I remember exactly where I was standing in my Wallingford apartment in Seattle, holding the phone in my hand.
I was 28, had just moved back from the UK to the States. I’d already had an epic journalism career in newsrooms in Tokyo and London, so why was no one at newspapers in Seattle calling me back? I was used to even very important people scrambling to call me back as quickly as possible, eager to speak with me.
The epiphany came as a clear voice: “You’re not the one with the power.” I stared at the phone in my hand. “The organization had the power. You had no power.”
And then I had another AHA moment. Up to that point I’d been paid a great deal of money for my brain. I realized I’d been compensated for my intellect (as many people are). But there was something nagging at me.
What about the under-nourished “intelligence” in other parts of my being? Emotional intelligence. Spiritual intelligence. Physical intelligence. Creative intelligence. (I was a spiritual anorexic, a smoker and drinker, had never done any soul work and was deeply alienated from my creativity.)
What followed after that epiphany were years of soul-searching, even as I kept veering back into and out of journalism, still seeking that external validation as I questioned my deepest beliefs:
If the newsroom gave me the power, what happens to my voice when I’m not standing behind an institution?
Who am I when no one recognizes my name?
What other intelligences can I cultivate? Where do I have gifts that go beyond my brain?
What do I actually have to offer, stripped of Tokyo, London, and a byline?
How do I build a self instead of a résumé?
What’s the difference between power that’s given to me and power that’s generated from within?
Could I name even one moment I felt powerful that had nothing to do with rank, title, or platform?
I’d been so focused on writing stories to help the needy? Where am I needy? What do I need to thrive?I’d been seeking recognition. How do I find worth?
What do I have to do to develop myself? Where do I even begin?
It was a therapist who helped me see that I had to write to excavate my truth. Instead of writing the news, penning stories that were outside myself, I needed to write about my own life and find my own inner truth. I saw my life as an unnamed constellation of stars, and I just needed to connect the dots, name my own legend.
I’d spent years traveling the world, and I was being asked now to do a different kind of journey, one that went down into the soul. Year after year of writing, I slowly began to recover myself. It was excruciatingly painful and the only reason I live a creative life today.
Losing my journalism career, the money and the status, was a HUGE fall from grace. It would take years before I realized, I’d actually fallen into grace.
I’m sharing this “Journey to Voice” because as a coach, I’ve worked with thousands of women, and this issue of personal power emerges again and again. I’m telling my story as a way to show my journey to authentic creative power.
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.