Tag Archives: business

OMG TMI

Posted on by
6

“Really, Suzi?  Wow.”

I’ve heard it a million times.

TMI!!!

I thought of this when I was blogging yesterday about what do you tell a client about PTSD.  What do you have to tell a client or a boss about a trauma, a disorder or a mental illness?  I don’t know.  Mine makes me kinda flippy outty and tactless and times.  There’s the crying.  People kind of notice.  There’s the good days where I’m not triggered.  Or the OK days where I can bottle it down into a nice little coal in my gullet.

But gullet coals aside…  Why the oversharing?  Why the saying too much?  It’s been hard on relationships because I’ll be out to dinner and the start a relationship with…”so the other day in bed…”  Keeping it classy.

So, I was thinking about it, and talking (too much jk) about it.  And then I went to therapy and danced and screamed about it, and it hit me.  Not literally.   But the cult maintained control over us by brainwashing us into over-confessing everything.  We were trained to tell every thought and every feeling, or we would feel awful-nauseous.  If we ever saw someone from the church and had a bad thought about them and didn’t tell them, it was a sin and we had to tell them before the next communion or it was like the sin was locked in forever.

By making us a self policing congregation it really cut down on enforcement.  Which is actually good business automation practice if you think about it-but back to the cult…

So, I am in pain if I allow myself privacy.  I feel like I am lying to you if I know something that I haven’t told you.  It’s misery.  And if you confess before something gets found out the punishment is somewhat lessened.  There is a constant paranoia scan in my head that is looking for wrongs committed…

So, this over-confessing still makes sense.  I’ve adapted it a little.  In the past few years, Ive been more jokey about it so that I can still make sure that I’ve said everything but in a jokey way so that I don’t get looked at like I’m a martian all the time.

I’m practicing privacy now.  Which is one of the reasons I’ve been so silent on the blog.  I’ve been evaluating again: what do I want to say?  Why do I want to say it?  What do I want to get out of this?

And so I don’t know that I know what I want.  But I know I have more to say.  And this is my forum.

everybody limbo

Posted on by
1

I’ve been enjoying contracting.  I’ve picked up clients and done a lot of work.  Since prioritizing recovery from my PTSD and trying to knit my brain back together from the nervous breakdown it’s been a hard path.  What do you share with a client?  I am much more fragile than I used to be.  But also stronger now that I am sober.  Sobriety is stupid because I feel a lot more feelings, but apparently that’s part of the point of it.

 

My contracts have been on average four months.  And that seems to be the lifespan for what I can handle right now.  I have told some clients about the PTSD and it has backfired horribly, others I didn’t and it wasn’t an issue.  With one boss, who had anger issues (probably because of his cocaine issue) I left the contract because I was horribly triggered when he flew into a rage and slammed his hand on the desk.  The sound of his hand on the wood desk was exactly the sound that it would make when a oak rod would hit someone.  I winced and started to have a panic attack and never came back.  Horribly unprofessional: on both of our parts.  But you know what…  I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe and I felt like I was going to die.  I went home with every intention of coming back the next day.  But I couldn’t get out of bed for three days.  My body would not let me go back.

 

Another client and I worked together really well.  He spoke so conceptually, and I am so literal.  He told me that he thought I was autistic.  I told him I wasn’t.  “He said, well there’s something wrong with you.  English can’t be your first language.”  And I realized that I was so sheltered by my cult growing up and we definitely had our own culture.  After that, I was with my friends and it was such an eclectic group that I was just accepted.  From there I went into IT, and well, weird just happens there.  In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m in the world for the first time without a massive support system and there are all of these people commenting on me and it’s vulnerable out here.  I am so grateful for E and my scaled down support system.

The gig I have now is hard and very much in limbo.  It’s not in limbo because of me there are just changes going on and a lot of stress.  I kind of wish it was about me.  But it’s not.  I am dealing with some politics and some people’s fear.  It seems like we’re waiting.  And I hate limbo.  Because limbo is the part where you wait and you fear.  It’s an uneasy, wait till dad gets home, kinda feeling.  And there is tension.

It’s hard being a cog in the wheel, after you’ve been the driver.  Because I used to have the map and make decisions.  I think that feeling of control really helped manage my PTSD.  But since I’m not prioritizing my career now and I’m prioritizing my recovery and my love life, I am sitting back and dealing with the other side of those issues.  And it’s really really uncomfortable.

