it's slick lies and promise of simplicity, a gingerbread house in a box kit.

Of course, I waited until last night to assemble it. My friend wanted to help, and my boyfriend certainly didn't. He's lived through the years where we had to do this at the actual firm party, so he's smart enough to run away. Anyway, she came over and we made cookie dough, ate dinner, played with the baby and then got to business.

I was putting cookies in the oven while she opened the package and box and heard, "Uhh, Bewize? This is broken."

"They usually are," I said absently, much more concerned about the cookies that I was baking than the stale gross gingerbread she was unwrapping.

"Some of this is sand," she said, and her tone of voice sounded genuinely upset. I shoved the cookies in the oven and went over to see what we were working with.

Crumble. Pieces. Broken fragments. A few side panels had only snapped once, but the whole thing was a total shambles.

Clearly, the gingerbread house hadn't survived transport well.

"Oh, shit." I paused, tempted to shrug and throw it all away. But, I could tell that she was really disappointed. "Let's see what we can make of the pieces," I finally suggested.

An hour later, covered in hardened frosting (which also hadn't survived transport well), we ended up with a wonky stone hinge. Of course, even that fell apart after a few minutes. Not even cement frosting and toothpicks would hold this mess up.

I snapped a picture and sent it to my office with the word SABOTAGE as the email header.

Then, we talked about the gingerbread house.

I felt a little bad for my friend. She'd cleared an evening to come and spend time and work on this project. She'd brought extra candy and decorations. She was really into the whole idea. She doesn't have family that she's close to. Me, the boyfriend, the baby - we are her de facto family, and our house is her family home.

We are her Christmas experience.

She was gutted.

I showed her the picture I'd sent to the office. She paused, then took the fondant in a package, unwrapped it, and crafted a disembodied hand with a prominently displayed middle finger.

I was so proud of her. I promptly sent that picture out as a "reply all" to myself, with a metric ton of giggles between us. She told me later she admired my balls.

Later, she asked if I'd agree to help her put together another gingerbread house for the contest she'd started at her work.

I mentally sighed, because she doesn't know - it's always like that. It never turns out like you plan. It's deceptively cheerful box, holding disappointment, things that won't go right, and icky tasting cookies and candy.

"Yep, of course!" I replied. Because, it's Christmas. Because, she's family. Because that gingerbread house is nothing, if not a metaphor for life.

I saved the fondant middle finger, though. Just because. After all, it's always good to be prepared!


Written for LJ Idol prompt: "Sucker Punch." I will link the poll if there is voting.
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My phone rang and I glanced at it out of habit. My boss’s name scrawled across the caller ID. I picked up immediately, but casually. I’d just emailed him the answer to a question he’d asked me about 10 minutes before and figured that’s what he wanted to talk about.

“Can you come to my office?”

”Sure.”


“Come to my office.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command, growled through the phone line at me and I simultaneously rolled my eyes and steeled myself. My 25-year-old self knew that whatever was going to happen in the boss’s office had more to do with the fact that he was a fucking lunatic than with whatever transgression I’d supposedly made.

Deep in my belly, though, I felt the panic start to ooze out, slick and oily, tainting my good mood and the sushi I’d just eaten for lunch.

Deep breaths.


“Hey,” I said, forcing myself to be casual. Fake it until you make it. This was the strategy I’d agreed to try with my therapist. Panic on the inside, but smile and remember that it almost certainly wasn’t me. Act confident.

I’d taken a minute before coming down the hall to breathe in -2-3-4, hold-2-3-4-5-6-7-8, breathe out-2-3-4. Strike the Wonder Woman pose. Look up and away. Look around. Nothing harmful happening here and now.

”Sit down.”


I slid into the chair, notebook and pen optimistically in my hand, like this was a legitimate meeting, and not a roasting by a sociopath. He just stared at me and I braced myself. I would not break first.

I.
Will.
Not.
Break.
First.

”Close the door.”


Decades rushed past my ears in the pounding of my heart beat, and I stood back up and stepped back far enough to shut the door. My fingers were clumsy and I had to push it twice. The hand holding the pen and notebook were shaking and I gripped the objects tighter, like a talisman to keep the panic attack at bay.

