She’d be so proud, so impressed, so surprised. And yet, she still struggles to believe in me.
At age nineteen, I started working for a credit union while attending community college. It wasn’t long before it was clear just how unprepared I was for the corporate world. The way I talked, the way I dressed, and even the way I looked at people soon became the topic of conversations with my manager, and I couldn’t wait to finish college to get out of there. This “corporate world” was no place for me, despite quickly forming special relationships with our members. I lost count of how many times my manager and I discussed my attitude, but despite my efforts, nothing I tried made much of a difference. My plan was always to leave as soon as I could.
Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, I dreamed of the day I would have a Monday-Friday schedule and make enough money to have a dishwasher. I was a smart kid, always categorized as “advanced.” When I turned sixteen, my dad offered to sign me out of school permanently so that I could save money and move out of our family home when I turned eighteen. Thankfully, I had some stellar teachers who believed in me and knew college was somewhere I could go.
The first time I can pinpoint not believing in myself was when I turned down a full-ride scholarship because I wasn’t completely sure what I wanted to major in. I decided “someone else deserved it more.” Instead, I enrolled in community college and landed that dream job at the credit union. That was over twenty years ago: I’m still at that same credit union and still struggling to believe in myself. The gremlin voices that yell and sometimes whisper, “you’ll never be good enough,” show up at the worst of times. Earlier this week, I was observing an executive level training program with the purpose of becoming certified, and it took every ounce of determination I could muster to stay in that room. I’ve never served at that level of leadership; how could I possibly facilitate these high-level conversations? Despite my institutional knowledge, the hundreds of hours spent obtaining my coaching certification, and the genuine passion I have for the mission of the credit union, I was convinced I didn’t belong.
And then I remembered a coaching trick I use on all my friends. What would you say to your best friend right in this moment? “Ginger, be your own best friend today.” I would tell my best friend to write down what they did well each day and start a comprehensive list of the reasons why they deserve to be in that room and in that role. So, I jotted a few recent wins down. The gremlin voice quietened, at least for the time being, and I was able to focus on the classroom.
My best friend is so proud, so impressed, and so surprised. And I’m committed to believing in myself.
Be your own best friend today.