I hate waiting.

 

 

Job Interview Fail

Posted on by
4

So, I am in a job interview and it’s for a job I could totally rock.  I am being interviewed by a man and a woman, they own the company.  I know it’s going to be an interesting interview ego-wise, because the job is taking over something she’s created and nurtured for eight years.

They say, “So you’ve owned your own business?”

“Yes”

“What lessons have you taken away from that?”

“Well, you’ve got to learn to separate your creation from your self worth.  You’ve got to learn what you thrive at and delegate the rest.  You’ve got to find balance where you can.  And don’t start a business with someone you are married to.”

They shift uncomfortably.

I say, “So, you two are married?”

yup.  I say, “hmmmm.  Am I right?”  He nods and she shakes her head no.

“So should I just show myself the door?

They said no, but I didn’t get a call back either.

 

problems with authority 3 or 4

Posted on by
2

I have been in a lot of leadership positions, because I just thought it would make it easier.  If I am an (or the) authority then I know how to behave.  Also, I can be caring about other people rather than looking at myself.

My grandfather told me I was rebellious.  I told him that I wasn’t, because I didn’t recognize any authority in my life.

Being sober has been a revelation, I’ve seen a lot of the veneers I had put up in the past and how some of that is coming due now.   I’ve seen how in so many ways I’ve put myself in dangerous situations and tempted fate, just to shake my tiny fists at the skies.

Owning a business was an amazing experience, and I’m so glad I had that.  But I don’t know if I will want that again.  And it’s been an interesting experience to feel that and now be able to say it out loud.  I don’t want to own a business, I want to make a living.  I want a family and I want balance.

I want to put my focus on my health and happiness, my relationship.  I want to have kids and I want to relocate across the country to be near my brother and his family.  I hope it all works out.

a gift of a dream last night

Posted on by
1

I’ve been self employed for over 10 years and last night I had a dream of my last employer.  I was the sole tech for the small business and also a project coordinator.  To quote the great AEJ, “when he canned me”… “he said I was inadequate”.

And I see how that has poisoned me in so many ways.  This CEO and I didn’t get along.  There were cultural differences, there were socio-economic differences, there were “hey she’s working with tools on a server and has boobs at the same time” issues.

This job was my leap from being a corporate rising star and ladder climber to small business.  It was my jump from being a cog in a vast IT wheel to being The Wheel.  I had a big learning curve.  But my dream last night also let me in on how many ways it was a completely sabotaging environment.

The saddest thing is how I had never been fired before.  I knit that word “inadequate” into my scar tissue and wore it.  I owned it.  The thing I realized this morning is how many personal and professional boundaries I have crossed to be the one who would “go there” who would “do it”.  Who would be rock star enough at the cost of my own personal sanity and health.

Because after 10 years, I didn’t even remember who I was proving wrong anymore.  I just knew that I was on a mission to kick some ass, no matter how bruised my foot was.

I feel like last night’s dream was such a gift.  I feel like I can work on letting that go.  I can do what I can do.  I can trust in the brilliance and the experience that I have and I don’t have to get all crazy about it.  I don’t have to compromise my happiness, balance, loved ones, plans, whatever so that some scary monster from a decade ago who hopefully doesn’t remember me any more won’t be right.

Of course, being the highly enlightened being that I am.  I changed all the server passwords to “inadequate”.

And, the lessons learned from being a solo tech in a small company is the inspiration for us to start that small company that we started.  So, thanks scary monster.  And thanks dream.

balls

Posted on by
1

I have set a lot of balls in motion.

Healing balls: physically, emotionally.

Professional balls.

I am really full of gratitude today because a lot of my balls are starting to bear fruit.  I went to an event last night.  A luscious, rich, feminine, professional event and met a ton of amazing women and had a wonderful time.

The speaker was a therapist of course, and I cried.  Of course.  I swear that the synchronicities in my life right now are as common as fruity balls and obnoxious metaphors.  I “unspooled” a few more traumas and sat with them in the room.  Had this been me years ago, I would have run away and left the room.  But I felt so much like one of many and marveled at the joy, pain and secrets we all have and we all carry.

She talked about how a trauma is experienced and how your brain can’t understand it.  So you make a story about it, which creates a belief system that you believe is truth.  All of this is built upon a trauma.

