Throwback Blogs - My Cement Shoes

I am trying to be cautious as I write this. I realize words have consequences and are vulnerable to misinterpretation. I have learned to watch what I say (or write.) There are ramifications to consider.

But, it is Saturday morning, and I feel more relaxed than I did the prior five days. I feel somewhat liberated and emancipated. I am sitting in my pink and gold loft home office, candles are burning, and my diffuser is emitting a soft baby powder scent. Pink office and baby powder, guess you can say I am tapping into the little girl I was so long ago. I am in a safe place. I can tackle this blog! So here goes.

From the day I reached adulthood, whatever that means, I have been searching for freedom.

I am not one to be held down, handcuffed to an ideal, or restrained from vocal expression. I don’t drink Kool-Aid, succumb to a pack mentality, or lie to myself. I don’t try to fit in. I never will. I was not born to.

During childhood, freedom of expression was encouraged. I was an only child who did not have to vie for attention. My thoughts, ideas, and creativity were met with unbridled enthusiasm by my parents. They poured a dose of individuality into all I did.

I felt free and joyful, and my days were full of exploration and happiness. I was true to myself. I had no idea what authentic living was truly about, but I felt it in my soul, mind, and DNA.

My empathic old soul knew deep down that this feeling would end, and my young self didn’t appreciate this freedom as she should have. My developing mind took it for granted. My naive self believed my life was my own.

The responsibilities of being a grown-up are many, and that is understandable. It is a natural life transition. I happily accepted what was ahead, but I imagined it differently than it played out.

Corporate America took hold of me, conquered me, and all but destroyed my freedom, well, at least my sense of freedom and how I define it. I had to make a living, I had to support myself and for the most part, I was compensated for it. But I paid a price. The price tag was so high that I was never "in the black."  I was victimized. My ROI was little, and my emotional bank account was way overdrawn.

And this is where it grows controversial. Working became my albatross, the elephant in the room that set up residence and over so many years earned squatter rights.

A throbbing sense of dread and anxiety moved in. Those five days a week were wrought with pain. I felt I was in prison with no eligibility for parole. I know this sounds dramatic to some. But it is my truth. I felt trapped. I donned a pair of cement shoes that I wore Monday through Friday as I navigated the executive floor that housed my office. I was surrounded by an unfair system that did not reward accordingly but embraced dishonesty and applauded those who broke the rules. High-powered men used their force to feed their egos while human collateral damage littered the hallways.

I was sexually harassed, stabbed in the back, unappreciated, intimidated, micromanaged, and overworked. I was told I was lucky to be in this situation and should appreciate it. Many got by with doing little while others had to shoulder the workload.

Men who behaved badly were patted on the back and went for drinks with the boss. When their misdeeds became media fodder, they stepped down to spend more time with their families and walked away with their millions only to be snapped right up by another organization all too proud to bring them on board.

I know what you are thinking, why didn’t you leave? Well, I did. Sometimes by my hand and other times through no choice of my own.

I navigated public and private organizations, but the experience seldom changed. I made a huge career change that I loved. The work was meaningful but short-lived. An injury sidetracked this career. And here I am today, still searching for the freedom that has alluded me.

There is a powerful groundswell within the American workforce to take back our power and live the lives we deserve; I could not be more in favor of this. This blog and my freelance business are my emancipators. Freedom is within reach, as I have grown to understand the employer, employee relationship. Working for yourself levels the playing field. You are teammates and partners with a common goal. There is a mutual and equal benefit.

The structured work system will never be equal, no matter the company culture. Money is the power the employer will always possess. Many well-meaning employers refer to their employees as family members, but that can never be. The dynamic will never allow for this. It is against the mitochondria of this cell.

In the end, I know my life is my own although it has not always felt like that. Maybe I gave away my power, or maybe I was a victim of an unfair system I allowed to dominate me.

I realize living life on my terms is a lovely although not always practical ideal. The realities of life often handcuff us to situations that don’t always foster our soul. For me, I have traded in those cement shoes for a pair of fun-loving pink flip-flops! May you find your perfect pair!