Separated

When you have been separated from your best friend for over 2 months, you begin to feel it in your bones. Like a stubborn ache you can't quite pin point. Some days, it finds it way to my upper back and other times it makes my feet cramp up.  Missing her sometimes weighs so very heavy on my chest. Like a stack of books that need to be returned to the library that have been forgotten about.  You know you need to return them just to remove the pressure.

Living in Minnesota and she in Georgia has presented challenges. I can't walk across the street and share a cup of coffee and talk all morning.  When the days are difficult, I am not able to hug her until the weariness begins to fade. We aren't able to enjoy Sunday mornings at church, our families worshiping the Lord side by side.

The absence actually presents physical pain.  A tightness in my throat, and pain in my heart. When she and her family moved about a year a half ago, I found myself weepy and emotional for a ridiculous amount of time.  The separation didn't really get any easier.  Challenges with children, with work, with friendships and life in general, would make the absence known even more.

We came up with a plan, I would visit Georgia in November, she would come to Minnesota in January. Then our families would travel together during spring  break and one family would either fly south or the other north each summer.  You would believe that texting, phone calls, face time and seeing each other would make the storm flee, however the saying goodbye each time is just an ever present reminder that another long spell will pass before we are face to face.

My dear girl and I are together now. She flew in so we could enjoy 4 plus days together. (Personally, I feel the entire state of Georgia needs to know how lucky they are to have her.) We try new wines, we share The Word with each other. We update each other on the long important details of life events that we weren't able to cover completely on the phone. We laugh, and we cry and talk about each and every time we will see each other in the coming months. We take joy in each others happy days and comfort each other discussing the struggles. But most of all, we just treasure the time we have together.  Sometimes, we sit silently. And it is enough. It is enough to just be together.

Never take for granted a friend who loves you fiercely, laughs with you freely and confronts you boldly. These are the friends you hold dear.  Nurture those relationships like your life depended on it.

Sadness

I have been reading a lot of small chapbooks and collections of poetry.  I keep going back to Rudy Francisco. A young, African American man of whom I know nothing else about. Yet continually, I find myself reciting his work to others and telling others they need to read his work.

I finished reading his most recent book called Helium. I didn't just read it, I devoured it. Couldn't put it down. Funny, heartfelt, deafening, hard to read at times, Mr. Francisco captures so much human emotion in single, simply worded sentences. Never embellishing or reaching, only using the words that he is comfortable with, he creates a bond with each individual reader. I have felt like that. I have smiled like that. That joy, I feel that joy right now. That pain, it hurts me too.

I look back on my life, all of my 42 years, and see a typical life. I was born to parents who loved me, had a sister who wasn't sure if I was friend or foe for my first 17 years, lived in small town, on a short dirt road with only three houses. I enjoyed friends and family and church and camp and exploring my surroundings.  I guess I had what could be described a happy childhood. I also knew how unique it was to be happy.

In 3rd grade I learned what child abuse was. My friend was crying one day and I asked her what was wrong. She went on to describe what was happening to her and her sister in their home at the hands of their father. I knew it sounded horrible and not right. I told the teacher. My friend wasn't at school for a week. The kids had been removed from the home, and the parents were questioned thoroughly. I was informed by my teacher and the principal that I had done the right thing and that I should always go with my gut instincts when something doesn't "feel right" and tell an adult.  The claims that my friend made were false. She was lonely, wanted attention and was too young to realize how something like this would play out if she made a false accusation.  We weren't friends after that.