And I thought about a time, when I was very young and our whole church had gone to Apple Hill like we did every Autumn.  Some of the younger adults took a whole bunch of us little kids to the fair section of the (wherever we were) I believe there was driving involved.  I think I was 4 or 5.  And we rode a little train, we had a wonderful time and I thought the older kids were so cool.  I remember running around.

I remember being alone.

I remember running around looking for anyone I recognized.

I remember bursting into tears and sitting on a curb.

I don’t remember how long it was until they came and found me.  I remember my parents being very upset that I was left behind.  I don’t know why this memory filled my chest last night and then I had so many memories of being alone and waiting for someone to get me.

It was funny, the me that I was a few years ago would have been mortified about crying in a room full of strangers, remembering sadness.  Not this me.  This me was more ok with it.

And I felt great about it.

For me that was gratitude.

For me that was growth.

For me that was abundant fruity balls.

fairy tale of the ogre

Posted on by
1

Did I ever tell you about the time I loaded all of my possessions in a boat and slowly paddled toward the south. I was taken in by my brother and his wife. And I would go out and seek a livelihood. I was just learning how to row this new boat and everything took so long. I paddled down freeways and boulevards.

Sometimes I sat in my boat and watched people look so together, then I would push my boat away from the side walk and try to get unlost again. I laughed at people with compasses, took another drink and wished I was brave enough to ask for directions. But I think that happens a lot in that LAnd.

My boat washed up to a beautiful promenade, and I was seduced by the music and the beautiful people. I thought that I could find my livelihood here. There had to be something. But my boat knocked against the rocks and a beautiful girl came out of seemingly nowhere. She said there was work there; it would be hard but rewarding.  She would introduce me to him.

I love a challenge and like any hero in a story I can’t step down from a challenge. I followed her into the cave. I was looking for a teacher, a mentor and maybe this was my mentor. We met. The lighting in the cave was bad: my stomach told me not to do it, but I didn’t trust myself. I had made so many bad decisions. He was so successful, he must know the secret. Once the girl introduced us, she left us alone and kept eye contact with me until he rolled a stone between us.

He interrogated me… Why should I trust you? Where do you come from? How old are you? Where do you live? His manner was terrifying. He told me about how harsh he would be to me and this fired a competitive flame in my belly. “I’ll show him! I can take it!” He explained how his family was very rich and he had grown their fortune.

He showed me a mountain of gold in a separate room. And in the shimmer of the gold the man’s figure lit up. He was no man, he was an Ogre. I had already promised servitude. He heaped work on me. It was impossible. He fed off of my anxiety. I had some really good ideas and he hadn’t had anyone in my position who had really good ideas before.

During the day the beautiful girl would emerge, some days she was radiant. Some days she was trembling. We would sneak off to a part of the cave when the Ogre wasn’t looking and smoke cigarettes. She would tell me I was doing a great job, the best of “any of the others”. “What happened to the others?” “They didn’t make it.” We were constantly checking our phones in case the Ogre should wake and need one or both of us. My gut told me to run, but I figured he would tell me how to get my own pile of gold. I never felt safe in this world, so I was convinced that my own cave and my own pile of gold was the only thing that would make me feel safe.

Sometimes even when you did something amazing, the Ogre would scream at you just for fun. And I used to be able to sorta pretend that I’m tough and I just can’t anymore. The last two years have taken that mask away. I am strong, but if I gotta cry I cry. Maybe I am just tough and moist. I don’t know anymore. The Ogre was impressed with my work. I had spun some straw into sunshine and he loved it. I felt good with him sometimes when he was happy. Turns out we had a lot in common, which alternately excited and terrified me. He showed me another room in his cave. This one was where he kept a smaller mountain of something: a white powder. I looked at him. “What is that?” He called me a goody-two-shoes.

The beautiful girl got shakier. She would bring me presents and random things. She said I made her feel guilty. I didn’t know what she was talking about. When the Ogre was out getting drunk she told me about how he would chain her up and do anything he wanted to to her. She also said that sometimes the other Ogre that I hadn’t met yet would do the same thing. “Leave! Go! Disappear! Never come back! Do you know that he is assaulting you!” I flipped out. “I shouldn’t have told you.” She said. “It just feels wrong and I don’t know what to do. It’s worse now that you are here. The ogre’s done it to almost everyone but you.” I couldn’t talk to her about it anymore because she shut down.

