These are the men of my past. The men under whom I worked and trained. The men for whom I worked, and dressed. The men for whom I became the person that I thought I had to be in order to be at the table. In order to be relevant. In order to keep my job. In order to pay my bills.
And I was their girl. The one who smiled. Who dressed for the part. Who meticulously chose every aspect of my presentation daily, from the colour on the soles of my shoes, to the height of my heels, to the coordination of my purse and pearls. My outfit would be carefully constructed to define my entrance as I would push through the glass doors, and walk into the elevator and press smile ready to face the day as a corporate back up dancer. I was their girl. And now it’s clear to me that I am not that girl anymore. Thank God.