The Greatest Compliment.

Yesterday, a friend of mine posed the question on Facebook, “What’s the most meaningful compliment you’ve ever received?”

The question gave me pause and in moments like this, it sends my mind into a wormhole where often the product is a post. And here we are.

My response to the question was, “When my father told me he didn’t have to worry about me.”

For whatever reason the topic of feminism and what it is, becomes top of mind for me when training for a fitness competition. Last year, I remember posting a photo of the suit I wear during the show. Not a lot left to the imagination, that’s for sure. 

On one hand, one could look at these competitions as objectifying the human body. On the other hand, you could look at them as celebrating what a beautiful masterpiece the human body can be and someone owning theirs. I look at the human body as an absolute miracle machine. Male or female.

I am not someone who considers myself a “feminist” in the traditional sense. I’m not out protesting and standing up for women’s rights outside of living the way I live. I wasn’t brought up to ever think I was less than or more than because I’m a woman. I was brought up in a household where “gender norms” weren’t really a thing. I grew up in a family where both men and women were respected for being people. My grandmothers, my aunts, my mother – were and are all incredibly strong women. But the men, too, were and are all incredibly strong men who didn’t and don’t lack the confidence to understand that women hold an equal place of importance. It was just never a thing in my world. 

At a young age, I recall an instance where a boy in my preschool class kept kissing me. I would come home upset. My older brother informed my parents of what happened. 

My father told me, “if the boy does it again, hit him.” 

Now, I have no doubt this scenario is frowned upon now, but it laid the groundwork for my mindset throughout my life to this day. My father was insistent for us to never start a fight. But you sure as hell can finish it.

A few days later, I came home from school with my brother and I was quiet. My dad asked what happened and my brother explained, “well, the boy kissed her again…”

“What did she do?” He asked. 

“Well… she hit him.”

I don’t think the teachers appreciated my father’s approach, understandably. We were not a violent family. However, my father always instilled in both me and my brother to stand up for ourselves. Rather than resort to violence, somehow I learned to use my words instead. In my world and life, my words appeared to be a lot more powerful, considering I’m a relatively petite woman at a stature 5’2″.

Growing up, my mother smothered us with pride, compliments galore. Told us constantly how loved we were. How special we were and on and on and on. She still does. I’m almost 41.

My father, on the other hand, is hard pressed to get a compliment out of. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t struggle with this growing up and even to this day, it still triggers me at moments. Getting his approval was always and has always been important to me.

I’m more grateful for it now than I’ve ever been. My dad’s funny in the sense, where when shit hits the fan, he’s my go to. I call him (not my mother who while she beams with pride in the good times, she is not the best when it comes to crisis situations – everyone has their strengths and weaknesses).

My dad has a gift at picking me up when I’m at my lowest of the lows. The irony here is not lost on me. It’s as though he needed me and my brother to stay at this even keel level. If we’re down, he’ll pick us up. If our heads start to get inflated, he’ll be the first to knock us down a peg immediately, saying, “there’s always someone better than you.” 

He’s tough. While growing up, I resented it. Now, I realize it plays into how I handle myself and situations more than I ever realized. 

Because my father is so tough, I believe this is the reason why throughout my professional career, I had zero issue going toe to toe with men. My first job out of college at the age of 22, both the owners of the company, my bosses, were men in their 50s at the time. I recall one day, being in their office and discussing putting together a presentation. One of them got up and started taking different presentations off his bookshelf and throwing them at my feet to use for examples. 

I waited to see if he was going to pick them up and hand them to me. When I realized, he had no plans to, I paused and looked at him and simply said, 

“Are you planning on picking those up and handing them to me?”

Instantly, he was embarrassed and apologized profusely, picked them up and handed them to me. I continued to become incredibly close with them during my time there and I often wonder if it’s because I just always said what was on my mind.

A few years later, I worked at a boutique investment bank. Similarly, all the directors were men. I remember one particular instance, where one of the partners was being incredibly patronizing during a one on one planning meeting for a presentation. It occurred to me, he had no idea he was doing it. I took a breath and simply said calmly, “please do not speak to me that way. I’m not your wife or your child. I’m your employee.”

Once again, embarrassed, the partner apologized profusely. 

None of these men are bad people. In fact, I respect all of these men greatly.  My former boss who threw the presentations at my feet, I still speak to regularly and has always been one of my champions. The partners at the investment bank, when I left to pursue real estate as a career, they paid my salary and benefits for three months to help me get my foot in the door. I have never not been grateful for them. Sometimes I wonder, had I not stood up for myself in those moments, would those opportunities not have presented themselves.

So again, when thinking back about the most meaningful compliment I’ve ever received, it is certainly my father telling me,

“I never have to worry about you.”