He kept rubbing his hand over his mouth, and while I was so incredibly proud in retrospect that my outside visage remained calm, my inside quailed, waffling and flailing and gnashing teeth. You’re about to get fired, you fuck up. My inner voice was far more gleeful than it had a right to be, considering that if I starved, it did, too.

“It’s like this…” he said.

”Mmm.”


“Mmm,” is such an innocuous sound. Was something tasty? Was I even listening? Did I agree with the statement just made? Anyone home, Bewize?

I blinked and looked at the lunatic in front of me with care. If I didn’t react with just the right amount of sorrow, he’d snap and yell at me. “I can see why that’s upsetting,” I lied. “I should have sent you a response when I read the email.” Of course, no response was required. It wasn’t a question, a request, or even an order. It was an FYI.

Now it was a CYA.

”Mmm.”


“So, do you think you can handle this new work?” I was already nodding, autopilot having kicked on in defense, but I took the controls back. Breathe out-2-3-4.

“Absolutely. I’ve got this.”

“Great.”

“One can choose to go back toward safety or forward toward growth.
Growth must be chosen again and again; fear must be overcome again and again.” —Abraham Maslow


I’m not sure why my boyfriend called me this afternoon to check on me. That’s not his usual style, but he’s been doing it more lately. (I love it. It makes me feel so cared about.) “How’s it going?” he asked, probably not ready for the onslaught of panicky, giddy, excited, fearful emotions that slid out of my throat and sprayed through the phone.

When he’d put the pieces together, and it had clicked that this was a victory – a panic attack ridden to the non-terrifying end, I could hear his pride.

“Good job,” he said.

I smiled.


”Practice and time,” my therapist had said. “That’s how you get past this type of PTSD. Practice being in similar situations. Times when they don’t end with thrown books, raised voices, shouted insults and thinly veiled threats.”

“I’m so afraid.” I was crying, barely able to finish my thought aloud. “What if I make the same choices and end up that miserable again? I used to pray that I’d be in a car accident on my way to work, so I wouldn’t have to go.”

“No.” She was adamant. “You’ll never be in the same situation again. You’ve done it once. You’ve learned.”


Sometimes, I think I have.

**********



My first boss was a singularly unhinged individual, prone to violence in word and action. I quit a few months after the incident alluded to in this piece. On this particular day, he’d thrown a book at me and called me a fucking idiot. I had stood up for myself at the time, picking up the book and slamming it on his desk with a snarled, “We learned in kindergarten not to throw things at people.” He’d laughed, instantly forgetting his rage at me for not responding to an email that needed no response. He’d liked my “moxie.”

It has taken me more than 10 years to work past some of the fear responses I get when similar triggers happen. “Come into my office,” is a phrase that honestly makes me immediately want to run away, complete with upset stomach and ringing in the ears. It was how he began so many of his tirades that it is forever linked to the stuff of nightmares in my conscious brain.

Anyway, these are both true stories. One happened in 2005. One happened this afternoon. Eight years of therapy later, and I’ve accepted that I may never be free of the memories of the trauma, but I am certainly recovering much faster when triggered and no longer require immediate pharmaceutical assistance.

It’s strange and hard to admit that this is PTSD and it certainly feels presumptuous. But, as the Facebook meme I read yesterday says, “Someone who drowns in 7 feet of water is just as dead as someone who drowns in 20 feet of water. Stop comparing traumas. … This isn’t a competition, we all deserve support and recovery.”

So, if you see yourself reflected in this writing, just know you’re not alone and it’s okay to struggle to let go of some of the worst parts of the past. We don’t all just move on and forget. Sometimes, the past rodeos leave scars, even after the broken bones have healed.

But also know, you don’t have to live locked in fear forever. Find yourself a key.

Godspeed.


Written for LJ Idol prompt: "Not My First Rodeo." I will link the poll if there is voting.
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I may have fired/been fired by a client today. He was a douche and mad that I hadn't finished something when I said I would (being sick and a blizzard didn't seem to matter much to him). He said he would spend the night deciding whether or not he wanted me to represent him.

I sent him a followup text telling him to make sure he included when/how to deliver my retainer to me tomorrow if he did want my services.

You see, I have a strict "pay as you behave like a dick" policy.

*GRIM*

Jan. 11th, 2011 10:22 am
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Ever take a workaholic, lock them in a house by dumping snow and ice all over a city that can't cope with it, shut down almost all interstates, and then say, "You're stuck until Saturday."?

