#19 October: that’s not me
I was born in October, the spooky month when the leaves turn brown and orange, and the sun goes on holiday to the other hemisphere. I like this change, the winter clothes, and the smell of cookies.… because, yes, I’m one of those people who likes to bake when it’s cold outside. This year, I’ll be turning 46, which seems an awful lot, so I decided to reflect on life, who I think I am, and where I think I’ve arrived after all these years. I learned some time ago that we are not our jobs, looks, or what people think of us. Those are pieces of our puzzles. This month of October I’ll be adding pieces to this post.
Maybe when I turn one year older, I’ll have a better idea of this puzzle of mine.
#1 That’s not me… the hair
When I was a kid, my hair was long. I remember vividly the hours I spent sitting in the bathtub while my mother brushed and dried it every Sunday afternoon. She always said it made me pretty, the long brown hair that reached my waist and had a tremendous capacity to frizz and look anything but pretty to me. I did not like it. I learned to live with it and all the things my mother wanted, but I did not understand why I couldn’t have a more practical haircut. I guess that’s one of the first things I did because I was expected to do, because other people had chosen it.
I’ve cut my hair short twice in my life. The first was when I moved from Spain to Portugal; on a rebellious day, I went shopping first and then to the hairdresser to have a cut that could match the new look. Immediately, the frizz became curls. There was no weight anymore, and I did not have to look as my mother wanted since I would be out of the country for a few months. What could she do? Put a wig on me? I think that was my first real moment of freedom.
The second time I cut my hair was a year ago when I decided I needed a new look to match my new career. Once more, the curls appeared, and I smiled. I took a photo- the one I use in my social media accounts- to re-introduce myself to the world as if no one knew me. I thought about that change as one of many that would come, as a pivot moment. You might think I give too much importance to a haircut, but I defer. Nothing is more important than recognizing ourselves in the mirror, than loving what we see.
Throughout the years, there were too many times I did not recognize or like myself, and I powered through it because that’s what I was supposed to do. At first, I put on the smile everyone wanted and hated myself for doing it. When time passed and I gained the courage to speak up, I learned it's okay to be sad or angry. I have always preferred being angry, but sometimes, we don't have the luxury of choosing.
Today, I cut my hair again, and I smiled as I saw the locks falling. Things keep changing, myself included, and that's just fine.
My hair is part of me; it's not me. That’s not me.
#2 That’s not me… the shoes
I love shoes. Almost anyone who has ever met me would say I love shoes, and they would not be lying.
When I worked in the laboratory, I had three pairs in three different colors to match them to my outfits.
My definition of success- years ago- was to be able to buy a pair of Manolos.
When I was product manager, I had an extra pair on my desk since I broke a heel in the office. I got stuck with my kitten heels in a rain grid during a trade fair and broke another heel during a dinner with customers. From that, I learned that even your best heels can let you down.
I’ve walked kilometers on heels, climbed up and down stairs, and ran whenever needed. It‘s great cardio but high-risk as well.
I gave presentations at work in which my male colleagues used their favorite cars as examples. I used shoes. There is nothing better than asking men about their favorite shoes…
When my kids were born, I stopped wearing heels around them and sometimes, forced by exhaustion, at work. But there is nothing time cannot heal, and years later, I returned to my pretty heels during office hours and flats after work. My heels were like the superhero cape until they became the hazard Edna Mode spoke about in The Incredibles, until they sucked me into a Vortex: the “I know this kind of woman in heels” Vortex.
The same clothes and shoes that made me feel awesome seemed to give others an idea of who I was: superficial, self-centered, and worried about silly and pretty things.
That’s not me. If you think that, you should know me better.
#3 That’s not me… The cookies
At work, I used to have a red tin full of cookies on my table. Most of my colleagues and team members knew about it, and many visited my desk occasionally whenever they needed something sweet. Once, a manager said that taking so much care of my coworkers was very nice of me. He said it was very "motherly."
But I was not motherly; I was just using the same technique a project leader I had worked with many years before used. That person knew that whenever people had conflicting meetings, they would go to the one that turned out to be more interesting for them, and what that person did—and no one else did—was to have a candy bowl on top of the meeting room table. I never missed her meeting requests, as many of my colleagues did.
It was not "care." When people came to my desk, they said good morning and goodbye. Sometimes, they asked something, and others allowed me to ask them something else. The cookies were the excuse to make contact, and it worked brilliantly. It was "bait."
Cookies were something I used, a technique like many others. It's not me...
#4 That’s not me… a mother
To be clear, I am a mother, but I am not just or only that. Many people think that once a woman has a baby, everything changes, and from a biological point of view, it is true that many things do, but not all. Sometimes, we even need people to remind us that we exist away from them, from those little creatures able to absorb our time, body, and soul.
When my first child was born, three more colleagues had kids. Within a couple of months, all people spoke about in the office were babies. Before my maternity leave, before my manager knew I was pregnant, I had negotiated a promotion/ role change, and when I returned to the office, that's what I expected to do: work. But not everything was as I had arranged and predicted. My manager avoided me for a few days until I had to enter his office and ask him about what we had discussed months before. And that man said the thing no woman wants to hear.
"I gave your promotion to another colleague. I guessed your priorities changed now that you have a baby."
I looked outside at all my colleagues sitting at their desks and then back at him.
"Did you tell them the same?" I said, pointing at all those men who had babies at home the same way I did.
"Did you?"
"I gave the promotion to one of them," he said.
And that's how I knew my life would never be the same. I might have changed after having a child, but so did others, much more, and in a much worse way.
I am not just that, a mother.
