Reclaiming the Dress

Once upon a time, I had a job I hated. . "The girl crying at work" in this work, I was known as (You know it;. Every office has one) I was hired on my knowledge category and do not have a mentor to help me to get up to speed. I waded. I have not succeeded. I was frustrated and confused.

But I tried like hell.

A few months after this work, after the company lost a large account, I was responsible for managing another. I did some preliminary work, and I went on research and building a relationship with the customer through telephone calls and emails. My boss set up a meeting to present a proposal to sell to them. It was a breakfast meeting, the first of my career.

The Friday before the meeting, the Chairman of the Board headed for my cabin. After some casual talk, he said: "You have a big day coming on Monday!"

I had not really considered the breakfast meeting a "great day." But now I did. He became the day when I sat at a large conference table with my boss and seduce these customers with excellent proposal I worked. It was the day that I would redeem myself.

This weekend I bought a new dress for my "big day." A shift dress Banana Republic in delicate gray, he contacted sophisticated professionalism. It cost me about half of my salary, but I consider it an investment in my career.

And if I do not contribute much to the meeting breakfast, I watched you good.

Yet lunchtime, I was unemployed. It turned out that customers were not really mine and transition to another account representative had been established the previous week. I attended the meeting was superficial. It was a way to connect clients that I had made ​​progress with the head of the company.

Then, my boss took me to a Thai restaurant for lunch and, between bites of noodles, I was fired.

You can bet that I cried all the way home.

I have not mourned the loss of employment. It was more personal than that. I felt like a failure. I felt rejected, as if the company I worked for had just broken up with me. Although I felt some relief to be free from work that had never suited me, I could not get over the loss deeper. Disconnection of what I thought I would be able to accomplish the learning curve, I think I could overcome, and the fact that, from the point of view of society, I was not a good investment .

It took me much longer than the period of my current job to get by. In fact, it smarts yet. It reminds me that I have limits.

I do not like this feeling.

The passage of gray chip hanging in my closet for two years, never worn. It was a reminder of dashed hopes. It symbolizes the disparity that I thought I could be and who I really was: a mother who is out of the labor market for 10 years, and yet full of verve that I could go back in the rock and pure and nervous control. It was a testament to my failure.

Hitherto April.

A morning of heavy rain in Saratoga Springs, I found two more years and employed again, working my dream job as a writer for a newspaper and award-winning magazine, a place where I feel respected, encouraged and valued. More importantly, I do not identify myself as the girl who cried at work.

Our team of writers was to attend Saratoga prices New York Press Association. The dress code was business casual.

I had just the thing.

Walking up to the stage to receive my prize in my gray shift dress Banana Republic, I felt both validated and confirmed. I felt like the person I am - a mother, yes, but a winning mom, thank you very much, finally found my character outwards.

The dress hangs in my closet, again wrapped in plastic dry cleaning, plus a testimony of my shortcomings or failures, but as a trophy for my try, risk and daring to find a job where I could flourish instead of flounder.

Photo by http://www.marksandspencer.com/
Recommend by http://www.happidress.co.uk/