As a little girl, I did all the things that were expected of little girls of the time: baking cookies, taking dance classes, playing with Barbies. I didn’t particularly enjoy any of these activities; it was just what girls did. Because I was a girl, it wasn’t “right” for me to build traps, jump off roofs, clown around, or play baseball, even though I wanted to do all those things and had the ability to do them. Instead, as I’d been taught, I intentionally missed a ground ball, pretended the boys were rude, and stopped myself from interjecting all the superfunny things I had to say.
In high school, I learned that gossip, makeup, and popularity were the keys to success and devoted myself to being successful. I did just well enough in my classes to keep my parents and teachers off my back and to retain an appearance of cool. I would erase my calculus homework and pretend I didn’t understand the math so I could be tutored by the cute senior boys. And I got away with a lot using some tried-and-true tactics. I’d don a sad face to be excused from missed homework assignments. Flirty smiles would get me out of tardies. Mediocrity and feigned helplessness never felt right, but in high school, that is what I thought being a girl was all about.
I showed up at college with no goals other than to get out of my parents’ house and to have fun. But the cool girls were far different from any I’d encountered—they didn’t shave their legs, and they discussed literature and politics. As in my youth, I was most interested in being popular, so I spent the next four years trying to fit in with them and failing miserably. I couldn’t force myself to care about the things they cared about.
I coasted through college with no real sense of myself, no idea of my potential, and no idea of who I wanted to be. At the advice of my father, I majored in English and got my degree in education. But I had no real desire to be a teacher. Instead, I spent my early twenties as a “groupie,” a groupie who earned peanuts working for a rock ’n’ roll legend. I budgeted tours, licensed the catalog, negotiated publishing rights, threw record-release parties, and scheduled video shoots. I did all this while coordinating travel so the wives and girlfriends never ran into each other on the road. I loved the work, and for the first time in my life, I felt capable and in control—feelings I never realized I so eagerly craved. Still, for all my hard work and success, I was treated and paid like a girl who just wanted to hang out with the band.
When the musician refused to pay me more, I quit. I felt emboldened and decided to put my college degree to use. I was lucky to land a teaching position in Covina, California. It was summer, and the job started in the fall. To bridge the gap, I accepted a six-week temp job at JPMorgan Chase. That summer at the bank was my awakening. In six weeks, I went from being the temp receptionist to the manager’s assistant to someone who was managing her own book of business. For me, the metamorphosis was the window to my potential. I suddenly saw myself as a smart girl with possibilities.
By the following September, I had brought in over $100 million in business. I’d spent years living up to others’ (low) expectations of me. But no longer. I let go of my preconceived notions of what a girl was allowed to do and be. I shaved my legs and took care with my hair and makeup and played fantasy football with the guys. I joked with my male colleagues and wore cocktail dresses to work, all the while closing more deals—and harder deals—than any man in the office. I found success being a woman who is comfortable being a girl and who is confident in her abilities.
FOR ME, THE METAMORPHOSIS WAS THE WINDOW TO MY POTENTIAL. I SUDDENLY SAW MYSELF AS A SMART GIRL WITH POSSIBILITIES.
I LET GO OF MY PRECONCEIVED NOTIONS OF WHAT A GIRL WAS ALLOWED TO DO AND BE. I SHAVED MY LEGS AND TOOK CARE WITH MY HAIR AND MAKEUP AND PLAYED FANTASY FOOTBALL WITH THE GUYS.