Christie Mitchell: Spilled Milk and Crying In Business, From A Woman’s Point of View

We’ve all heard the saying, “It’s better to win the war, not the battle”.  But what defines a battle, and what defines a war?  When are you seen as wise, and when are you seen as a chicken?  Better yet, as a female – which of your actions revere you respected, and regretfully, what of your behavior leaves the all too familiarized impression of being “hormonal”?

When I am mad, REALLY mad, I cry.  I cry because I spend 50 percent of my day internalizing the raw emotion felt by others.  That “responsibility” as I’d like to call it, leads me to subsequently ration it into specific places as to find a way to improve the entirety of the situation.  I do not spend enough time thinking of myself…not even a small piece from the left over pie.  Instead, I work diligently, compartmentalizing and structuring a plan that will result in enjoyable, elated coworkers leading to extremely profound results.  So, when 50 percent of my time – time dedicated to a quiet, diligent effort to sustain a respectable, productive existence for those around me crumbles, well, I cry.

Crying is most always seen, regardless of sex, as weak (unless you are Jennifer Lawrence who literally burbs rainbows, Mathew McConaughey or in recent years, Justin Bieber).  Crying is never depicted as a strong attribute.  You can be winning battles and wars, slaying dragons, closing deals, negotiating people right out of their skin…but the only carnage you create that truly gets noticed is if you cry.

Yet, and I have no source to site or reference to footnote, I truly believe it is the strongest form of passion and compassion for one’s job that can truly be witnessed.  Hand me a reason to care about my job, my co-workers, my bosses, the betterment of all and the betterment of those we serve – and guess what?  From time to time, you will see me cry.

Give me a situation where I don’t care?  Well, chances are, if I haven’t cried at least once – and publicly – I won’t be there long.  If I find my tear ducts dry for too long, that is my signal: CODE BLUE! We have a problem. ABORT MISSION.  This isn’t worth crying over.

Why?  Because there really is no use crying over spilled milk.  And as a woman, I think I should know what’s worth a tear or two.  If this makes me weak in the eyes of the many?  Eh, so be it.  I’m going to remain steadfast on this principal and work hard to command attention and gain respect one battle dissolved, one war won, one tear shed at a time.