I used to be a sales person. And not just in any industry, I was with the wolves, in investment banking. I was a young girl when I started — a little shy, but not too much, polite, trying to look good in front of my bosses, wondering when everyone would realise I was just a fraud.
And then I grew tougher, bolder, rougher. Not overnight, no. It happened after one too many “pleases” unanswered, one too many “thank yous” ignored, one too many smirks and not-so-nice laughs to my face or behind my back. It happened after yet another look at my cleavage instead of my eyes, yet another misogyn comment going down as a joke, yet another of my fake smiles while I was raging inside. After yet another raise I didn’t get for better work done than my male peers. It wasn’t overnight, no. It was long and strenuous — but that’s a story for another time.
While this process was never what I had been looking for, its outcome was not unwelcomed. I gained real confidence during those years — nothing could scare me, nor stop me. It was mostly for the benefit of my job, but it had its perks in my personal life. I could call up anyone, or walk up to anyone and ask them anything, unflinching, without even thinking about what I was going to say, as easy as breathing. I was daring — life had become my playground and I was eager to try all its games. And I played — a lot.
Eventually though, I grew tired of the pressure, of the constant chase that is inherent to any sales position. I didn’t want to be just a sales person anymore, I wanted to climb up the corporate ladder and have something more. So I went for management — and boy was it overrated. I love working with people, I really do, but I don’t enjoy nurturing them. I have my own kid to take care of and my own friends’ and family’s problems to listen to — I really am not equipped for more drama. Or maybe I am just not boss material — but again, I am digressing, we’ll come back to that story another time.
So, one day, not very long ago, I finally jumped off the ladder and here I am now. Taking a chance on me, trying, failing and learning, celebrating the small successes. It feels like I am learning to walk again — with no one else to pick me up but myself— falling and getting up, again and again.
And last night, I fell hard after a terrifying realisation. I had always thought that, if I could put the same energy and skills in my own endeavours than in my previous jobs, I could definitively make something out of it. While I still believe this to be true, what I hadn’t foreseen is that those skills take practice. Without practice they go away — like my spunk did.
What do I do now? Get it back.
Il nous faut de l’audace, encore de l’audace, toujours de l’audace!~Georges Jacques Danton
