When I first walked into the “Women Who Work Wonders” career support group, I felt like an imposter. My resume was a tragic tale of dead-end temp jobs and a single, failed attempt at starting a sock subscription service. I mean, who wouldn’t want new socks every month? Turns out, everyone.
The meeting was held in the back room of a coffee shop, where the smell of burnt espresso mixed with optimism and slightly too much vanilla perfume. Around me sat women in power blazers, sleek ponytails, and the unmistakable aura of people who had their lives together—or at least faked it better than I did.
“Welcome, Millie!” said Janet, the group leader. She had one of those smiles so bright you half expected her teeth to sparkle like in a toothpaste commercial. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
I sat down, clutching my tote bag like a life raft.
“We’re sharing our biggest career wins of the week,” Janet continued. “Lindsay just negotiated a $10,000 raise!”
Everyone clapped. I clapped too, even though my biggest achievement that week was resisting the urge to eat an entire cheesecake in one sitting.
When it was my turn to speak, I panicked. “Uh, hi, I’m Millie. My win is… I found parking?”
Janet’s smile faltered. “Every win counts!” she said, a little too cheerfully.
The meeting ended with a group chant: “We’re bold, we’re brilliant, we’re unstoppable!” I mumbled along, hoping no one noticed that I still felt very stoppable.
But then something strange happened.
The next day, Janet emailed me a “Confidence Checklist.” It was full of tips like, “Practice power poses!” and “Start every morning by saying, ‘I am capable!’” Ridiculous, I thought, but also, what did I have to lose? So, I stood in my bathroom, hands on hips like Wonder Woman, and shouted, “I am capable!”
My cat stared at me like I’d lost my mind, but I swear I felt taller.
At the next meeting, Janet paired me with a mentor, Priya. She was everything I wasn’t: polished, organized, and completely terrifying. “We’re going to fix your LinkedIn,” she said, her tone making it clear I didn’t have a choice.
She wasn’t wrong. My LinkedIn was a disaster. My profile picture was a selfie I took in a Taco Bell parking lot, and my headline read, “Open to opportunities?” with a question mark, as if even I wasn’t sure.
Priya turned it into a masterpiece. Suddenly, I was “Millicent Hargrove, Project Management Specialist and Efficiency Enthusiast.” I didn’t even know what that meant, but it sounded impressive.
With her help, I started applying to jobs I never would’ve dared to before. At first, I got rejection emails so polite they felt like a personal attack. “We’ve decided to move forward with candidates who better align with the role,” one said. Priya made me save them in a folder called “Their Loss.”
A few weeks later, I got an interview. Then another. And another.
Fast forward three months, and I was standing in front of the group again.
“Hi, I’m Millie,” I said. “And I just got promoted to Senior Operations Coordinator!”
The room erupted in cheers. Janet handed me a cupcake with a tiny flag that read, “Boss Babe.”
“See?” she said. “I told you you’re unstoppable!”
Now, I’m a card-carrying member of the “Women Who Work Wonders.” I still don’t know what “Senior Operations Coordinator” means, but I have business cards, a desk with a little plant on it, and a newfound belief in the power of women supporting women—and ridiculous power poses.
Oh, and my cat? Still not impressed. But that’s fine. Some critics are impossible to please.