Up, Up, Up! A Call for Women to Cheer on Other Women

I spent the day at my daughter’s final powerlifting meet today. It was the state finals, and my girl placed 7th overall in the small school division in the 165 weight class and got 2 new PRs. I am obviously a proud momma tonight.

But spending this season watching girls from all over the state compete with one another while also cheering each other on has been pretty incredible.

If you’ve never had the chance to experience a powerlifting meet, it’s basically just one enormous hype session.

You’ll hear things like, “You’ve got that!” “Finish!” and my favorite, “Up! Up! Up!”

These girls stand side by side, competing for the same medal, and call each other up and encourage each other to achieve more.

There’s a foundational belief that good competition breeds better athletes, better business owners, better products, better services, better people….you get the idea.

We get called up by others around us who are doing the thing, chasing the dream, crushing the opportunity, stepping out in faith.

Since I decided to knock the dust off the old keyboard and commit to writing, I knew I had to tell a few very important stories, and this is one that feels like it’s begging to be let free, but I just didn’t know how to bring it up…

until today.

Today, I was reminded that girls cheering other girls on, women cheering other women on, is how we all become our very best selves. And those with authority and power over you (your coaches, bosses, mentors, parents), should be your biggest cheerleaders.

But what happens when they’re not?

What happens when someone with authority over you doesn’t want you to shine, doesn’t want you to grow, doesn’t want you to be who you really are?

Well, when that happened to me, I started to shrink.

Here’s the short story of the beginning of the shrinking.

Back in 2017, I found out I carried both BRCA 1 and 2 mutations. These are broken genes that essentially prevent my body from fighting off cancer cells, specifically in my breast and ovarian tissues (along with a few others). I wrestled with God over why first and then over what I should do about it. I ended up choosing to have a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy in December of 2018, and that decision radically changed who I am and how I see the world.

It began a process of healing and restoration in my soul that I didn’t even know I needed, and it planted an ache in my heart to start to write about the whole experience.

So I started talking about writing a book, and I talked about it some more, and I hemmed and hawed about it, and then finally, I started writing a book.

And then another woman told me all the reasons I couldn’t write a book.

It was someone I looked up to. Someone I thought was requesting a meeting to encourage me to tell my story. Instead, after nearly two hours of talking about this not-yet-written book, she looked across the screen at me and told me that as long as no consultant inside the company we were with ever bought it, then and only then, could I write it and publish it.

Brian and I were both on this zoom call with her and her husband, and I think our immediate response was something to the effect of “Really?”

Her husband pushed back a bit. Said it would probably be fine if people bought a memoir about my BRCA+ experience. But she very strongly believed that if any consultant bought my book for say $12 or $15 (whatever books were going for at the time), that was $12 or $15 less dollars they would spend on the product we were selling.

Seriously?

Yes, apparently, she was very serious.

I asked about my mom, my sister, and my sister-in-laws, all of whom were now consultants for the same company, and she said, “No, they couldn’t buy it either because they are a part of the company.”

Eventually, the call ended with the reassurance that they and we would talk more about it, and we’d all figure out a solution together.

If you’re assuming that there was never a solution figured out together, you would be very right. Oh and did I mention, we were 1099 contract labor? Yes. We were being paid as contract labor and were not W2 employees for this company.

And instead of leaving that call encouraged and feeling equipped to go do the very thing I felt called to, (which I believe would have ultimately also benefitted the company) I left feeling small, deflated, and defeated.
A powerful woman who I looked up to made me feel limited and small. 

It would be like those powerlifting girls telling each other, “You can’t bump 5 pounds. There’s no way.” Or when these girls are in the middle of a lift, the other girls yelling, “Down! down! down!” But that’s not what happens on the floor of a meet. Instead, they encourage each other to stretch, to try, to lift more, to be more, to become more, all while competing against each other for the same medal.

But it’s calling other women and girls up and out (even as we compete for medals or resources or promotions) that makes us all better. It’s believing that there’s more than enough to go around and that we all have a purpose that’s unique and tailor-made for each of us.

I don’t ever want to be the type of woman who tells another woman that she can’t do something she’s called to because it might potentially, maybe, what if it does?, take something from me.

I want to be the type of woman who hears a story of a calling and a vision in someone else and instead of saying, “no, won’t work; we can’t do that.” instead says, “Up! Up! Up!” “You can and should chase that dream!”

The talking point of “it’s better for everyone if everyone does what we say” (if everyone stays small and under their potential) is really just a lie masquerading as a rule that keeps everyone quiet.

So, to you, friend, whatever dream is bubbling up in your soul, whatever desire is aching to come to life, whatever book you want to write, or art you want to create, or song you want to write, or business you want to start, or journey of healing you want to go on, to you I say, “Up! Up! Up!”

Until tomorrow,
xxx-Allison

P.S. I’m changing my signature from an -xo to -xxx in honor of my Pa, Omar Calciolari. He was a 1st generation Italian American who greeted all with a truly Italian welcome of 3 kisses, one on each cheek and a final right on the lips. 💋 🇮🇹