The summer before 5th grade, I learned what it was like to be bullied.  But that was before it was called bullying.  That was when it was called boys will be boys. He must like her. I was at summer camp and had a ridiculously cool jacket. Or at least I thought it was cool. There was a boy present who I didn't know prior to camp and he became obsessed with my jacket. Constantly cornering me and telling me I needed to give him my jacket. One day he chased me down a steep hill, tripped me so I would fall and began to remove my jacket. I was screaming and crying for help, and not one person responded. Not one adult. Not one child. In broad daylight, a boy was pinning me down to the ground and removing my clothing and no one came to my aide. When I went to the nurse to get help with the wound on my leg and one on my forearm from trying to fight him off, I was told he had special needs. Back then the word they used was disabled.  As the nurse washed the dirt from my arms and legs and pulled pine needles from my hair, without looking me in the eye said, "You should have just taken off your jacket and given it to him."  I learned a lot about boys that day. But I learned more about how little adults thought about girls.

When I was in junior high, a girl tried to kill the principal by putting rat poison in his coffee. I heard her joking with a friend and they laughed and laughed. She opened her denim purse to reveal a plastic bag filled with a white substance.  I quickly looked away and acted like I hadn't seen a thing. She was a mess and was always getting into trouble. I thought it was drugs and reported her. She never came back to school. I heard what her intent was and what the substance was as the rumors spread like wild fire. I then read "the story" in the National Inquirer. My mom said, "Kelli, did you know about this? It happened at your school."  I learned a lot about evil hearts when this happened and figured that she was maybe labeled a bad girl for a reason. But I was overcome with emotion of what her life must be like to think hurting another person, killing someone was something she could do.

When I was in 10th grade, a very attractive senior guy approached me. I could hardly contain myself. He propositioned me right there and then in the lunch room. I was dumbstruck. Couldn't speak. He said he felt this was the best way to ask, where I couldn't say no, because he promised me it wouldn't end well.  Not only did I decline him as all of his cronies looked on, I proceeded to give him a tongue lashing that included phrases like, "I suppose it is hard when you believe you are God's gift to women that a girl would ever say no to you. Not only am I saying no. I am saying never. And all the girls that say yes. They are needy and lonely and will never amount to much.  My self worth isn't found in what boy I choose to spend time with. My identity is in Jesus.  And Jesus tells me I am not missing much with passing up the likes of you."  Silence, and then laughter. Roaring laughter. He never spoke to me again, never approached me in the halls, never went out of his way to have an encounter with me.  I learned a lot about the power of words that day.

When I was in college, my sophomore year started a little bumpy. I was engage to be married the following summer and was so excited. I reviewed my finances and found that putting myself through college wasn't working. I wasn't receiving enough in grants and loans and scholarships. I was working two part time jobs that I didn't like and I could barely afford to exist.  Every penny went towards room and board and books.  I knew I needed to drop out of school because I had exhausted all of my resources. I knew I had to meet with my adviser who also happened to be my professor.  I told him my entire story about doing everything I could and I was tapped out.  He asked about my parents, their finances, grandparents, extended family, suggested more loans. I told him I didn't come from money, grew up on food stamps and government cheese and didn't have anyone else left in my life to ask for money. He looked at the ring on my finger and said, " I know you are getting married next year.  You are making the biggest mistake of your life. If you had tried harder in high school you would have gotten more scholarships." My heart broke a bit that day due to the hurtful words of a professor I admired.

All of these events happened to me. Happened around me, near me, in front of my eyes.  They hurt, they wounded, yet they molded and enhanced who I am today.  These experiences were sad, some horrible, but my life is what I have made of it. There are probably 100 more of these happenings that contributed to who I am and what I think. I have formed habits based on life events. I have pursued certain things, and avoid others. I have run head strong towards things I desired and backed away slowly from hurt and angst.

But sadness? Yes. There has been sadness. But the sadness isn't where I choose to dwell. The sadness isn't where I will stay camped out. I won't wallow. I won't take up permanent residence there.  What I will do, is refocus on those times that I learned something. Those times that I walked away in awe. Those times I smiled because it seemed like the most natural thing to do. The times when I was surrounded by those that I love. The times when heart to heart hugs warmed the soul and letting go wasn't something that I would ever wish for. I will also focus on the times when simple things such as a sunset, swimming in the pool with my children or a solitude walk have been the perfect close to an amazing day.

