I am
successful in the network marketing profession because I understand the power
of having your tribe – those people you can share everything and anything with
– I share more with my tribe of 5 women than I ever have with my family or
parents. I also understand the power of
your story and that time matters. The
time to have a plan “B” is not when you need a plan “B”. Your story is your power and it comes from
your gut.
We all have
that little girl in our life – the newborn baby girl, the 3-year-old niece, or
the 6-year-old granddaughter.
I have her
journal – let me tell you her story.
Oh –
remember stories matter and time is important.
This comes out of a two-week period where I found myself lost in the
Brett Kavanaugh hearing for supreme court in October of 2018.
Anyway, back
to her journal.
“It took me
years to understand why and what for.
Fifth grade walking down the hall to the restroom and six boys
approached me – one boy from my classroom, Donald and the rest of the boys were
much older. One boy touched me and
pushed up against a locker. Pushed me
hard and it hurt. He was very tall; my
head came to his waist. I didn’t
understand for years what the warm, hard pressure against my face was. They all laughed. It seemed like it lasted for hours, really it
was probably about 15 seconds. That boy
from my class, Donald, he would look at me – his eyes went right me, he laughed
and smirked. He would whisper in my ear,
I never heard what he was saying. Fifth
grade lasted forever that year. I never
told anyone – what could I say? I didn’t
understand what had happened. I knew it
wasn’t right and I knew I feared those boys, really, I feared all boys. I would
forget it for years and then it would take my mind captive, when the most
innocent thing would happen. It was
three years ago, that I knew I needed help, so I sought out a counselor,
someone I didn’t know, a woman. At the
age of 41 I could begin to talk about that damn 15 seconds of my life that
changed my life. Damn it I am so mad
that I allowed this to happen. As I sit
across from Jenny, my counselor I begin to share, begin to piece things
together, begin to do something, I am just not sure what. I cry and cry, more crying than ever before
in my life. I want to talk with Donald
and ask him who the other boys were, but why, what would that do. I have been going to my counselor, Jenny, for
three years, now a good friend, we get together with some other friends, we
never talk about that 15 seconds. These
women have become my best friends, I feel I can tell them, but I haven’t. I don’t know how to start or why to
share. None of the other women have ever
shared anything like this. So why would
I?”
“Excuse me,
excuse me”, A tall older gentleman in police uniform is looking over my shoulder
– “I am going to have to ask you to leave, this is a police scene.” I am numb from reading Ava’s journal. Ava is a beautiful woman, gorgeous hair,
though now matted in the blood that is surrounding her head. Ava took her life last night. She had called me, but I didn’t get the call
until this morning. I came over when I
heard her voice on my phone.
Stories matter,
and time is important. Listen to your
children, listen to your girls in your life, listen to your grandchildren and
don’t make judgements on something you have never experienced.