The ogre came back. That fire that was in my belly that had been yelling at me the whole time turned into illness. I stuck around for a while, trying to figure out how to save the maiden. Seeing her go into the chamber and the ogre follow. Or the Ogre order her into the chamber and see her just get up and walk in.

Something really big in our cave broke and the Ogre called the Wizard. But he made a fatal mistake. Never be a dick to a wizard. The wizard refused to speak to the Ogre and I had to act as a liaison. The wizard read me like an audiobook (cause we were on the phone). He took a chisel of truth and wedged it into my forehead and cracked it open. The wizard gave me clarity, some hope and fixed the thing that the Ogre broke because I say things like please and thank you and sorry I work for an Ogre, he breaks stuff.

Armed with clarity, I could no longer be in the Ogres presence in good conscience. The beautiful lady still needed to stay.

The trigger was so simple. One of the Ogre’s many tantrums. PTSD is crazy. The trigger can be a scent, a smell, a sound, a word. He broke more of his stuff and then screamed and slammed his hand on his wood desk. The slap of a hand on a wood desk. The slap of flesh on wood. Wood on flesh. That sound triggers memories of hundreds of times I was struck. Pulling the oak rod out of the drawer. The oak rod would always hit that one spot on the dresser on its way out. Wood on wood… Then wood on flesh, over and over again. Our hero (me?) couldn’t hear the Ogre’s screaming anymore.

The hero walked out of the cave. Past the gold. The pretty lady wasn’t in that day and our hero felt guilty, like she was abandoning the girl. But, the hero couldn’t stomach someone taking the abuse. It scared me that someone could take more than I could. I left. This Ogre is truly brilliant and carries the burden of madness that goes with it. But, there are ways to balance madness and brilliance. I was so depressed.

Is this the real world? I don’t think so. I rowed my boat north to find the real world. Just like the wizard said I would.  Later, I realized that the Ogre was a gruffer version of the Pastor.  Why did I have to dance that dance again?

Recently, I got a message from the pretty lady, she saved herself.

the day I got old

Posted on by
4

My friend JC got me several purses for my birthday a few years back.  In the big purse was a smaller one, then a smaller one, then a smaller one and in the smallest one was a perfect little leopard print coin purse, with a penny in it.

Like this, only cuter
Like this, only cuter

I have used many of the purses through the years.  It’s amazing an orange fuzzy clutch is the perfect accessory in my world.  And, no I’m not kidding.  I am working the old SacTown AJ cash budget these days so that I can get a better hold of my spending and this has become so valuable.  Not only is it ADORABLE, it has a satisfying click when opened or closed.

So, I got this thing in my purse and it’s got cash and coins and a hair clip, a binder clip and a rock in it.  And I am starting to get great joy out of paying cash for everything.  In exact change, down to the penny.  I do my weekly grocery shopping at Whole Foods and that is mostly because of E’s preferences.  I don’t care where we go.  But I have found an almost maniacal glee at watching zenned out masses get itchy when I click open my purse and first dole out the dollars and then make my change to the exact penny as they wait.  I guess it’s passive aggressive, but it’s seriously hilarious.  When someone’s really cranky behind me I squint my eyes and do my math out loud and make jokes about how they won’t take my rock.

I was told that since I have quit drinking and stuff that I would need to get a hobby, I guess that annoying the people who are in line after me is it.  I don’t think it’s constructive, but if they can’t find the humor in it they should sit on an expensive pillow, drink some green tea and practice their heavy deep breathing.  Cause I think it’s pure comedy.

So I have this anxiety disorder PTSDBLAHBLAHBLAH and I found this tin of the Rescue Remedy candies.  The original rescue remedy is amazing!

amazing chillaxant - makes me not crazy!

amazing chillaxant - makes me not crazy!

But now they’ve got it in a candy!  So I can suck away my stress!  I’ve been carrying these in my purse.  Later, I went to make a purchase, I pulled out my trusty coin purse and the lid of the candy had popped off and candy was all over my purse.  There was a gummy candy stuck to my coin purse.  The cashier looks at me.  I was amused and embarrassed, I of course offered her one.  But she declined.  That girl had class.