Let me tell you.

It isn't pretty.

I understand The Shining so much better now.

Oh. My. God. People.
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Life goes on. And on. And on. If you're lucky. )

This entry was written for Topic 6: Not of Your World at [livejournal.com profile] therealljidol. I assume voting will take place later this week. Everyone should check out all the good entries!
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So, I realized this morning, as I was frantically rushing to court, that I forgot something I needed at home. It's a personal need, not a work need, but I finally decided - while I was sitting in traffic forever that I actually NEED to put some "me time" in a place of priority. So I decided to come home and take an hour to do what I needed to do.

Then I got home and started wondering what would happen if... I just didn't go back to work today.

So, I'm not!

And we shall see if the world ends. I've already ended up not doing one thing that I probably should have done (work wise), but I've done 3 things that I needed to do personally. And since I didn't get home from work until 10 last night (and actually didn't get home from dinner until almost midnight - there is no food. I stopped at Bellas.) - I feel as though maybe I'm entitled to a bit of playing hookie.

I've got the laundry going. I'm going to change my bed linens. I'm going to get the last three gifts into the mail. I may stop and buy the last three gifts I actually need.

I do have to go back to the office for a little bit tonight, to put one thing in the FEDEX, but... F it. I'm going to try and get all the interviews done this afternoon that I need to do over the next few weeks, and maybe, I dunno, go for a run or something.

I'm cracking under the strain, and this is the only thing I can think to fix it. Plus... it's kind of fun. *shifty eyes*
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I am unbelievably disheartened today. Have you ever spent the entire day trying really hard only to have everything thrown back in your face? That was my day today.

S is so unbelievably stressed out that he's noticeably being a jerk. It's noticeable to more than just me - and someone else said something to me about it. Stupidly, that upset me so much that when someone else snapped at me about something tonight, I burst into tears.

I don't do that. I don't cry. But, I'm just worn down.

And it doesn't help that S forwarded me a text from a client (that I'm doing work for free for) saying that I was taking too long. *bashes head against the table*

I am seriously wondering how many drugs I'd have to take to drown myself in the tub. (This is more a passing a thought than any serious threat. But, fuck.)

I can't keep up. Even with help all day today (from 9 - 6), I still can't keep up. I need more time. I need more help. I need to be smarter. I need to be faster. I need... to drown myself in the tub.

I need to call my mom back, but I don't really think I can handle it right now. She sounds as frustrated and upset as I do and I really don't have the social varnish right now to be polite. When you want to scream obscenities at people who are asking you to do fun things? It's time to hide from the public.

I think that I'm so frustrated because I am working my ass off. I really am. I've lost weight this past week just because I've been too stressed to eat and not because of the dieting. I'm not exercising (no time, plus it's cold). Everything is combining to make me litereally want to drown myself in the tub.

Plus the fucking move is making me crazy. There is only so much I can do and I hate that my instinct right now is to cry at being asked to do more. I feel like such a weak, pathetic failure, and I really do hate myself a little bit for feeling that way. I know I'm working my ass off and I need to tell people to back off, but God... why does everyone feel so damn entitled?

*screams*

You know what. Fuck it. I don't want to journal right now and I don't want for people to try and cheer me up. I'm turning off comments so I can wallow in my own mess. I'll be fine. I generally am.

And I won't actually drown myself in the tub.

So Twitchy

Dec. 6th, 2010 11:26 am
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My life is out of control and I cannot keep up. Work is making me sick to my stomach with stress and if one more person tells me to calm down, I will lose my shit. Don't be that person. Just don't.

************

This weekend happened. There are many things that I would like to talk about, but some of them are making me twitchy, so I don't even know where to start. That and the fact that some of the things that are making me twitchy were within my power to control and I let it happen and I don't know if I'm okay with that or not either.

***********

The people who are supposed to move our phones should be here in 3 minutes. I don't have the keys. I'm pissed about this.

***********

Met with the phone people. Had lunch. Saw this vid (thanks A!!).



Feeling better, though still overwhelmed. Food helped. A lot. (Apparently, I'm hollow. I've now had toast and fried rice today and I'll probably eat at least one more time. Oink. [I'm being sarcastic. Usually I skip breakfast, though, and all day today I've been starving!])
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Not one, but TWO, clients are going to be on the evening news.

