That time I refused to listen

Lately, I've been wondering about time.

We all know it's a finite resource. When it's gone, it's gone forever.

Yet, as women, we spend so much of this precious tool contemplating how we look. Or how we think we should look. Or how we wish we looked on that specific occasion.

Is it all just in our heads?

I don't think so.

As much as we want to convince ourselves that other people's opinions don't touch us, their voices echo in our heads.

And since we've been listing to these voices since we were little girls, now that we're grown, intelligent, competent women, we can't pretend we don't hear them.

Mainly because someone still speaks them loudly.

Sometimes the idea that, at one point, it'll be enough for us to be good at something seems utopic.

If you're good-looking, it's hard to believe you're competent in your field, even more so if your area is technical (and the IT Industry is the perfect place to observe this dynamic).

Someone will still judge your wardrobe choices even if you're the best at your job.

Too much makeup, and you're not credible.

Too little, and you don't care enough.

And while all these voices crowd our minds, we take our eyes off the ball. We show up a little less, speak less loudly, and raise our hands less often.

We stop sharing with the world our ideas and insights.

We anticipate people's judgment to the extent that we silence ourselves.

Some men wonder what they can do to champion and support us in our inclusivity journey.

Yet, they still share carelessly unsolicited opinions about other women.

How can I trust you as my ally if you dissect the look of a sister right in my face? If you objectify her? If you question her skills just because she is gorgeous?

I, too, am guilty of putting my appearance under a magnifying mirror: a wrinkle, an undereye shadow, a failed blowout the day of an event.

I fight the urge to correct pictures or beg someone to take one down.

Sometimes I win; sometimes, "the voices" win.

It's a constant battle between believing in myself enough and thinking I don't look good enough for the part.

A wise woman recently told me, "Men don't waste their time thinking about how they look; they just share what they think."

It's that simple.

Today I pat myself on the back because I won. I saw myself somewhere online, and I wouldn't say I liked it one bit. But it's still there. I'm still there, "just sharing what I think."