My last post was a few months ago, and I feel like a lifetime has happened since then. I started working with a coach, ostensibly in preparation for managing 225 people, but really that was just the excuse I used to give myself permission to do it. It has a lot more with wanting to reach my full potential, and feeling stuck professionally. I know I can do more, be better, live more fully, and since I identify a lot with work, that felt like a safe place for progress.
During our most recent session, my Coach asked what I wanted to discuss. I had three things I wanted to get through: my reaction to her previous assignment which was to pay attention to why people tell me they want to work for me again, some closure for the job I just finished at CG-751, and plans for the upcoming two weeks before our next session. Honestly, I didn’t know that’s what I wanted to talk about with her before the session, but it sounded like a good framework, nice and manageable, so that’s what I went with.
We started with my observations about why people want to work with or for me again. I said that I’m authentic; people know what they’re getting with me, I don’t pull punches or try to sugar coat things, and I think that encourages them to trust me. And I value input. Lawd knows, I don’t have all the answers, and have learned that the best way to get them is to ask questions, and then listen to the answers. It makes people feel valued to have their opinions and expertise asked for and taken into account. That doesn’t mean that I take what people say as completely actionable gospel truth all the time; I do, however, somehow manage to convey that I appreciate their input.
And then we talked about finishing up at CG-751. I told her I had officially left the office, but still had one briefing left to do because I was a control freak and couldn’t let this one project go before doing the initial brief for CG-821 and CG-0921. She wouldn’t let me get away with the “control freak” comment, saying I said it like it was a bad thing. And I guess I’ve always interpreted it that way, or let other people interpret it that way for me. What I ended up realizing I actually meant was that I was the best person to give the brief because I spent innumerable hours studying the subject, asking for stakeholder input, identifying and clarifying the nuances, and distilling what I knew into a revised instruction. That’s what made me the right person for the brief, not that I’m a control freak.
Somehow through that discussion we got into my service reputation, and how I didn’t want to screw up briefing -821/-0921. I told her the story of the initial round of input I got from those two offices: a colleague consolidated comments from the offices and forwarded it back to me in an email that said (paraphrasing), there are some concerns with this. I saw the initial email on my cell phone, which meant that I couldn’t open the document to immediately read the comments and then spent the next 13 hours torturing myself thinking that they had basically shat all over it, thinking it was ridiculous, didn’t serve any basic purpose, and was a monumental waste of time. When I finally did get the document open the next morning to read the comments, I laughed when I read the very first comment which was (again paraphrasing), this is a good idea, but may be difficult to execute in the field.
The joke was totally on me!! Of course I know that the changes I propose will be difficult to execute in the field...any kind of change is hard. And it will take lots of effort from my former office to bring people up to speed on the changes, because they are complex and nuanced. But, in the end, my best piece of work was pretty damn good. Not perfect…not by a long shot...but a good starting point from which someone else can continue to incorporate stakeholder input for a much improved final product.
Again, I’m not sure how it came up in the conversation...probably something about feeling like I need to prove myself to my CG-821 Seagull shipmates, that I am terrified of my own success. Like scared to death that I am actually as good as people tell me I am. It feels too much like Icarus flying too close to the sun, and having the wax melt off his wings, and then plunging, unstoppable and crashing with all bones broken into the sea below. Like I might start to believe my own mythology that I really am that good, and that’s just asking for disaster, maybe because of Murphy, but more likely because I may stop doing the things that actually make me good.
So, Coach asked me to do a little exercise. I got up from my seat, and started from a mental point of authenticity and wanting and valuing other people’s input. I walked towards a mental point of believing my own mythology. And, oddly enough, right before I got there, I just stopped. I didn’t want to go any further. There was reluctance in my bones of being too full of myself, too taken by my success to listen to what other people have to offer. It was an interesting exercise.
Afterwards, as we discussed how that little walking trip of a couple of steps felt, I described it as feeling like I could now see the chasm that existed between trusting my values (listening to other people and being authentically me) and my fear of success. That chasm is my fear of believing my mythology to the exclusion of things I value. I felt a bridge slowly being built, just by recognizing that the chasm was there.