By focusing on these times of happiness, I have washed every item of clothing I own. I have folded them and hung them in my closet for future use. My washing machine has been serviced and I plan on doing my own laundry for the rest of my days.  I do not wear sadness well.

Ezekiel Evan LaFollette by Hannah LaFollette

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A Little About Us

January 22, 2018

Ezekiel Evan LaFollette

On October 13th 2017, Adam and I both went to work floating on clouds. That morning, we found out that we were expecting baby #2!!! We were not as surprised with this baby as we were with Avaline, but we were so excited! As soon as I saw the pregnancy test, my heart began dreaming of holding another little baby, watching Avaline as she became big sister, and seeing Adam become a dad all over again. It gave me all of the emotional feels, and I couldn’t help but sing and worship my way to school that day! There is something so special about carrying around a little secret that a little life is growing inside of you! After our first doctors appointment, we had a confirmed due date of June 29th 2018.

I am going to be the first to admit that pregnancy is super hard for me. I get really sick. I mean puking sick. It’s horrible. One one particular occasion, I was driving home with my family from our annual Christmas picture photo session, and I am puking my guts out. In the midst of this glorious moment, I hear Ellie say, “Mom, this isn’t contagious right?!” My mom laughed and said, “No, Ellie pregnancy is not contagious!” Thank you Lord for comedic relief while dealing with morning sickness 😂

My sickness hit right at 5 weeks. It knocked me for six. Some days, I couldn’t even get out of bed. Avaline always has a bath at the end of the day, and as soon as she got out, she would run to our room and come straight to my side of the bed and say, “Mama.” Sadly, I was pretty much always there.

At six weeks, I went to the bathroom and noticed I was spotting. I tried not to panic, and I told my mom what I had found. She told me to just wait and see if I was still spotting in the morning. So, the next morning I was still spotting. I told the teacher who I was working with at school that I was pregnant and spotting and at some point needed to go to the doctor. Adam couldn’t leave work so my mom and I went to the doctor. After lots of tests and ultrasounds, the doctors told me that I had a subchorionic hemorrhage. Which is basically a hemorrhage on the placenta. They said that it is very common in pregnancies. However, the concerning thing was the baby’s heartbeat was lower than normal. The heartbeat was 90 bpm when it should have been around 120 bpm. The doctor said that I had a 50% chance of carrying our baby to completion. In that moment, I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I was with my mom, dad, grandpa, and family friend when I received the news. So, my dad said, “Let’s claim this baby’s life! We are going to ask the Lord to work a miracle for this baby.” So, for the next half hour, we lifted up the baby to the Lord.

The doctor had told me that I needed to rest over the weekend, and then come in on Monday for another blood draw to make sure that my HCG levels had risen. If the levels had doubled, it would be a sign that the baby was growing. Monday came and the results showed that my results had more than doubled! PRAISE GOD. We felt like this was a miracle! On the following Friday, I went in for a follow up ultrasound. I was 7 weeks at this point. Everything looked good, but we still needed to confirm that the heart beat had increased. The heartbeat at that ultrasound was 136 bpm! PRAISE GOD!!!! Another miracle!

Two weeks past, and I started spotting again. I emailed the doctor, and she ordered an ultrasound right away. I was almost 10 weeks at this point. I went in for the ultrasound, and the baby was moving and wiggling all around. I can’t even express how happy I was to see the baby moving around. The heartbeat at that appointment was 170 bpm. PRAISE GOD! The ultrasound tech told me that the bleeding was likely caused by the hemorrhage and would fix itself in time. She told me since I had come in for so many ultrasounds with the same issue, we could probably assume that it was the hemorrhage and the baby was fine.

