I’d had it. After sitting through our quarterly staff meeting and listening to reports about the success of each and every team across the division I needed to move. I needed to exercise. I needed my space to process what wasn’t said. There were gaping holes that screamed insignificant, unimportant, undervalued, unappreciated.

My colleague and I on the engagement team had put some hours into pulling numbers outlining our success of the past year. We then explained those numbers to the woman who would be presenting. In addition to the numbers, I included a slide that explained the two awards our team had won – one was an email campaign, the other was a new initiative that my team had implemented a couple of years before.

The meeting kicked off with our Vice President saying something to the effect, “this is my favorite part of this whole meeting, it’s a time where we get to recognize you and all of your accomplishments. Let’s first start by introducing new staff.” They stand and get recognized, then he says, “and there is nothing better than recognizing those within who have worked hard and have been promoted. There are two promotions…”

Fifteen months ago my old boss and I started the process to promote me. It involved rewriting job descriptions, hiring two people to take over the work that I’d been doing so I could focus on developing in a new area in our department. We’ve had four quarterly meetings since then when I expected to see my name up on the board. Before the last meeting in March, I was told that only those who had been promoted were those who were filling a vacant role. No new positions were being created. Most likely no new positions until at least July (that’s the month we’re in now). And low and behold of the two promotions, one was a brand new position. The woman who filled that role is one of the hardest workers I know. She is absolutely deserving of the recognition. No doubt. But seeing the introduction of a new role to accommodate her growth left me feeling unrecognized, unnoticed, and unimportant.

Which is why I was fed up. Done. Disengaged. Disinterested. Hurt.

So at lunch, instead of doing the team building exercise I left to hit the pool and aqua jog.

The morning before the meeting, In the off chance that I found the meeting to be completely uninspiring, I had pulled together a reading list to pass the time (not that a two day meeting of reports on numbers could be uninspiring…). One of the books that flashed up on my Kindle App was a book I’d read a couple of months ago, Love Yourself Like your Life Depends On It, Kamal Ravikant.

As I walked/ ran from the meeting toward my bike to get to the pool, the cover of Kamal Ravikant ‘s  Love Yourself Like your Life Depends On It flashed in my mind. “Oh yeah!” I thought, “I haven’t said that mantra for a while!” And so I started.

The book is about the writer, Kamal Ravikant, and how he was ready to end it all, as I envisioned it, he’d been in his dark room, under dark sheets and a darker comforter, with the blinds closed- the only ounce of light was what the sun was able to push through the cracks between the blackout shade and window sill. One day, one of those rays of light got him and he started to say, “I love you” to himself again and again and again. It completely pulled him out of his depression and transformed his life.

So, I hopped on my bike and recited for a mile to the gym,

I love me
I love me
I love me
I love me
I love me
I love me
I love me
I love me
I love me

I parked my bike, silenced the mantra, and went inside and made my way to the pool.

I slid into the aqua jogging lane and started to go. (This is aqua jogging in case you ever have the burning desire to feel like a duck by moving your arms and legs quickly and not going anywhere).

As I passed the swimmer in the aqua jogging lane, she said, “I have a lesson here in five minutes” and continued along without making any motion to share the lane. I had to jump out of the pool and sit on the side until she went by.

So, I continued to run another two minutes until I got to the other end where I jumped out, climbed over the rope and slide back in the neighboring lane. I slide in and out of the water to ensure that I don’t get splashed- I’m very conscious of not getting my face wet so that my mascara doesn’t wind up on my cheeks for the remainder of the day.

I started off down the lesson side of the lane when the bearded man who is typically swimming in the aqua jogging lane stopped to say, “I’ll share this lane with you, but you need to go to that side. I put my water bottle on this side because it’s the side I want.”

“Ah, ok,” I said and paddled to the other side. No sooner did I get there, then the swimmer in the lane next to me went by splashing like a fish trying to get back in the water.

Then, I had a tantrum.

“Fuck no!” I said, while I raised my arms up and slammed them down. Once the tidal wave washed over my head and the water in my eyelashes cleared. I realized that I had a choice. I could either continue on the splash side of the lane or I could tell beard man that I preferred his side.

When we met at the wall I said, “I do this because I don’t like my face getting wet. I’ll get splashed if I’m on that side of the lane. If it weren’t for a swimming lesson, I’d be in that late. But I’m here. I want this side.” I continued to look at him after I spoke. It got a bit uncomfortable.

As I looked at him, I imagined that he’s a tenured professor. That he’s been around for a long time and is rigid in his ways and views. I imagined that no woman had ever stood up to him or asked him to do something he didn’t want to to do.

“Fine,” he said. And went to the splash side.

Off I went, down and back at three minutes a lap, listening to Josh and Chuck talk about snot, eye mites, and other bodily things on Stuff You Should Know.

I felt good. I finally stood up for myself. It felt that everything up until that point was trying to push me down, to tell me that I’m insignificant, that I don’t matter and the space I fill doesn’t matter. I was over it. It was too much. I realized that I had a choice with beard man. I could continue down the side of the lane that I didn’t want, get splashed, and cry from defeat, or I could stand up for myself and be heard. I chose the second.

A few months ago, I listened to an interview between Oprah and Michael Singer “Free Yourself from Negative Thoughts” In the podcast Oprah has him how he was able to stay centered, grounded and clear during a very difficult time and he replied with something to the effect of, “God won’t give me anything I can’t handle. A challenging time is a chance to find the good, to find the grace in the situation.” I knew that if I stood up for myself then, I’d feel stronger and show myself that I can do it. I realized that no one else can help me, it was up to me to share how I felt and what I needed.

I’m currently reading Not Nice: Stop People-Pleasing, Staying Silent, and Feeling Guilty… And Start Speaking Up, Saying No, Asking Boldly, and Unapologetically Being Yourself by Dr. Aziz Gazipura. That’s what I did. I was not nice. I was unapologetic. I stood up for myself and was true to what I needed. I don’t feel guilty for making beard man move. Not at all. According to the unspoken pool etiquette he had every right to decide what lane he wanted, he was there first, he had clearly marked his preference with his water bottle, and he swimming in a swim lane. But, I don’t care. None of that flashed before my eyes during my tantrum. All I knew was that I was tired of not being listened to, not being acknowledged, and because I love myself, I spoke up.

When I returned to the second have of the meeting I walked taller, I felt empowered, I no longer cared that I hadn’t been recognized (well, ok, maybe I did, but it didn’t hurt as badly) because I had acted in the way that I needed. I had recognized myself and that is far more important and runs much deeper than relying on someone else to recognize me. I gave myself power and that is far stronger than relying on power to be given by someone else.