Being Scared Shitless, But Doing It Anyway
The Dream
I’ve been working on this dream for about 3 years now, and during that time I have often felt like an imposter, like someone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. And the reason I feel that way is because I have no idea what I’m doing by writing this story, this “blog post”. But I’m willing to take the chance and be brave enough to suck at something new.
Writing is therapy for me, and I have the “gift of gab”, a trait I sometimes regret possessing. But among the threads that weave through my life, I have recognised one trait that I’m grateful to possess and that is courage. I know from experience that all I need is more courage than fear to face failure with a smile.
“The best protection any woman can have is courage.”
Elizabeth Cady Stanton
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I ran away
Running away as a 14-year-old set me up for running away as a married woman. The pressures I took on as a 20-year-old included two toddlers (his, not mine), dealing with his ex, and in-laws that lived with us in a big old house. All that stress caused me to flee to my mom’s house in another state, not once but 6 times during our long marriage. I wasn’t brave. I ran away from what seemed an impossible situation because I was young and inexperienced. I didn’t know I had choices.
When the boys wanted to play sports in the local township, we signed them up for the football and baseball, and then soccer hit the scene and the boys signed up for that too. Every weekend and some school nights, I was at the ball field either cheering for the kids or helping at the refreshment stand. I loved being a mom and part of the local sporting community.
Since I spent so much time there, I decided to join The Athletic Association so I could have some influence over how things were handled, especially when it came to rowdy fathers screaming inappropriate things as the kids played. Hubby and I went to one of the monthly meetings and when question time came up, I stood and said “I want to join the association. Where do I sign up?” The all-male panel of 5 looked at each other and one of them responded by saying, “You need to join the Women’s Auxiliary.” I asked what the auxiliary did, and the response was something about socks for cheerleaders. I left pissed off and disappointed in myself for not fighting harder.
The next month I asked the same question and was again told about the auxiliary but this time I insisted and asked if the association’s bylaws included regulation that declared the forum was male only. After a few minutes of mumbling and grumbling, I was handed an application form and walked out feeling proud of myself.
The courage to fight
Finding the courage to fight for what I wanted is the reason I became the first woman member of our township’s athletic association. The following year, I volunteered to coach the pee wee soccer team. That went over like a lead balloon, but this persistent, courageous young woman stood in front of a group of men and said, “I can do this. It’s just like ice hockey!”
After the male coaches picked their teams, I was given “the misfits”, as they were called by the fat bastard, almighty, big cheese coach. I named us The Renegades, and our team consisted of 5- and 6-year-olds who were more interested in following the ball then playing a position, and some of them held hands as they skipped down the pitch together. It was adorable and made my heart happy. I wasn’t worried about winning, we were having fun and that’s what mattered.
The following year, they didn’t need me to coach (surprise!) but 3 more women joined the athletic association, and it blossomed into a well-rounded, all-inclusive sports program for the township’s 38,000 residents.
Sit my fat ass down
During that first meeting, my husband tugged my arm, encouraging me to sit down and not make a fuss, and I admit to being anxious and terrified to stand in front of a room full of men who didn’t want me there. But I had pause in that moment and ask myself, “why should I be scared to ask a simple question?” and decided that my desire to join the club was more important than my fear, so I stood up and spoke up. This was 1985 when nearly all sports were ruled by and played by men and boys. Can you believe I was 62 years old when I realised that I broke a glass ceiling by persistently pulling a chair from their table to sit my fat ass down at the boys-club? Courage allowed me to do that.
When I was 21, I secured a job as a billing clerk at a manufacturing company. The following year, the boss and the office manager had a big fight over a box of Christmas chocolates that came from our sales company. As a result, he fired her and told me to run a help wanted ad in the local paper. The publication time had already passed so I went home and started thinking about asking for the job instead of running the ad.
Feeling terrified, I walked into the office the next morning and asked the boss to give me a chance in the position. I explained I was already doing most of the work and felt confident I could handle the responsibilities of managing the office and 15-person sales team. I watched him consider the proposal, looking me up and down, but he agreed to give me a two-week trial.
More courage than fear
The boss had two businesses, and when he passed away, his 18-year-old son inherited both companies. For many years, the son left me to run the manufacturing company, but when he bankrupted the construction company, he came into our peaceful environment and turned it into chaos. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was a narcissist, and I was victimised by him for decades.
One morning before leaving for work, I had an anxiety attack and was rushed to the doctor who listened to my story and put me on 3 months disability. When the time came to decide if I was going back to work, I had the courage to walk away from the thing that had become part of me, the thing I loved.
I was on that job for 38 years, and during those years, I created a happy, safe workplace and an outstanding reputation in our industry. I’m grateful for that 22-year-old young woman who had the courage to believe in herself despite her inexperience and fear.
The company was sold the following year, and I was contracted to help move our system into theirs. I discovered the company I nurtured for so long was bankrupt which hurt my heart but also validated that I made the right decision to leave. I still cry over my lost job, but I needed to have more courage than fear to save my mental health, and I don’t regret being brave in my choices.
I suppose one of my most courageous steps was moving from the United States to Scotland in the UK. I loved my country very much and my roots go back to Salem Colony in the early 1600’s, so leaving wasn’t an easy choice. But I’ve had an attraction to Scotland since I was a young girl, and despite lots of resistance from friends and family, I couldn’t handle the Jersey summers anymore, and Scotland was so magical when Sam brought me here in 2012.
Moving to a country where I didn’t know the language wouldn’t have worked for me, so it gave me a lot of confidence to know I’d be able to communicate with the locals. I also did my research because I know that empowering myself with knowledge about a situation helps to guide and reinforce any decisions I’m facing.
Rich with belief
Who would I be without courage? Where would I be? What if I didn’t believe in myself? What if I let fear stop me from fighting for the things I wanted and needed?
None of that really matters. I’m a grown Crone and I have an abundance of “been there, done that’s” in my back pocket, there’s one “give a fuck” tucked under my left tit, and I have handbag of medical cannabis that takes my old age pains away. So, what’s one more act of courage in my bag of tricks?
Writing this story about being brave is the starting point of this scary new venture. My dream is for The Crone Network to become an important source of knowledge and power for Crones by providing a platform for real conversations and connections, useful information, and varied points of view on just about any topic. All I need now are some volunteers to help this dream come true.
The bottom line is this…
Could I fail? Yes, It’s entirely possible.
Would it hurt? Ouchie, you bet it will hurt.
Am I afraid? I’m scared shitless, but I’m doing to do it anyway.
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