Fast forward to 12 weeks, it was December 12th and I had a visit from Kim. My heart was feeling heavy, and I was not really sure why. I lifted it up to the Lord and moved on with my day. That day when Kim and I were talking, I told her that I wanted to do genetic testing with the baby to find out if anything was wrong. I had this feeling like something was not right with the baby because of all the spotting that I had had throughout the first 11 weeks. She, being an OBGYN, said that there was nothing wrong with that. And if I wanted to do that I could just request it at my next appointment which was on December 20th. That night, I went to Bible study and shared my heart with one of my friends. I told her that I was really struggling with anxiety with this baby. I was constantly worrying that something was wrong. I said, “I never wonder if my baby is alive, but I am worried that there is something wrong with the baby.” In my heart, I thought that the baby might have a disability or be born early. I just felt like something was not right because the first 12 weeks had been a physical and emotional wreck.

The next morning, I decided to go in to the doctors 1 week early. My reasoning was that I had nothing to do that day, it would ease my anxiety to hear the heartbeat, and my family was coming from England the following week, and I wanted to be with them. So I made an appointment for 9:45 am that morning. When I saw the doctor, she excitedly said, “Today we would be able to hear the heartbeat on the doppler.” She pulled out the doppler and I waited in anticipation to hear that tiny heartbeat. And…. nothing… She tried for a few more minutes but still couldn’t find the heartbeat. My heart was beating so fast at this point. I was so nervous. I remember praying, “Please Jesus. Please let the baby be okay.” She said, “I think you have a stubborn boy in there. Let’s go to ultrasound and make sure baby is okay. I am sure everything is fine, but let’s make sure.”

I called my mom and updated her on what was going on. I remember saying, “Mom, it would be so nice for once to be able to go to an appointment and not be sent to ultrasound.” She asked me if I wanted her to come and take care of Avaline. I told her no it would be fine.

When I got into the ultrasound, the tech began looking at the baby. I immediately knew that something was wrong. The baby was not moving and wriggling around like it had been at the last ultrasound. I said, “Can you just tell me if the baby has a heartbeat.” She said, “Just a minute, I am getting there.” I waited for another minute offering up all the prayers I could. And she grabbed my hand and said, “I am so sorry mama, there is no heartbeat.” Immediately, I just started bawling. I was holding Avaline in my arms, and I cried like I have never cried before. The ultrasound tech went to get the doctor, and I texted my mom to tell her the news. I couldn’t even call her on the phone to tell her in person. At that moment, I felt so scared, sad, and empty. It’s a feeling a can’t really describe, and one I will never forget.

The doctor came in and hugged me. She told me how sorry she was for my loss. And said that based on the growth of the baby, he or she probably died that morning or the night before. The reason for all of my worry and anxiety. God was preparing my heart for the news that I had just received. There is something about a mother’s intuition.

I then had to call Adam and tell him the horrible news. He was taking a exam for work and was at a locked testing center. My mom and I went to my house, and we just cried and prayed together. I finally got a hold of Adam and told him we lost the baby. He came home immediately so that we could be together. My dad and my grandpa came as well. We all went out to lunch to try and get our minds off of the situation but the atmosphere was heavy.

The doctor had told me that she wanted me to wait 1-2 weeks to try and deliver the baby naturally. However, I just did not want to have to deal with wondering when I was going to deliver the baby at home. It was 2 weeks from Christmas, my family was coming, and I hated the thought of having to deliver the baby at home with Avaline around. I called Kim and asked her if she could do a D&C for me. She was so kind and gracious to me. She comforted me with her words, surrounded me with love, booked me in for a pre-op visit that day. And scheduled the D&C for the following morning. I called my doctor and told her that I was having a D&C and my friend would be performing the surgery. So on December 14th 2017, I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I woke up, got dressed, dropped Avaline off at my parents, and went hand in hand with Adam for a surgical procedure that would change my life forever.

The thought of having surgery scared me beyond belief. I kept asking Adam, “What if I never come back?” He assured me that all would be fine. And at 11:30 am, they wheeled me into the OR, and I had the D&C. When I woke up, I immediately began crying and asked the nurse, “Is my baby with Jesus now?” She said, “Oh honey, of course.” After about 20 minutes, they brought me into the recovery room, and Adam came in. I had nothing to say to him, I just ached. My heart felt like it was ripped into a hundred pieces and my body just felt numb.