I know this sounds all very woo-woo in plain black words on the page, but it felt important and foundational.
She also suggested I read, The Secret Thoughts of Highly Successful Women, by Valerie Young. I’m about four chapters into it, and identify deeply with the Impostor Syndrome she discusses: A childhood where I was assumed to be the smartest one in my class -- check (I skipped 1st grade, was reading at a 5th grade level at the start of 2nd grade, had to take as many AP courses as possible in lieu of the vocational classes I actually wanted to take, graduated high school at 16, and college was *always* and inescapably the next step after high school...never mind always being on the Honor Roll and a member of the Honor Society, and getting high SAT scores); being different than the majority...most obviously a woman in a man’s vocation -- check (starting with working on a farm at age of 14 (side story below about that, which I absolutely *love*) and learning to drive a tractor, working on the farm through college and wanting to work with the animals but being relegated to the greenhouse because that’s where all the girls worked, then on to graduate school where somehow my research fields were the only ones ruined when the drainage ditches were dredged into my plots, and well, then into the Coast Guard and especially on to Coast Guard cutters, where, even though I had a guaranteed District coming out of boot camp, there was only one ship I could go to because it was the only one in the district that had enlisted female berthing) but also just by being different -- check (an OCSer in a fleet of Academy grads and having stepped my first foot on Coast Guard ship at the age of 26 for my OCS interview and then five short sea service years later, finding myself in command of a cutter...in a war zone, no less, without the benefit of all the semesters of Nautical Science or summers underway); and feeling like the representative woman in that man’s world who took on responsibility for the entire gender with my performance -- check (after telling a group of (male) Navy peers that I successfully screened for command having one of them say, “Must be nice to be a girl,” “Not everyone is Wonder Woman like you are, OPS,” being the only woman on my last three ships for at least a year...which I wouldn’t give up for the world, but definitely left me feeling like my gender difference made me...different).
So it’s been an interesting read. One great insight I realized from reading it is the difference between thinking and feeling. I can rationalize that I’m good at my job; in fact, I’ve said it numerous times, “cognitively, I know I’m good at what I do.” But thinking won’t get me out of the Impostor Syndrome, because it’s something I feel. I feel like an imposter. I have to *feel* my way out of it. For someone who was absolutely *all* “T” in my last Myers-Briggs test...well, that’s an interesting and daunting realization.
Now on to the fun story about the Farm: a few nights before I left DC, I went for dinner with Leigh and Lynn and Merle from the Farm I worked on in high school, starting when I was 14. That was definitely one of the best things about living in DC for me, was being able to reconnect with the Farm folks. Lynn and Guy, two of the owners, especially, were very influential in my formative years. It’s so lovely to go back to the Farm and jump in, with minimal task direction, and just know what needs to be done. I’m pretty sure I can pack a peck of peaches with my eyes closed...which I would *NEVER* do, Lynn, because how else would I see if there were any blemishes on the fruit before placing it carefully, stem side down in the basket.
Before we sat down for dinner, Lynn and Leigh presented me with a gift bag, all nicely tied up with colorful ribbon. I unwrapped the white packing paper, and saw my original tractor operator and tractor safety training certificate wonderfully framed, ready to hang on the wall in my next office (when I got home, I immediately put it in my checked baggage to make sure I’d have it with me when I got to Bahrain). Lynn and Leigh had been cleaning out the Farm’s office, and had stumbled across the originals of a few of us young oldtimers in the files. It was dated June 1988, signed in blue and black ink by the two instructors. I hadn’t thought about that class in decades, but it was probably my first professional accomplishment. I was so touched that they framed it and gave it to me.
So, Coach asked me to do a little exercise. I got up from my seat, and started from a mental point of authenticity and wanting and valuing other people’s input. I walked towards a mental point of believing my own mythology. And, oddly enough, right before I got there, I just stopped. I didn’t want to go any further. There was reluctance in my bones of being too full of myself, too taken by my success to listen to what other people have to offer. It was an interesting exercise.
