The Rebellion They Used Against Me—And Why I'm Done Giving It Power
Right now, I’m working on building a business of systems and content strategy, Rippling Roots, so I can quit the day job as a project manager for a construction contractor, and let me just tell you, I’m struggling. I hired a business coach through Strawberry.me, and she said something yesterday that rattled me.
“Are you afraid of succeeding with that and your writing because everyone treated it like a rebellion?”
Now, understand, she just rephrased what I’d told her, but that hit me like a slug.
I’ve been holding onto this project management job like it was my lifeline even though I work in fear - though, it’s not because of my current boss. It’s PTSD. Seriously - and I’m second guessing myself with everything. I can’t tell you how many emails I’ve drafted and not sent. If I’m just looking for information, I’ll send it, no issue. But if I’m drawing a boundary, negotiating a change request, or standing up for myself, I have to double and triple check that I’m right, that there isn’t something I forgot or overlooked, or something that I just got wrong. And then I get sidetracked with another fire and forget to hit send.
That doesn’t sound like a great project manager, does it? Yeah. I’m doing okay, but I’m not… I’m not as good as I have been. My self-confidence has really taken a beating.
And… it has. Facing this is bringing up a lot of PTSD. Like, Jesus. Where the hell is this coming from?
Well, it comes from all the beatings I’ve taken: mental, emotional, financial, sexual, physical. Standing up as a female in construction and trying to be a project manager? It hasn’t been easy. I mean… I could tell you stories but I don’t—
No. Fuck it. I’ll say a few out loud, but I don’t have to maintain their value on who I am.
Okay. So… one moment that came up yesterday - Ross brought his daughters to work. The daycare was closed and he and his wife both had to work.
My anxiety was so high yesterday listening to those girls giggle and talk - loudly. Because when I brought my daughters in to work because of daycare not wanting to take them, or because they were sick, or for other reasons, I had to create a fort for them under my desk and they had to be silent. I got pulled into offices and yelled at. I got overlooked for promotions - plural. I got pay cuts instead of raises. I got work piled on me. And ultimately, I lost my damn kids because I was fighting to keep a good paying job - well, good for me. I was still getting paid less than half of what the men make - in order to take care of my kids.
Shit, I had to schedule giving birth to Miss Moth on a Saturday so I could take Sunday off. I wasn’t guaranteed my job if I even took one day off. Meanwhile, the male I worked with had a baby - his wife had a baby - and he got two weeks paid maternity leave a month later. I was recovering from giving birth to a 10lb baby, hiding in the bathroom to lactate, and covering both our workloads. After taking a pay cut because I wasn’t producing as good of quality work.
And let’s talk about success. Why would I be scared of success? Did you know that I had an electrical journeyman’s license? Did you know I had it for less than a year and let it go? Why would someone do that? It doesn’t make sense, does it?
It does when you get a pay cut instead of a pay raise for getting it because, “You were told this was a waste of time and you did it anyway.” It does when your installations are uninstalled because “Your kind isn’t needed in the field. The only tool you need is a stapler.” It does when your tools are taken while you’re working and end up in other people’s vehicles. It does when you’re slammed into a panel for retrieving your tools out of another guy’s truck. It does when your tools end up in the porta john. It does when you’re handed the bill from the porta john company because your tools clogged their system. It does when you get so much work piled on you, you can’t think.
And all because you not only passed your journeyman’s exam, but you fuckin’ aced it!
Let’s talk about my experience. Every time I walk in a room with men, my experience goes to zero. I was in a meeting the other day with a potential partner, and the men went around the room and went on and on about their experience, but my experience didn’t matter. I went to tell them about mine, and they talked right over me. I have a coworker whose favorite line is, “I know you don’t have any experience in this,” and then he undermines everything I’ve tried to do. I completed two jobs successfully for this company and who got the credit? Was it me? Nope. Was it the guy who routinely says I have no experience? Yup. And… guys, this is a good company. Seriously. They’ve treated me hands down the best. Hands down. They gave me an office… with a door. And they’re not penalizing me by overworking me. I still get paid less than half of what the men do, but… I’m tired of fighting this, so… I’m probably only worth half anyway at this point.
I have been attacked in the field. I have been attacked in the office. This career path isn’t safe, so why do I hold so much value in it? Why do I feel like I’m failing by letting it go? Why do I feel such terror at the idea of leaving it behind?
Because I was told by everyone that construction was the smart choice. My writing was the bad choice. It was the rebellion. Only stupid people write for a living. My writing was actually brought up in court as my parents fought for custody of my kids. It was my hope and those who needed to control me found ways to weaponize my hope against me.
So, now that I’m trying to leave construction? The panic? The anxiety? Is it real?
Or am I just giving these stories more value than they’re worth? Am I giving these thoughts value they don’t deserve?
Yeah. I think so. And it’s time to fix that.
Because I’m not the woman who was attacked on the job site. I’m the woman who stood up and came back to the jobsite the very next day, silent and defiant.
I’m not the woman who had her tools stolen while she fucking worked. I’m the woman who retrieved her tools - and sometimes just used others’ tools - and kept working. And my installations were good.
I’m not the woman who lost her kids. I’m the woman who created the courage to try again. Am I succeeding currently? Yes. Could I do better? Also, yes. But that just makes me a person who’s actively trying.
I needed to hear that.
I really fucking needed to hear that.
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