I’m wearing red. But I should be wearing grey. I do not want to be seen today.
I have my work trousers on, as I’m going off to a networking meeting to drum up business. (‘A drum, a drum Macbeth doth come…’)
My work clothes don’t fit.
I haul them up over my hips, willing the creases to just fall out. I don’t iron. I don’t do anything domestic goddessy. I am not domesticated. I am not a goddess. I am not the person who fits into the old work suit.
Sure they’re a little snug (too many Xmas mince pies and winter food) but more than that I don’t fit the old stereotypical female executive armour. In the 80s I used to wear a kick-arse red jacket with shoulder pads wide enough to span the Thames. I looked as if I meant business, as if I was somebody. Even if I wasn’t sure I was. Somebody. But it was the PR version of me, the one I wanted people to see.
Years, like water, have passed under the bridge.
At one stage I used to conduct business in my pyjamas, huddled over the phone and my desktop computer, late at night while the babies slept. It was a huge relief I couldn’t be seen. I was so many roles at once then. Working in between breast feeds. Expressing milk at 5am and racing into town to lead a breakfast meeting. Having it all.
Or perhaps more accurately, doing it all.
Troubled waters, like years, pass under the bridge.
It was me standing in full work regalia at the back of my daughter’s kindy Christmas party, trying to talk on the phone whilst shielding the caller from the peels of giggles and the inane whizzes of the clown at the front of the room.
I was the one who sent out a media release on the eve of my son’s first birthday and then had to try and take calls from journalists, whilst in the supermarket shopping for the party. With my son squealing ‘la la la la’ in the front of the shopping trolley and the calls for
‘Price check tomatoes please’.
The waters course…
I once stood at the front of the room in Tel Aviv and presented a seminar on ‘Doing PR in Europe’. My face was creased with tiredness no pillow-iron could remove. The presentation went well, and I revelled in holding court. Putting myself and my ideas out there. Funny I was not wearing red that day, I wore a suit and it was grey.
Today when I look in the mirror I see grey in my face. There are black echoes of restless sleep under my eyes, and my skin is pale. I will present my skills, my business, myself at the business networking lunch even if I don’t want to open my mouth. Even if I wish so much to curl up into a little ball under grey sheets. I do not feel confident, but I will do my best, and forget the knock-backs and the disappointments. I am not beaten yet. I have good humour, strength, and tenacity on my side.
Today when I look in the mirror I see a woman who has worked through years – some happy some sad – and whilst the creases on my face are probably more aging and stress than laughter lines, I am kind to myself and think of them as wisdom. Salty drops of years of briny water coursing under the bridge. I am still here.
Standing tall. Loving openly and authentically.
I’m wearing my work trousers and my red top and I’m going out there to present my business, because I must. As I walk out the door I scan the hall mirror and in the reflection I see a woman who has so much more to give, a woman who is still trying to have it all.
NB/ This post was written as part of Josie’s writing workshop at Sleep Is for the Weak. I chose the prompt – write an honest description of what you look like right now.
Check out my marketing consultancy at http://www.kiakahacommunications.com
BEAUTIFUL MIRROR EYE 4
© Caroline Henri | Dreamstime.com
