In my very first corporate job in the United States, before I had language for burnout or boundaries or the chronic grind of overperforming on an empty tank, there was one woman beside me. Just the two of us among a group of men, finding our footing in a place not built with women in mind.
She was the first female colleague I worked with in corporate America.
Sharp. Warm. Discerning.
Able to spot truth in a room full of white mental noise and offer clarity without needing the spotlight.
At the time, my life plan was fractured.
What I had imagined for myself and my very young son had broken apart, splitting in several directions.
I felt the pressure to hold it together and make it all look manageable.
B. saw through the performance.
She noticed the pace. She noticed the strain. She noticed when my eyes went dim from too many inner and outer expectations landing at once.
One of our earliest bonds had nothing to do with work.
She handed me a book: Fugitives and Refugees by Chuck Palahniuk.
I was still learning how to map my life onto Portland. The book was her way of saying, I know this experience; let me help you feel at home here.
At work, she treated me like a whole human long before workplaces talked about humanity.
She offered reality checks without rough edges.
She pulled me back from self doubt on the daily as I learned the ropes.
She made it normal to ask for support.
She made it normal to take a breath before the next meeting. Or take the time for a walk and a nutritious lunch.
She made it normal to name the weight of the load.
She understood the particular exhaustion women carry when we are expected to be competent, pleasant, resilient, and unbreakable all at once.
Because she was not untouched by the strain.
She was balancing on her own fracture lines, negotiating overload and exhaustion.
She shared her truth with the same honesty she tapped into when she offered feedback.
She was not my boss or an assigned mentor. She had no reason to invest in me other than genuine care.
Looking back, I see how much she taught me:
Project management before I knew the language for it.
How systems work behind the scenes.
How to stay steady and problem solve when tech starts to misbehave.
How to ask clients deeper questions so we could better support their vision and bring it to fruition with efficient competence.
She was grateful that I took the company 401k seriously. A foreshadowing of the career I did not yet know I was headed toward.
There was a lot of humor with her.
Office jokes that lightened the day.
Flying monkey toys launched across cubicles to break the software development silence.
A massive bright smile that softened long hours.
Kindness woven through the ordinary, offered freely.
B. has passed on.
The news stopped me cold.
It forced me to remember how easily we assume we have more time.
Thank you, B. for those original Courageous Being conversations long before Courageous Being existed.
Your influence is not past tense.
We'll keep adding to your impact with every conversation, workshop and session about what it means to work and live with integrity, honesty and humanity.
Our hearts are with you and your family.
All the love,
Ivi
The photo accompanying this piece is of our family fireplace, a home I could not have imagined back when B. and I were working together. If you feel called, add to the fireplace metaphorically by lighting a candle for your special someone beyond the veil.