A Promise Is A Promise

"I won't talk about that, especially at a conference. No one wants to hear about that anyway!!"

"Yes, they do, Elizabeth.", my Marketing Manager warned me.

He has that look on his face. You know the one. It's the look that says I'm right and you know it you arrogant little twit.

I really hate when he's right, but I continue to argue, bitterly.

New tactic. This may get him silenced.

Maybe if I yell he will back off.

Those of you that know me personally know how much energy it takes to get me to get that angry. I allow myself to indulge in anger about three times a year. Kinda like a good house cleaning, where you get scrubbing in all the cracks and spaces in between, a good bout of anger can blow out some pent up frustration.

"You are not listening to me.", I start as my voice starts to rise. "No one wants to hear that crap. It happened. It's over. No one cares. Move on. I refuse to be someone that others feel sorry for! I'm not some whiny victim."

He lets me scream it out for a while. A good Marketing Manager does that. He figures he's got a thoroughbred horse here and this is a a part of the journey. Thoroughbreds are known for wining the race and then kicking their owner in the stables when they try to give the horse water and brush them down. Independence will kill a good horse because the horse doesn't know any better.

"Elizabeth", he nearly whispers, "You do this work because you are one of the best. You are one of the best in the country. In fact, think about this week. Where did that guy call from?"

"Chicago."

"That's right. And what did you do?"

"I helped him.", I answered slowly. I know where he's going with this and it's starting to piss me off.

"And what was his story? Other than the job loss?", he asks me with fake sincerity. This line of questioning is more about getting me to see the light.

"He got divorced after 25 years and recently lost his house. He had no money. His kids wouldn't talk to him. He needs the job to get back on track again. He was afraid to call me, but he did."

"That's right. He is one of thousands you worked with. Employed or unemployed, you work with all of them and help them through the tough spots in their life. Don't you understand? Sharing this life story of yours is important. It explains why. No one will judge you or think differently of you. In fact, they will deem you as quite remarkable, which you are."

"Shut up!" Now I am yelling. My Marketing Manager is doing his job. He's pushing me, but I won't go.

"Don't hide the broken parts. Let them see it. This isn't some cheap marketing ploy."

I am fuming. I mean REALLY fuming. He's opening the Pandora's box.

Unacceptable.

I am about to tune him up and start using the F word when he nearly threatens me.

"Elizabeth, let me put it to you this way.", his voice narrows as he leans into me, "If I catch you on stage even once in 2011 and you don't figure out a way to tell your story, you will really be in deep shit with me. Next year we have to start taping you when you speak. It's time to go to the next step with all this. The second book will be out and frankly, you have built such a following. You are in it too deep to turn back. Now, if you don't want to write about it, fine. But you better start disclosing that piece. On stage. In front of the audience. Am I clear?"

He continued, although I wished I had a sock to stuff in his mouth, "You work with those in transition. You are the best for a reason. Speak the reason."

I quieted down enough to take this in, but it wasn't for the last thing he said before he left the room that struck me the most profoundly.

"Elizabeth, you owe it to them."

And off he went.

A promise is a promise. Starting in 2011 I will come out from behind the curtain and tell why I do this work.

I would rather have a root canal with no Novocaine that do this, but I'll do it.

For you.

Perhaps it will give you some strength. Perhaps not.