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I had a husband who had been a vet and was now an investment banker — what a combo! A gorgeous, healthy, 14-month-old son. We were building a beautiful, big home on the leafy, lower north shore. I had all the material things I could want. I drove a brand-new BMW, for which I had paid cash with my latest bonus. I wore all the designer labels and sat at the front of the plane when I travelled. Finally, I had everything that I believed I needed to be happy, to thrive, to feel important and powerful.
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I vividly remember excusing myself from the group, walking past a huge, stunning fish tank and entering the powder room. I looked at myself in the mirror, but this time was different. It wasn’t a superficial glance to check if I looked attractive enough. I looked deep into my own eyes, and said out loud, “You’ve made it honey. You did what you set out to do. You showed them.”
But looking back at me were the saddest, loneliest eyes I had ever seen. In that moment, while I was not yet ready to admit it to myself, I saw the truth. I had dishonoured and abandoned myself in my need to feel liked, loved, important, successful, powerful and, ultimately, safe, particularly in a very male-dominated world. It had been a high price to pay.
That was the day it all began to unravel.
That year, my marriage ended, and my dad got sick and died of cancer. I found new ways to numb my grief — both the grief of the present and the past. I worked harder. I drank more. I used drugs for the first time. I spent a small fortune as a way of pretending I was thriving. I found the most dysfunctional relationship I could as an unconscious way of punishing myself and replaying my attachment pattern, which had been established in my childhood.
To the outside world, even to my family and close friends, it still looked like I was thriving. I was so high-functioning. I was the consummate swan, looking like I was gracefully gliding across the pond to the outside world. But underneath, I was flapping my feet a hundred miles an hour and barely staying afloat. Living on adrenalin and high-functioning anxiety.
“I was the consummate swan, looking like I was gliding across the pond to the outside world. But underneath, I was flapping my feet a hundred miles an hour.”
JO WAGSTAFF
And the “universe”, for want of a better word, knew that. As long as I stayed busy and used money and “success” to avoid myself, I was never going to stop and face what I needed to face. Myself. My truth. My needs and wants. My dreams.
A couple of years later, after being offered a lucrative voluntary redundancy and walking away from my corporate career thinking I was financially secure and needed a “bit of a break”, I spent a week at a health retreat. They had a labyrinth, and while I was not particularly spiritual at the time, I decided to do a bit of a ceremony for myself. Late at night, under a full moon, I walked the labyrinth, which slowly wound its way to the top of a small hill.
At the top, I got down on my knees and prayed. This was not something I had ever done much of, and I had no real sense of what to pray to, so I prayed to the moon. In that prayer, I surrendered. I turned my life and will over to a power greater than myself. I said, “I am all yours. I don’t know what I want or need. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I just know I am deeply unhappy, and I am tired. Oh, so tired. Please show me the way. I surrender.”
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In hindsight, I love that I prayed to the moon, as it is said to be a feminine symbol. Ultimately, that is what I had lost touch with: my feminine nature.
Within weeks of my surrender, the sharemarket crashed, and with it, the second tranche of the options I had received disappeared. They had been considered a “sure thing” and, given this, I had bought a home in Balmoral Beach, one of Sydney’s most expensive beachside suburbs, in advance of them vesting.
Outside of my son, the most important thing to me, the only way I truly felt safe in the world, was by having money. It gave me the illusion of control. Having a home was also super important as I craved the stability I had not had as a child.
In a moment, both my home and much of my money vanished. The rug was pulled out from under me. I was fully on my knees, with nowhere to go. And in hindsight, thank god!
I had spent much of my life searching. When I look back now, I am not even sure what I thought I was searching for. At different times: money, control, validation, success, excitement, freedom, power, safety, family, love. But most of the time, what I was really doing was running away from myself: from my feelings, my fears, my hurts, my reality, my deep sense of unworthiness. I was also often denying my true self, including my own values, dreams, purpose, femininity, strengths and talents.
Now it was time to come face-to-face with it all. I had worked so hard to earn my worth and self-esteem – and it hadn’t worked.
As a woman living in a patriarchal culture, and as a female leader working in a patriarchal culture and industry, there were so many ways I had abandoned myself and been silent. I had lost my way, which is so hard when you think you are meant to know your path and be perfect within it.
I spent the decade following my surrender coming home to myself. Reclaiming my strong feminine. Rediscovering the love and life I needed to truly thrive, rather than barely survive. Learning how to live, love, lead and succeed true to myself.
This is the story of me realising my intrinsic worth; of learning I am enough. You are enough. We are enough. Just as we are.
Edited extract from Lead Like You (Wiley) by Jo Wagstaff, out now.
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