Over the next week, lots of friends dropped meals by and offered their support. Lots and lots of tears were shed between my family and mostly myself. I was an emotional wreck. The littlest things set me off and I begged God to take the pain away. We sent some of the tissue from the baby to be tested so that we could find out if the baby had any chromosomal abnormalities and the gender.

It has been six weeks since we lost the baby. And it has been the hardest thing I have ever gone through. I have days where I just cry from the pain of losing a baby. Some days, I feel distant and separated from the world. Some days, I feel so angry not with anyone in particular but I am just angry. But at the end of the day one thing has not changed… God is so good. He is in the midst of pain, and He is in the midst of good times. And here is why I can say that…

Over the past six weeks, I have really come to see the beauty of community and friendship. So many people have shared their stories of loss with me and it has enabled me to realize that I am not walking this journey alone. We have had so many friends bring us a meal, sit with us while we cried, or just come to be with us to help us take our mind off of the sadness. We have had flowers delivered, cards sent, and countless calls and texts to make sure we are doing okay. God knew that we would need an army of friends and family to get us through this season.

I have also had a really hard time healing physically from this miscarriage. I bled for 4 weeks and felt like the bleeding woman from the Bible. I had moments where I was crying on the floor begging God to make the bleeding stop. Sometimes, screaming that He didn’t care about me or love me. The bleeding was just a constant reminder of the baby that I had lost. And it felt like every morning, I would wake up and worry what I was going to find when I went to the bathroom. And it was in those moments that He brought songs to my head. Songs of His love, faithfulness, and goodness. One song in particular hit me so hard when I was crying on the floor, and the lyrics came into my head,

“Take courage my soul. Stay steadfast my soul. He is in the waiting. So hold on to your hope, as your triumph unfolds, He is in the waiting. And You who hold the stars Who call them each by name Will surely keep, Your promise to me That I will rise, in Your victory And You who hold the stars Who call them each by name Will surely keep, Your promise to me That I will rise, in Your victory!”

It was like God was saying, “Just wait Hannah. I am going to bring you through this.” Then one day I just stopped bleeding. The night before I was bleeding red blood, and the next morning there was nothing. It literally just stopped. I was so thankful. It was a miracle because the day before I was talking with Kim, and she was encouraging me to come in for another ultrasound to make sure there was nothing remaining from the miscarriage in my uterus.

There have been many more songs that I have had to sing unto the Lord to combat all of the discouragement and lies of the devil during this time. But during this hard season, I have felt a nearness to the Lord that I have never felt in my life. I have started to seek His face daily with the knowing that God is going to meet me wherever I am at. In whatever season I am in. He is going to love me through all of my doubts and unbelief. And most importantly, He is going to work this trial for me good. And he has.

God has brought me so much closer to Him. Through this trial, I have had to cling to Him and His word as a source of joy and strength. Even when I did not want to pray, I offered up prayers to the Lord. Even when I did not want to sing, I sang at the top of my lungs to God. And it was in those moments where I felt His love the strongest.

God has brought me closer to Adam through this as well. Our marriage has been strengthened as we walked through losing a child together. Adam is such an amazing husband. He really is my rock. He has held me as a I sobbed, calmed me in my anger, and loved me when I seriously didn’t deserve it. He is my greatest gift, and I don’t tell him that nearly enough. He is a wonderful husband and father.

And finally…. last week we found out that our baby was a boy. We named him Ezekiel which means God strengthens and Evan for his middle name which means God is gracious. We are so sad that we lost this baby, but we remind ourselves that he really had the best life. He was born straight into eternity. And we know that one day, we will see him in heaven. And what a comfort this is.

And to finish, the one song that has been in my heart over and over has been:

Every blessing You pour out,

I’ll Turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord. 