*fail*

Also, FUCK.

So...

Nov. 2nd, 2010 12:04 pm
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This is how my day is going... (pardon the crappy video quality).




How is yours?
bewize: (Kick Ass: Cunts)
I'm at the office, getting increasingly pissed off, which is hard to imagine considering that I began the evening pretty fucking agitated.

But I swear to God, the next person to be snotty to me will get my fist down their throat. I am not snotty to them and I don't fucking deserve it.

And everyone in my world with entitlement views? GET OUT.
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My current job puts me in close vicinity with a large number of people, many (most?) of whom are so vastly different from me that it's almost like we live in different worlds. Allow me to summarize my recent thoughts:

Arrogant, Dumb, Broken )
bewize: (Rahm: Fuck's Sake)
Last night, I intended to work late. I had help and everything. But, it came at the end of a long day, complete with a comedy-routine worthy phone call with two women on speakerphone, whereby one woman was in "jail, but she was in the crazy hospital" until a minute ago, whose sister was trying to find her a lawyer, which devolved into a screeching fight wherein the only intelligible words were "SHUT THE FUCK UP, I'M TRYING TO GET YOU A LAWYER, YOU CRAZY BITCH!"

*headdesk*

Dear Lord.

And, after a few minutes more, it came out that lady in jail, but who had been in the "crazy hospital" had committed manslaughter.

Lovely.

On the tail end of that, I decided I needed to drink. So, we went to Brickstore, and ran into friends there! Yay! Then, on the way out, S called, so we went to Twains and played trivia. T'is the season for pumpkin ales and oktoberfests. I'm a happy bewize.

Of course, nothing got done, and then I went and did the 30 Day Shred. I'm shocked to say this, but I'm done with workout 1. It's too easy now. Time to kick it to work out 2. I'm not doing it everyday in a row, but that's about 7 days with the first workout.

Has anyone else seen the criticisms of Obama hugging Rham when Rahm left office?! I'm mind-boggled and I honestly think the only response I have for people making that noise is this:

"Give me a fucking break."

Men hugging is hardly a sign of weakness that will be exploited by "our enemies." Perhaps if we, as Americans, can do a little bit more to show our humanity, we'll do a little more to restore people's faith in the fact that we are, indeed, humane. Starting with our leaders and working down.

Here, the hug that led to the downfall of the USA:

Hug that Led to the Fall of the USA

Idiots! *throws hands in the air*

(T'is a little known fact that enemies wait for people to be hugging to attack. Trufax. - SEE how ridiculous this sounds?!)

*snickers* And now I can't stop giggling at the picture of Bush doing the stomach bump thing. *snorts*

Oops.

Oct. 1st, 2010 10:38 am
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*headdesk*

So remember when I talked abut paying off the Damn Discover Card a few days ago? Well, I made a balance transfer and then sent my entire "bonus" straight to Discover Card, which was great right up until I just realized that I forgot to cancel the payment coming out of my bank account.

Today.

So, I've now sent them even MORE money (which I don't really have at the moment).

Good news? This card should now be paid off for sure in the next month/two months.

Bad news? I have NO MONEY until someone pays me. $#!@.

I should, however, have enough to pay car insurance next week. After that? Touch and go.

I really need someone to pay me. LOL.

Worst case scenario, I'll pay myself for the work I do with S on a weekly basis this month.

*************


In other news, I'm feeling a tiny bit vulnerable today. Several things happened yesterday to make me feel a bit... unimportant. Which, you know, I am in the grand scheme of things, but it's never nice to feel like others see you that way.

I'll recover; my ego is in no way permanently damaged. But, still... I'm stinging a bit.

Which, if the past is any evidence to the future, will undoubtedly result in withdrawing for a while. So if I get scarce, don't worry. :)

*************


My throat hurts today. This is very upsetting considering the tremendous amount of crap I need to do/get done today. I shall have to suck it up. Maybe another cup of coffee will help?

*************


Cuz' whose to worry if our hearts get torn
When that hurt gets thrown
Don't you notice life goes on

*************


Is anyone interested in going to the Greek Festival on Sunday with me and Mattie? It'll be fun! They have Greek food! *tempts*

*************


So, this afternoon, we have a police officer coming in to investigate an alleged death threat made by an attorney in the office. My life - never dull.