Afterwards, as we discussed how that little walking trip of a couple of steps felt, I described it as feeling like I could now see the chasm that existed between trusting my values (listening to other people and being authentically me) and my fear of success. That chasm is my fear of believing my mythology to the exclusion of things I value. I felt a bridge slowly being built, just by recognizing that the chasm was there.
I know this sounds all very woo-woo in plain black words on the page, but it felt important and foundational.
She also suggested I read, The Secret Thoughts of Highly Successful Women, by Valerie Young. I’m about four chapters into it, and identify deeply with the Impostor Syndrome she discusses: A childhood where I was assumed to be the smartest one in my class -- check (I skipped 1st grade, was reading at a 5th grade level at the start of 2nd grade, had to take as many AP courses as possible in lieu of the vocational classes I actually wanted to take, graduated high school at 16, and college was *always* and inescapably the next step after high school...never mind always being on the Honor Roll and a member of the Honor Society, and getting high SAT scores); being different than the majority...most obviously a woman in a man’s vocation -- check (starting with working on a farm at age of 14 (side story below about that, which I absolutely *love*) and learning to drive a tractor, working on the farm through college and wanting to work with the animals but being relegated to the greenhouse because that’s where all the girls worked, then on to graduate school where somehow my research fields were the only ones ruined when the drainage ditches were dredged into my plots, and well, then into the Coast Guard and especially on to Coast Guard cutters, where, even though I had a guaranteed District coming out of boot camp, there was only one ship I could go to because it was the only one in the district that had enlisted female berthing) but also just by being different -- check (an OCSer in a fleet of Academy grads and having stepped my first foot on Coast Guard ship at the age of 26 for my OCS interview and then five short sea service years later, finding myself in command of a cutter...in a war zone, no less, without the benefit of all the semesters of Nautical Science or summers underway); and feeling like the representative woman in that man’s world who took on responsibility for the entire gender with my performance -- check (after telling a group of (male) Navy peers that I successfully screened for command having one of them say, “Must be nice to be a girl,” “Not everyone is Wonder Woman like you are, OPS,” being the only woman on my last three ships for at least a year...which I wouldn’t give up for the world, but definitely left me feeling like my gender difference made me...different).
So it’s been an interesting read. One great insight I realized from reading it is the difference between thinking and feeling. I can rationalize that I’m good at my job; in fact, I’ve said it numerous times, “cognitively, I know I’m good at what I do.” But thinking won’t get me out of the Impostor Syndrome, because it’s something I feel. I feel like an imposter. I have to *feel* my way out of it. For someone who was absolutely *all* “T” in my last Myers-Briggs test...well, that’s an interesting and daunting realization.
Now on to the fun story about the Farm: a few nights before I left DC, I went for dinner with Leigh and Lynn and Merle from the Farm I worked on in high school, starting when I was 14. That was definitely one of the best things about living in DC for me, was being able to reconnect with the Farm folks. Lynn and Guy, two of the owners, especially, were very influential in my formative years. It’s so lovely to go back to the Farm and jump in, with minimal task direction, and just know what needs to be done. I’m pretty sure I can pack a peck of peaches with my eyes closed...which I would *NEVER* do, Lynn, because how else would I see if there were any blemishes on the fruit before placing it carefully, stem side down in the basket.
Before we sat down for dinner, Lynn and Leigh presented me with a gift bag, all nicely tied up with colorful ribbon. I unwrapped the white packing paper, and saw my original tractor operator and tractor safety training certificate wonderfully framed, ready to hang on the wall in my next office (when I got home, I immediately put it in my checked baggage to make sure I’d have it with me when I got to Bahrain). Lynn and Leigh had been cleaning out the Farm’s office, and had stumbled across the originals of a few of us young oldtimers in the files. It was dated June 1988, signed in blue and black ink by the two instructors. I hadn’t thought about that class in decades, but it was probably my first professional accomplishment. I was so touched that they framed it and gave it to me.
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