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Pageant Summer 1993

Stumbling upon photos today, I found these. I had done all lot of pageants and modeling when I was young, then switched to singing and acting as my main activities when I was 9. These are from the summer I turned 18. I had just graduated high school, was preparing to leave for college and my mom talked me into doing the Miss Forest Lake Pageant. It didn't take much talking into for me to say yes. We needed to have a historical gown and I wore my grandma's wedding gown. Our town was celebrating 150 years and I also did the history show that summer, sang at the Special Olympics ceremonies and at the dedication of the Forest Lake mural wall. It was a very full and fun summer to remember.

The Chapter I Don't Read Out Loud

It is said that everyone has a chapter that they don't read out loud. The Why is different for everyone. Why don't they talk about it? Why they  choose to not share that chapter can root in many things. Sometimes, it is feelings of shame, guilt, regret, pain, or loss. Other times it is feelings of joy, hope, love, triumph, or even something that has been conquered.  If the feelings about a situation are considered to be negative, I guess I understand more why someone wouldn't share it.  If someone failed at something, did something that caused shame or guilt, or hurt someone else in the process.  But if you loved someone, overcame something, or did something outstanding, most people would gladly share it with others.

Once in High School, I went to the see the movie Article 99 two nights in a row with two different gentlemen. I didn't tell the second young man that I saw the movie less than 24 hours prior.  I wasn't embarrassed or ashamed to be seeing someone else, I was just a silly young girl.

When I was in elementary school, I stole a folder from a classmate named Juliette. It wasn't that I didn't have folders of my own. I just really liked the beautiful one with the woods and waterfall scene on it. Totally dishonest, totally unnecessary.

Once on the job, I continually had computer and printer issues. The IT guy hated me.  Alan, I am sorry, I did actually break that third printer.  I was frustrated and "aggressively" removed the paper jam from back feed drawer, hence the broken prong.

These three stories are things that happened to me. I wish they maybe didn't happen in this way, I wish I had made different choices, but I don't really mind sharing about them. I dated more than one boy a time, the first time I stole, and I didn't volunteer the truth about the printer mishap.

But what about the things I don't talk about? Those are also things I haven't written about. I find it interesting that friends will approach me and say, I read your article, or I read your blog and I didn't know that you experienced that. Almost as if because I am a writer, I must have by this point shared all my stories by now.  But then I have also discovered that my stories sometimes have two endings. What really happened and then what I learned because of how things turned out. Both of them true, but the telling may change due to audience or truths from life experience that need to be shared with specific people.

When I write, I write truth, from the heart, from experience from expectation.  But also when I write, it is sometimes from a place of fear. I fear judgement, I fear that I may hurt someone, but most of all, I fear that people will talk about me in a poor manner.

I loved being a banker for many years starting in my early 20s.  I held quite a few very interesting, challenging positions.  I learned a lot about company/corporate politics. I learned who to be kind to, who to learn from, who to avoid and who to watch out for. I learned who were the hard workers, who never worked at all and who was just praying they had a job each Monday. I struggled with a direct supervisor who was ill suited for the job.  Unconsciously incompetent without ever trying to establish a team atmosphere, she didn't have enough experience and was completely lacking in communication and management skills. All questions from employees and clients ended up being sent to me.

 I was overwhelmed with the expectations of my own job and doing all of the work that she as supervisor was expected to do.  It is one thing to not do your job, but it is quite another to be rude to employees and coworkers.  She never made time to get to know anyone. She would complain when someone said they would be gone the next day, forgetting she had approved the absence 3 weeks prior. When a friend and coworker had a baby, she made mean comments about how she would probably never return to work, but it wouldn't matter because the work just wasn't up to par. It is one thing to be horrible at the job. Quite another to be rude at every turn.

One day, I had had it. She had taken credit for a Fee Proposal I had created and even changed the cover page to read her name first. I couldn't do it anymore.  She didn't just lack competency, she was failing miserably when it came to character.

