When you’re little you have no control over the way you look or what you have access to or whether you fit in with the crowd. But you’re absolutely aware of what’s missing, what’s lacking, what should be there. All you have to do is look in the direction of the people who do seem to fit in, who do seem to have it all figured out, to see your lack. In a perfect world, right about the time you notice your differences, someone older and wiser comes along and teaches you to value your unique and innate weirdness. They walk with you and speak truth into your life and, maybe, show you the best way to keep your hair from looking like that one episode of Friends where Monica visited Barbados. In a perfect world, they’d encourage you to be yourself while also helping you figure out how to improve in the ways that grow your self-confidence.
But most of us didn’t grow up in that perfect world.
Most of us grew up identifying from a very early age all the things that were wrong with us. We believed we were too fat, too ugly, too awkward to be loved and accepted without making some big changes. Some women handle it by sinking further and further into themselves. Other women handle it by rebelling. The world doesn’t like my weird? Fine! I’ll be so hugely other that I’ll repel you before you get close! Or, if you’re like me, you decide right around the time of the shark teeth and the inch-long bangs that being this awkward and weird and tragic looking, frankly, sucks. So you, in all your prepubescent glory, start paying attention to what other girls are doing, and, like that scene in The Little Mermaid where she gets super fired up about finally having a chance to walk on dry land, you decide you, too, are going to be part of their world. You are going to do whatever it takes: act, dress, look, and speak in a way that offers you the most acceptance.
It wasn’t a fast process, but eventually I got braces and learned to flat iron my hair. And by the time I was in my midtwenties, I’d gotten very good at playing a part. In fact, I’d gotten so good at being just like every other woman that it didn’t even occur to me to question whether I enjoyed the choices I was making. By the time I started wondering whether I liked the road I’d put myself on, I felt too far gone to turn back.
And so I lived a double life.
Not like “paralegal by day and sleeper cell/international spy by night.” More like I used to live my life—very publicly, it’s worth saying—pretending to be one kind of person when I was actually someone else entirely.
In the public eye and on every social media platform, I was a wife and a mother, an avid home cook and food lover, a DIY queen with a blog and a penchant for Facebook posts. Behind the scenes I was a working mother, an entrepreneur, and a hustler of the highest order.
I had an office.
I had a full-time staff of five.
I worked sixty-plus hours a week.
And here’s the important part—I loved every second of it.
I loved every second of it, but I never mentioned any of it. Not publicly on social media. Not privately at family parties. Not at business functions for my husband or even business meetings with potential clients. I downplayed it all. I waved the truth away like I was batting at a fly. Oh, it’s just this little thing I do. I buried every accomplishment and didn’t admit my biggest dreams even to myself. I worried about what others might think of me. I worried what you might think of me if you knew what was really inside my heart.
The truth was, there were so many things I was dreaming of. I had ideas to share with the world about how women could change their mind-sets, their mental health, their self-esteem, and, yes, the way they color in their eyebrows (because that matters to me almost as much as all the rest combined). I figured if I could build enough of a platform I could speak to women all over the world, and I could encourage them and lift them up and make them laugh. I believed that if other people could fill social media feeds with cat videos and latte pictures and workout posts, then I could add motivational quotes and positive affirmations into the mix. I believed I could change my whole business with the idea. I believed I could change the world.
I mean, who says that?
I do. Now, anyway.
Would I have five years ago, or ten? Absolutely not. I kept these secret dreams locked up nice and tight where nobody could consider them weird or judge me for them, and where, by the way, they’d never truly see the light of day or have a chance to manifest. Talents and skills are like any other living thing—they can’t grow in the dark.
Perhaps what I did doesn’t make sense to you. If it seems an odd thing to hide from your dreams, I’m going to assume you’ve never worked in my industry . . . or had trolls rip apart your character within the boundaries of a Facebook post. Let me tell you, it takes incredibly thick skin to ignore the mean things people say on the internet and, like a callus, that thick skin only develops when it’s been ripped open a few times and healed tougher than before.
It took me years to have the courage to speak openly about my dreams.
I first began blogging when I was four years into running a successful event-planning firm in Los Angeles, producing fancy parties and elaborate weddings on my own. I was utterly burned out. Million-dollar events are glamorous to attend, but they’re brutal to produce. At the end of my fourth year I was unsure whether I wanted to continue, but I had started this blog. At the time, blogging was exploding and everyone and their mother was into it, so I decided to try.
It was atrocious.
I literally wrote about what I ate for dinner the night before. My pictures looked like I had shot them in a dark room with a disposable camera—which wasn’t far from the truth—and, honestly, nobody cared to read it. Like almost every part of my entrepreneurial career, I had no idea what I was doing. But, sister, let me tell you right now, in the absence of experience or knowledge, determination makes the difference between where you are and where you want to be!
As I started to narrow my focus and get more consistent with my content, a theme for my blog—and ultimately my business—began to emerge. I wanted to focus on the pursuit of a more beautiful life and a happier existence. I started to gain a small following and garner some attention. Then I received a few offers. Could I talk about decorating for Thanksgiving on the local morning news? Of course I could! Would I consider incorporating this brand of eggs into a recipe on my site for $250? You’re darn right, I would! Could I wear those shoes in an upcoming Instagram post in exchange for a $100 Visa gift card? Absolutely!
The offers came in steadily, and even though they were nowhere near what I was making as an event planner, there was gold in them there hills! Brands had money to spend, and they were looking to spend it with people like me. Slowly but surely, over the next nineteen months, I grew the revenue stream for the blog and took on fewer and fewer event clients until I could make the transition completely. By then I had scaled back to a part-time intern as my only source of help, and when I decided to focus on the blog completely, I knew I needed some professionals. My goals for myself have always been lofty, even if I didn’t feel comfortable telling people what they were. I have no idea how to play small at anything. An excessive imagination plus a lifelong desire to prove my worth through achievement means I’m always aiming for the sun.
You know that expression “Go big or go home”? I never go home.
If you give me a wiener dog puppy for my birthday, I’m going to . . . well, number one, I’m going to be surprised. I’ve never asked for a wiener dog so I’m not sure what this gift even means, but I’ll embrace it wholeheartedly. I’ll name him something elegant, like Reginald Wadsworth, the eighth Duke of Hartford, and it won’t be long until I’m imagining building a small farm outside Phoenix where I can raise my championship dachshunds for competition.
The point is . . .