So, I realized that once you pay for all of your purchases to the penny and have a purse full of spilled candy.  You are now old.  Ah well, youth is wasted on the young anyway.

mmmmm it's the candy that makes you sshhhh

mmmmm it's the candy that makes you sshhhh

ps….  Get off my lawn…

Memory layers

Posted on by
Reply

You live somewhere long enough and you get layers and layers of memories.  I was thinking yesterday about the DoubleTree Hotel at Arden.  That was where I started having events where I  was leading a group of many business women.  That is also where many local and regional dance competitions were held.

Many of these where in the same room in the hotel.  One particularly memorable event and competition come to mind.  Same room, same bathroom preparing.

I am 12.  I pulled up my tights and put on my blue sequined leotard.  Adjusted my tiny jacket and started to pull the curlers out of my hair.  Millions of girls: from my dance company and competitors are crowding the mirror.  I feel excited and also very alone.  Dance was my one venue away from the church activities and I felt very other.  I pulled out my Aqua Net and picked and sprayed and embiggulated my hair in the same way all of the other girls were.  Tap shoes on.  Stretch, look in the mirror, suck in non existent stomach.  Put on too much lipstick.  We go out in the hall and go over our routines, until it’s time to line up.  We are supposed to be quiet.  One of the girls ask me if I know what an orgasm is and my stomach turns because I don’t know.  She laughs and I am ashamed.  Our music starts, we grin in unison and we walk into the room.

I am 32.  I have set up the room and I finally have a moment alone.  I pull on my power suit, adjust my jacket and make final touches to my hair.  I am expecting 120 women and 4 men that evening.  It’s our Christmas event and it’s always a big one – except this is my first one as Managing Director.  I have the mirrors to myself and I take my time.  I stretch and put my heels on.  I turn sideways and suck in my stomach.  I put on enough lipstick and too much mascara.  I go out in the hall and go over my speech a few times.  I walk into the room and a woman is lost.  She’s embarrassed; I comfort her and tell her an embarrassing story about me.  We hug.  My nerves disappear.

I walk onto the stage and take my place.  I am rehearsed, my team is rehearsed.  It’s time to make magic.

I spin and twirl and hit all of my marks.  I try to smile, but forcing a smile was always my weak point.  I was a better dancer than a performer.  I didn’t know myself yet.  I perform my heart out infront of a room of strangers.  Applause.  The judges give high marks and we win.

I walk onto the stage and take my place.  I am rehearsed, my team is rehearsed.  It’s time to make magic.

I speak, and connect and hit all of my marks.  I show my true self, because this journey has been about learning about myself and using that as an example so that others may learn about themselves.  I speak and open my heart in front of a room of friends, colleagues and strangers.  Applause.  The victory is that we don’t judge each other and win by the amount of connections we made that night, and how connected we felt.

me versus the porn guy

Posted on by
2

In my life, I meet a lot of people.  There was a fateful 36 hours where I met an astronaut, a mayor and the leader of a gang.  I had a fabulous time, not together – that was three different encounters.  People fascinate me. A while back I was talking to a psychic and she told me that I have the ability to talk to everybody-people of all classes and positions in life.  I enjoy this gift that I have.

Well, except for Monday.  On Monday, I met a guy who is a adult video producer and sometimes actor.  We were talking about his work.  I was curious about the business structure, because I like to look at the cogs behind a machine and see how it works.  I learned a lot about the business end of porn.

We were getting along fine and then he started talking more, and I was horrified and grief stricken.  This is delicate and I am being really careful in my words here.  I hope I am successful.  He said that most of his models are from 18-20 and come from strict religious backgrounds.  He then told me that its best that way because they have something to prove.  The encounter didn’t end well because I told him that working with older models would be better because they would be conscientious of their decisions.  That if they chose this kind of expression, they would come at it from a healthier place.  He said he had no interest in making granny porn.

I was so sad, I felt like he was exploitive.  He is working with ladies that are the legal age of consent but there is no way that they know what they are getting into.  Especially if he is seeking women from abusive and/or repressive upbringings. I am all for sexual expression on film.  But I was really sad after meeting this guy.    He and the girls (he called them bimbos) are not doing anything illegal, no crime is being committed.  But I don’t think its right.  And I don’t know what – if anything – to do with this anger.

So, I took my feelings to therapy yesterday.  And it uncovered a whole new layer of stuff in me.  I made big art and got a lot of rage out, but I am still really sad.  I wanted to protect these girls from him.  I am so glad I didn’t meet him when I had been disowned and excommunicated from my church at 17.  I’m so glad that I worked at bookstores and coffee shops.