I started watching her closely.  When she arrived, when she went to lunch, if she helped any clients, her relationships with other employees, if she was completing work that she was expected to do.  I made notes about everything. I listed 17 offences. 17. I thought that if I was going to present my grievances to the Bank President, it better be thorough.

I was very careful with my words. I remained in command of the facts and shared what actually happened on a daily basis rather than how I felt about it, and was able to keep my emotions in check. The President let me speak and never once interrupted me. He thanked me, asked if he could have a copy of my notes and excused me.  I was scared to death. What was he planning to do?  I toiled the entire day, finally went home at 6:30 pm. I received a phone call from the President that evening close to 9 pm. He asked me to come in late the next morning. I was silent. He asked me if I could just not show up until 8:30 am. I said yes, 8:30 am, and we both hung up the phone.  I didn't sleep a wink. Would I even have a job by the end of the next day?  Wait, was I being fired? It was unbearable.

I slowly drove the 2 miles to work the next morning.  I entered through same door I always did.  Everything seemed peaceful until I saw the state of my supervisors office. It had been picked over. As if it had been ransacked. I stood motionless staring through the plate glass window at piles of paper, mortgage and invest files and junk everywhere.

The President approached slowly. "Kelli. She has been fired. You are in charge until a new supervisor can be hired. I am sorry to ask you to do this, but she just threw everything into the garbage from her drawers. I need you to sort every paper, every file in her office and make sure it is put back together by the end of the day. Clear everything bank related out, clear everything personal into the box just inside the door. Please do not speak of this and if anyone asks, direct them to me."

Dumbfounded, I did as I was asked. I spent the first four hours sorting through and organizing the mayhem, but by the six hour mark, the office was empty with exception of the desk, chair, computer and printer and office supplies. Many employees stopped by to ask questions and just stare in disbelief. "I am sorry. I am not able to talk about this. If you have any questions, please see the Bank President."  I said it over and over again. One thought kept running through my head. Was I being vindictive, or was firing her merited? Maybe if she had received some sort of training, she could have done a better job. But how do you respect someone in a leadership position that you do not trust, makes no effort to empower and encourage others, takes credit for others ideas and work product and had yet to demonstrate an ounce of integrity?

I panicked. She was a divorced, single mom who was overly confident, yet needed this job. What had I done? Was I wrong? Should I have handled this differently?

I left work that day exhausted and overwhelmed. I wiped a couple tears as I came near my car. I saw a piece of paper tucked underneath my windshield wiper. I unlocked my car, placed what I was carrying in the front seat and reached for the piece of paper. Only two words were written.  You win.

Over the years, I have often thought about my supervisor and where she is now in her life. I also have wondered if she ever realized how unqualified she was for the job position she held or ever would admit any fault in her actions.  I wondered if she knew I was the one that had reported her. When I found myself writing this story about what happened at the bank all those years ago, I was nervous but unable to really figure out why. Why had I never shared this story? I didn't feel shame or guilt over what happened, but by documenting her actions and reporting her, I did cost someone their job. Once I started writing about this, the feelings and emotions just flowed out of me. The hurt, the pain, the worry of judgement all returned.  That was it! I hadn't shared this story because I was afraid of being judged! I was afraid that people would think poorly of me. That they would believe that I was a young, vindictive woman at the time who placed more importance on my own workplace comfort than on someones career and lively hood.

I now realize that I had created a secret by keeping this story to myself all these years. A unnecessary secret because of what I believed could be pending judgement. Judgement may still occur. But now I am old enough and wise enough to be indifferent to the possibility of judgement. And I find that in the indifference, I feel so very free.

This is my chapter. The one that I have never read out loud. Until now. And to this day, I do not feel that I won. It wasn't about winning.  I am neither the heroine nor the villain. All of this happened because I chose to speak up about an injustice by stating the facts. I developed a voice because of experiencing such difficulty in the work place. I desired significant change in the work place, and wanted to see the formation of an environment that would make others want to get up in morning and excited to go to a job that makes a difference.  To go to a job where they make a difference.