BE JEALOUS!
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So, Friday sucked because I realized I'd made 3 fairly big fuck ups last week. Today, I am charging into each of them headlong to get them fixed.

The first one is handled. And the attorney on the other side was very nice about it and I feel a bit foolish for being so worked up. But, damn, I hate swallowing my pride.

Now, I should probably pause long enough to eat lunch (breakfast?) with my pride, and then tackle problems 2 and 3. But I still feel vaguely sick about the massive screw ups.

Which leads me to the point where I recall the words of wise friends over the past few days: Give yourself a break.

I... may be incapable of not castigating myself within an inch of my life when I screw things up. This is something that I am realizing with a growing unease. I let other people make mistakes and have chances, but I really never do manage to forgive myself.

*fails*

Anyway, on to fix more mistakes now.

Frustrated

Sep. 17th, 2010 03:35 pm
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I'm having a lot of trouble keeping all my balls in the air. Laugh if you will at that statement, but I'm not finding much funny at the moment.

I hate making mistakes at work, and I've made two this week. It would be bad enough if it were for my stuff, but it affects S. I'm going to use the weekend to fix them as best I can, then tell him on Monday, I guess, but damn it.

*sighs*

This week just won't fucking end.
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It's 4. Thus far today, I've had 43 phone calls, either incoming or outgoing.

There was a minute where I was on the phone and had someone on hold for 90 seconds. There were 3 voice mail messages when I got off the phone.

*dazed*

That is not counting the actual work I was doing, nor the emails.

Holy shit. No wonder my brain is mushy...

Okay then.

Jul. 28th, 2010 08:41 pm
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I got a lot done today and I'm very pleased with myself. I'm especially pleased with the fact that I got something ready to be filed that has been hanging over my head for months. MONTHS.

I'm prepared to file it tomorrow, when I will swing by the juvenile court on my way into the office. Boo yah.

I also got into a fight with a client, which ended badly, and I suggested he fire me if he didn't want to take legal advice. I bluntly told him that would allow me to withdraw from the case and that he could go and make a cluster of it on his own without dragging me through the mud with him. He called me later, apologized, and we are going to work it out, I think. *rolls eyes*

But, these things have been causing me anxiety and I feel better about it now.

********************

First thing this morning, I found this link about US Marines in Afghanistan adopting kittens. You guys. I died. It's the most adorable link ever. EVER.

No seriously, if you want to make negative comments, DON'T.

This makes me very happy.

**********************

I'm already in my PJs. I have been since 7. I don't even care. I'm a tired tired Bewize.

**********************

This weekend, I'm going to go to Macon and see the BraggJam. I'm pretty excited, because I've talked to a lot of these bands. I shall see if I can snag any of them to say hi in person.

Also, it will be wonderful to see Steph's new house! I'm excited!

**********************

I had a conversation today that amused me. It began, "Hey, you remember that stoned artist guy that hit on you at last year's Dragon*Con?"

I did, indeed, remember him. Turns out he's got a new book out. It just amused me that any conversation ever gets to start that way. Another artist I met at DC last year emailed me and invited me to a signing. I love that part of my life. *hearts*

**********************

Tonight is Top Chef and Psych and both make me very, very happy. I'm also going to try and finish Comedy of Errors. It's been interesting thus far and hits my twin brother fascination hard. Two sets of twins!

I picked up Skin Trade from the library. I heard it was decent and that it has Edward in it. I'm hopeful that both are true. EDWARD! ♥

I also borrowed a Harlan Cobin book from Nat, so I will read that next.

Of course, all of this is after I finish the Lisa Shearin book that I'm almost done with. I frigging LOVE her series. Best thing I've come across in a long, long time. The heroine is awesome and genuine and neither uber!powerful or uber!bitchy. She makes mistakes. She trusts other people. She is wonderful and I love her.

**********************

The Braves game tonight is going pretty well. J Hey stole home! Whoot!
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According to the AFL-CIO (at least in 2007), women make on average $0.77 to the $1 that a man makes for doing the same work. While the disparity in pay is a fairly commonly known fact, there is a lot of shoulder shrugging that occurs when anyone wonders why.

