Sing, Sing A Song | Part 1

Not Ready to Make Nice by The Chicks

"I know you've said 'Can't you just get over it?' It turned my whole world around. And I kinda like it."

Last week, I told you music gave me the words for what I'd been sitting on. For a while, I sat with anger. There wasn’t anything useful for me to share about it. I couldn’t find the words to step out of my own emotions. 

Then, halfway through my run, The Chicks came on. I was practically screaming the lyrics on the street when it clicked. I finally knew how I wanted to share my story. I ducked into the library nearby and wrote this post. 

Full disclosure: the organization discussed in this post is not reflected in my LinkedIn profile.

_________

A while back, a group of men sat around a table and discussed my worth.

They used a digital notetaker and unbeknownst to them, they sent me the full meeting summary, recording, and transcript. Action item: Let Julia go. (Folks, this is your reminder to check your post-meeting summary automations).

Listen, I'm not new to business. Nor do I think a position is owed to me. In the modern workforce, there is no loyalty. There are no pensions. Do not pass go and collect $200. Each year, you show your metrics, you demonstrate your value, you get out what you put in. As much as organizations might champion belonging, they still go into a room each quarter, run the numbers, and ask themselves: who and what needs to change to stay alive? Fine, I'm competitive. "I'm game," I'd say to myself. I worked my butt off to be the so-called corporate "rockstar."

But the conversation that played aloud didn't mention my retention rate. My net promoter score. My special projects. Feedback from clients. Feedback from colleagues. Feedback from contractors. I collected these metrics with no rubric in place, until I built the rubric for the organization. I communicated my objectives. I was a proactive employee. And still, I was being eliminated.

They said I didn't do enough. They also said I did too much. They said I was easily replaced. But they cautioned each other from informing our largest clients and strongest consultants. They said I didn't know what I was doing. But, it was imperative that they get me to offload all my "valuable institutional knowledge." They glossed over the dozen stand ups they canceled while I sat on the line. How convenient that they forgot the only reason they were gathered was because I set the meeting to force our organization to set strategic priorities. Only to be conveniently uninvited from the conversation the week prior.

I took it like a champ. Reflected on my own ego. I just wanted leadership to set the strategy after all. "Finally," I thought when the meeting summary came through, "objectives I can build around!" Imagine my surprise.

One of them carried on beyond my professional performance. He made personal remarks about me and my body; vulgar, misogynistic, disgusting remarks that went unchallenged by the other men in the room. I checked the time stamp. He spoke to me right after that call. All smiles. No feedback.

Only time could show me that these men were distraught over their own failings. A lesser leader has to justify their actions with false narratives to feel better about the truth: you scaled wrong. You can't afford the team you have. You're disorganized, stretched thin, and don’t know how to effectively communicate your mission. But finding where the truth ended and their own insecurities began was nearly a two year journey.

For the first time in my life, I began suffering from panic attacks. I sank into a depressive episode. There were comments I couldn't shake. My emotional resilience plummeted and my self-doubt skyrocketed.

Thanks to imparted strength from the people that matter most to me, I had the courage to leave that organization within the month.

As an optimist, presenting myself to you all this vulnerably, in my anger, sadness, and disappointment is terribly uncomfortable. The truth is ugly and I toiled over whether it was possible to share my story without penalizing myself or putting my employability at risk.

Who wants to work with the angry woman?

I wrote hand wrote this. There were so many iterations.

I never posted it.

I laid it to rest.

“I'm through with doubt, there's nothin' left for me to figure out, I've paid a price, and I'll keep payin…”

In the months that followed my departure, I met with dozens of people and through vulnerable conversations, I learned that many had a similar story that they buried inside themselves; scared of retribution. Scared to be the scorned, just like me.

It's a beautiful thought to water a seed slowly with love and watch it bloom. But, the fire and rebirth that comes from the desire to prove others wrong is just as powerful a motivator.

Almost a year after I received that recording, I would bet on myself entirely and start my independent consulting practice. There’s a great deal of work that went into crawling out of that anger and making it to where I am today.

But I can't tell you the story of how I started my business without being honest about the anger that lit the fire in me to be better. The quote from that meeting that I kept replaying was "she's not worth what we pay her, not even close". As I dealt with the rejection in the job market that would follow, I began to wonder if that was true.

At nine months into my first year of business, I'm happy to share with you, I'm not worth what they paid me. Not even close. I'm worth more.

This is the first installment of a six week series on how singing transformed the last two years of my career.

I’ll be back next week!