The speech I didn’t get to give

I had dinner with Governor Otter last week. Ok, ok. I was seated at the table next to him at the Idaho Business Review’s (IBR) “Women of the Year” event. His wife Lori and I were among the evening’s honorees. (My essay provided to the selection committee can be found here, and yes. I included that picture.)

Last fall Ann Swanson, Idaho Small Business Development Center Director, nominated me for the award that she received last year.  The IBR recognized 50 women throughout the state and the dinner gala culminated with three-time gold medal cyclist Kristin Armstrong Savola named the top “Woman of the Year.” I am tickled to say that I “lost” to a three-time gold medalist.

We were told to prepare some remarks in case we won the big award. This is the speech I didn’t get give. 

I recently saw an article on imposter syndrome. This doesn’t feel like the syndrome; I feel like an imposter.  I would never characterize myself as “womanly” so being named one of the “Women of the Year” makes me feel like an imposter. For example, I bet most of you will purposefully apply make up again tomorrow, whereas, by midmorning my wife will silently hand me an eye makeup remover packet because I always forget that bar soap before bed isn't enough.

Most of you have done it all with kids and married life. I became a stepparent six months ago, and ever since, all I want to do is sleep. I understand the "mama needs wine and chocolate” memes now. How have you done it? 

I see three key events that led me to the “Women of the Year”. I’d like to touch on them briefly.

The first began in 2012 when Pocatello embarked upon adding “sexual orientation and gender identity” protections to city code.  Several Idaho cities have done this because the state hasn’t.  I watched my social media fill with vitriol and anger.   Good friends who identify as religious or faithful said terrible things about the LGBT community. LGBT friends used the same tone about members of faith communities.  As I read comments and editorials, I wondered, “Do my friends and acquaintances know me? Do they know they are hurting me?” This led me to testify in front of the City Council and write letters to the editor to urge a cease fire to all the hurting, and then I became a regular columnist for the Idaho State Journal. 

Second, I went through a devastating break up of a 12 year relationship which coincided with writing weekly columns. I was hurt, raw, and extremely vulnerable. No opinion I shared or tidbit about my personal life could elicit a response from trolls or antagonists that would hurt more than the pain I was already confronting. I learned how truly resilient I am, and in turn readers got to know more about me and I got to know readers.

Third, on a Tuesday night in February of 2014, a sophomore on the Pocatello High School girls’ basketball team took her own life.  I saw myself in her.   I played basketball on the same team at that same age and I had gone through many of the same revelations, fears and conflicts about who I was and how life was going to be.  Her death led me to write some pieces which resulted in opportunities to volunteer with the school district in a variety of capacities.  The resilience I uncovered in myself, I hope to impart to young people facing any kind of challenge.  Often in a cow suit; tonight, a pant suit.

My mother always told me I belonged. In elementary school, I belonged on the football field at recess with the boys because that’s where I wanted to be. In college, I belonged on the volleyball team when I walked on and eventually became a starter. When receiving my engineering degree, I belonged at the front of the line leading the processional. When I am the only women in project meetings at work—I belong. When penning columns for the local newspaper frequently as the only woman and minority—I belong.

As much of an imposter as I might feel, I know I belong in this room with all of you—makeshift mascara and all. We are all dreamers and doers and lovers of this great state. There are opportunities for strong networks of friends, acquaintances and even strangers all around us, and that proverbial village along with a little resilience and grit has allowed me to thrive.

I thank the Idaho Business Review for including me among their 50 “Women of the Year” for 2017.  In doing so, you’ve bolstered one of my core beliefs that I—and the many young people like me who need to hear it—belong. We belong right here in Idaho living, loving and thriving.

Jena and I at the digital marquee before the event.

 

Sarah and I photo-bombing Shelly and Cheryl. Sarah was photo-bombing me!

My pic on the HUGE screen in the banquet room.

Friends of 20 years Shelly and Cheryl (they're not 20; we met 20 years ago) and Sarah. Cheryl surprised me by having her company sponsor the table we got to sit at.

The award

Chandler helping me capture a pic of the award.  Evidence that it's truly a miracle I ever got anything done to even be considered for this award.

At coffee the next day, Jena found this reusable shopping bag styled after work by the artist Piet Mondrian. The design was on the doors of my childhood home and was the inspiration for my wedding ring. (I was dressing like a goof on purpose BTW.) Days like this make me want to shout "Mom! Mom! Guess what!" and wish that she could see it all. Best part of the whole two days was this little sign that perhaps she did see it all.