#wherearethewomen? On the football pitch.

In my youth, my primary sport of choice was soccer – er, football. I grew up playing on a coed rec league, where I primarily made up the female portion of the coed equation. My coach, Paul Ormiston – who, sadly, recently passed away – lived in my neighborhood and would always pick me and take me to practice. As I hoisted myself into Coach’s truck, I was happily greeted by his two sons, Jack and Jeff, who also played on our team. Admittedly, I don’t remember all that much about this season of my life – my memory tends to be fragmented into glossy photographs rather than sepia tone videos. But I do remember the way all our hands looked when we plunged into a vat of cold, sliced oranges during a gameday halftime, or the shape of the sound when Coach called me “Linds” – a nickname reserved for only a few.

This was also where I learned I loved playing right mid-field, and although I cannot really speak to how good I was, Coach always let me start. I imagine the extent to which my skills were considered limited, or I was a detriment to the team, was primarily a result of my being female. In the most factual of terms, I simply wasn’t as tall, muscular, or developed as the boys I played against. But I don’t have any recollection of anyone – ever – indicating as much. Everyone still cheered me on, passed me the ball, and treated me as a teammate. This is all to say that I mostly don’t remember what happened but rather how people made me feel: part of a winning team.

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I eventually found an all-girls team during middle school, and we continued to play together throughout the rest of my soccer career. It was often the case we would find ourselves “playing up,” meaning playing against teams that were older than us. My then-coach Palmer McGuiness – who, I feel compelled to say, was equally as passionate if not more so than Paul – would be famously vocal while coaching our team. Coaches today are encouraged to stay quiet on the sidelines, but this was a different time – passion was often vocalized loudly. Playing up was “good for us” in that it made us a better team. But it came with the great consequence of anxiety and nervousness, and we would often take that onto the field with us. It was very rare that we started out strong – we would make simple mistakes at the beginning of the game. The narrative from our coach would start early and repeat often, “Settle! Play your game…” – emphasis on the “your.”

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As many people reading this will already know, there is an art to playing a sport; a way in which you make it uniquely your own. The art is amplified when you are playing a team sport – you take all your singular uniqueness and begin to paint it onto a bigger canvas. Outcomes are always different, styles always original. Playing your own game is akin to finding your own magic. And perhaps not coincidentally, that was our team’s name – the Magic. I always found it a little corny, but as I write, I feel wildly nostalgic. In retrospect, our team’s name feels brilliant and inclusive.

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I recognize that these idyllic, formative experiences are largely unique and as such, I am fortunate if not altogether lucky. They helped to lay the foundation of confidence which I have enjoyed my entire life. When woven together with other confidence-building quilt patches – most notably my parents, who truly believed I could live anywhere, do anything, and become anyone – I become hyper aware of my privilege. But my story is still one of overcoming; I am human, after all. No one is immune from obstacles, pain, challenges, or setbacks, most especially women.

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When I consider the challenges I have faced as a woman in my professional career, they primarily stem from the conflict I often still struggle to resolve within myself: who am I and what do I want? For so long I relied on a narrative that others had written for me. My goal was to be successful, but it was hard to define what success looked like. And later, it was hard to give myself permission to redefine what success looked like. I also have a very strong nurturing trait; I tend to give to others at the expense of myself. I developed a terrible habit of taking on everything, for everyone, all at once. In the context of a professional career, this often results in burnout, which then results in a negative self-talk and self-shaming for not being able to “push through."

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While my hunch is that these types of professional challenges resonate with a lot of women, I also recognize that it won’t resonate with all women; everyone faces their own, individual challenges. But regardless of personal circumstance, I think there is still much for everyone to glean from my early soccer days.

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• Focus on what matters most: how people make you feel. Seek career opportunities which feel inclusive and supportive. Surround yourself with people who cheer you on, want you on your team, and enable you to play to your strengths.
• Be open to change: life is a series of seasons. Sense for yourself when it’s time to move from one team to another, so that you can continue your path of becoming your best self. This requires “being bold," a concept we refer to often at 英国标准协会 .
• Be vocal about your passions: tell others often what you want out of your career. Actively seek coaches, mentors, and sponsors who can help you achieve peak performance, and vocally advocate for you.
• Play-up: winning is fun, but only when you must work for it. Seek experiences which enable the work of exposure, education, and experimenting. Be prepared to lose, but don’t let it prevent you from playing in the next game.
• Play your own game: nervousness is evidence that you care. Remember there is magic in who you are, and no one can play the game quite like you do. When you do this, you will feel empowered to shape your own squiggly career - another career empowerment concept we refer to frequently at 英国标准协会 .?

Admittedly, I fear my advice is a bit trite – it’s likely that you have heard all of this in some form or another. But I quelch my fear in reminding myself there is beauty in consistency. The key to career progression is not some new-fangled, ill-studied approach. In fact, there is no key at all – the irony is that the proverbial door is unlocked. Maybe the door is on a different floor though, perhaps it needs to be painted a different color, or maybe it’s stuck – whatever it is, find it, paint it, and give it a little shove.