Carrie Bradshaw would never
On telling my age, being a lifetime support staffer, and finally taking up space of my own.
I started writing a draft of a book a while back called “Support Staff”, detailing all the ways I’ve played the supporting role in life – the secretary, employee #7, the babysitter, the manager, the sales assistant, the personal assistant, the administrative assistant, the wife, the mother.
I don’t think I’ve ever played a role that didn’t exist solely to prop someone else up, to enable someone else to be great. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m very good at handling the behind-the-scenes stuff. I’m organized and detail oriented and efficient.
I suppose I’ve just always been playing to my strengths. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
Though sometimes I wonder if the reason I’m so good at those things is because I’ve been groomed and trained to be by all the support roles I continuously fill. I mean, I doubt I came out of the womb with a natural ability to fill out an excel spreadsheet with mastery.
And not for nothing, but – gender roles. I am a woman. Hello. But this isn’t a dissertation about how the man has always kept the woman down and I don’t have the capacity to walk you through that if you’re confused right now.
The only thing I’ve ever done in life that existed for me alone, is write. I write poems and stories and essays and – maybe someday – books, too. Sometimes I self-publish them on blogs or social media. Sometimes I save them in old files that get buried and forgotten.
I’ve never really pushed for my writing to have the spotlight, to be a priority. Not because I don’t want it to (because I’ve always deeply longed for that) but because I’ve been subconsciously absorbing the idea that I don’t deserve it. That’s not what I exist for. I exist to serve others and to help others execute their visions and dreams.
But I have a seven year old daughter now who is looking to me as an example of how to be a woman in this world and it’s glaringly obvious that I’m modeling what was modeled to me – for better or worse.
I want to be really intentional in teaching her that she doesn’t exist on this earth just to be a good girl, to do as she’s told, and to help everyone else at the expense of her own greatness. I want her to know that she has an inherent value as a human being and a unique spirit to offer this world and that she can do that however she wants to.
Though I am realizing it’s hard to teach lessons that I myself have not taken the time to truly embrace and learn.
So every time I show up to write. Every time I decide to scribble out a poem instead of doing the dishes. Every time I sit at the coffee shop and read Emily Dickinson. Every time I pause to take a picture of a tree along my walk. Every time I give into my creativity, I am choosing to show up for myself and allow myself to take center stage. I choose to prop myself up. To support myself and my vision and my dreams. Because I am worthy of that.
My daughter loves to ask two questions every night around the dinner table or at bed time: What was your favorite part of today? What was your not-favorite part of today?
And I try to use that time to talk about the things I did that day to support myself. My favorite part of today was writing a new poem. My favorite part of today was researching an article for that magazine. My favorite part of today was noticing all the blooming flowers on our street.
My not-favorite part of today was cleaning toilets. My not-favorite part of today was making dinner. My not-favorite part of today was folding laundry. I do these things because they need to get done and I love my family. But these are not the things I love to do, nor do I exist to do them. And neither does she.
Maybe if I had held this view of myself 20 years ago it would have changed the trajectory of my life. Maybe I would be a New York Times bestselling author with an office in New York City. Maybe my dreams were fueled a little bit too much by Carrie Bradshaw. We’ll never know, I guess.
But I don’t want my daughter to find her sense of self-worth and self confidence in her 40’s. I don’t want her to wait until she’s thoroughly exhausted herself at the feet of everyone else, to finally believe that she deserves to be first in line for some things.
And so, at 43 years old, I’ve decided to make showing up for myself a regular practice. I get to take center stage now. Full disclosure, it’s uncomfortable sometimes. But I know it will be worth it because I’m paving a path forward for her, too.
If you’re a writer or creative, too, and you want to make a habit of showing up for your creativity with me, I’ve created something new called Courageous Writing – a self-guided tour of writing that feels good. Find it online here and join me in showing up.