I won't pretend that it's a simple answer. Instead, I'll just quote a few rather astonishing facts (based on data from 2007):

* Nationally, women make 77 cents for every $1 men earn.
* In terms of annual pay, it took women from January 1, 2007 until April 2008 to make as much money as their male colleagues had made by December 31, 2007.
* In terms of weekly pay, women have to work until the following Tuesday to catch up to the earnings of men in equivalent positions.

While there is no doubt that the undrlying problem here is rooted in sexism, the recent posts floating around about Imposter Syndrome and women's (in particular) hesitation to accept praise for their accomplishments or point out their own successes reminds me of a book that I read in college.

I attended a prestigious women's college and in my senior year, I haunted the career services department as people are wont to do. I remember reading a book called "Women Don't Ask: The High Cost of Avoiding Negotiation--and Positive Strategies for Change." While I didn't agree with everything in the book, it hit upon some ideas that have stuck with me ever since. These are the same ideas that now intersect with posts like [personal profile] synecdochic the ghost in the room, or, why modesty is a dirty fucking word.

A quick summary of the book (and of my point) holds that men make more money because they negotiate differently than women. The biggest difference? Men are more willing to point out how awesome they are.

[personal profile] naraht's post Awesome is as Awesome... Says?* pretty much hits the nail on the head. As a gender, women are taught from the beginning that we should not point out our own successes. Instead, we should trust our actions to do that for us. We shouldn't be "vain" or "proud" or "narcissistic" and, whatever we do, we shouldn't act like we're better than we actually are.

* [personal profile] naraht's post questions the need of anyone (male or female)to point out how awesome they are. Zie states that it sounds like "bragging" or "arrogance."

The problem with this approach is that people, women especially, end up downplaying their actual awesomeness. This has a name, folks, and it's called "false modesty." This is an unbelievably costly phenomenon. To give just one example, according to the authors of the book “Women Don’t Ask – Negotiation and the Gender Divide” (Linda Babcock and Sara Laschever), by not negotiating a first salary, an individual stands to lose more than $500,000 by age 60—and men are more than four times as likely as women to negotiate the important first salary. Clearly, women are doing ourselves no favors by pretending to be less amazing than we are, or by being too shy to point out just how awesome we are.

I would never presume to explain how this plays out in other women's lives and careers, but I can offer a few illustrations from mine:

I'm a civil litigation attorney. This is an undeniably high stress field that is overwhelmingly populated by men. It has the added factors of being designed to be adversarial and confrontational. Every day, I am questioned on my intelligence, my abilities, my drive, my passion and my skills. Every day, I have to show how awesome I am.

Oh, and I am awesome. I am damned good at my job.

This has not stopped me from being told in an interview that the interviewer would prefer to hire a man. It has not stopped the same interviewer from asking me if I would cry at work. It has not stopped the same interviewer from offering me a low-ball salary when he finally decided that he could "live with hiring a woman."

That interview, though undeniably one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, doesn't even come close to showcasing all of the sexism that I find in the workplace everyday - from judges who won't allow women attorneys to wear pants suits to opposing counsel who feel that it is somehow appropriate to call me "young lady" like I am being scolded for being silly, to being told that I am being overlooked for a promotion because I might want to "someday have a baby and I can't balance everything."

I do the same work as a male attorney in my position. I do it well. Hell, in a lot of cases, I do it better. And if I'm too shy to point this out on my own bi-yearly evaluations, then you had better believe I won't be getting offered the same sort of raises.

I negotiate on behalf of my clients over millions of dollars. Why on earth should I not do the same for myself over thousands, or even hundreds, of dollars?

If I don't think I'm worth it, no one else will either.

So, this is my post wherein I say: I *am* awesome. I *deserve* to be recognized as such. While I was offered opportunities because of my privilege, I *make* my own reputation and I will not pretend to be less awesome than I actually am just because it makes someone uncomfortable. I will not pretend to be less awesome than I actually am just because I'm afraid I'll sound narcissistic. I will not pretend to be less awesome than I actually am, because I am not less awesome than I actually am.

And if someone questions me about it, I will tell them that I am awesome, because it's the truth.

Now, let me close by echoing [personal profile] synecdochic's battle cry:

Modesty is a dirty word. Fuck imposter syndrome. Own your awesome.

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