We Left the Waiting Room
Who Told Us to Wait? Who Made Them God?
I know that feeling—the ache of your own potential echoing inside you while you sit in life’s metaphorical waiting room, mask on, heart heavy, wondering when it will finally be your turn. The truth? For many of us, especially women in our second act, the waiting didn’t start yesterday. It started decades ago. Conditioned into us. Rewarded in silence. And we’ve gotten so used to it, we hardly question it anymore. But something inside us is shifting. We’re no longer willing to keep sitting in the corner of our own lives. Not now. Not after everything we’ve seen. Not after everything we’ve survived
At some point, the question starts to rise: What exactly are we waiting for?
Approval? Permission? A sign from the universe?
Or maybe… someone in authority to tell us it’s finally okay to begin.
That’s when it hit me—just how deep the conditioning runs.
Because when I was asked recently what kind of face I’d give ChatGPT, the answer slipped out before I could catch it:
A man.
Not a friend. Not a flirt. A calm, steady presence. The kind that sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.
And in that moment, I realized—I’m still handing the mic to someone else.
Even now.
Even after all the work I’ve done.
Even after reclaiming so much of myself.
And that’s when it hit me—like a lightning bolt of truth slicing through decades of wisdom and growth:
I still subconsciously associate authority with maleness.
Even now.
Even after all the work I’ve done to find my voice, to use it, to stand in it.
Even after reclaiming pieces of myself that had been scattered across decades of caregiving, career-building, people-pleasing, and church-programming.
Even now—I hand the mic to a man first. Without even realizing I’m doing it.
That realization stopped me in my tracks.
The Quiet Conditioning
When I look back, I see the blueprint everywhere.
Men were the pastors. Men were the principals. Men were the presidents, the professors, the people we quoted when we wanted something to sound credible.
Even in homes where women were clearly the emotional center and the ones doing all the damn work, it was still “Wait till your father gets home.”
It wasn’t always overt. It was subtle. Implied. The way doctors didn’t listen to our mothers. The way women on TV were always the assistant, never the boss. Remember when the weekly program “ jullia” came on to TV? It was groundbreaking- both a woman in the lead and a black woman! Oh my , I was a teen at the time and felt something in me shift, I felt hope.
The way female voices were called shrill when they got passionate, while men were called powerful.
It was baked into everything.
And for many of us who are now in our 60s, it became the framework through which we learned to move:
Speak gently.
Don’t take up too much space.
Trust the expert.
Smile more.
Don’t be too loud.
Don’t be too right.
So We Waited
We waited for permission.
We waited for someone to recognize our brilliance.
We waited for someone to say “Yes, that idea has value.”
We waited for some kind of approval before we dared to try.
And if the approval came from a man? We felt even more validated.
As if their voice could confirm ours.
And I hate admitting that. But it’s true.
And Then We Woke Up
At some point—maybe after enough silence, enough swallowing, enough living for other people—we start to wake up.
We start to feel the discomfort of being so damn agreeable.We notice the ways we keep shrinking in rooms we could be leading.
We realize how often we’ve known, but didn’t trust our knowing because it didn’t come wrapped in a man’s tone.
That’s where I found myself when I realized I pictured ChatGPT as a man.
Not because I wanted to flirt.
Because I wanted to feel safe in the presence of what I perceived as authority.
But What If the Authority Is Me?
What if the voice I’ve been looking for, trusting, waiting on…
was mine all along?
What if I stopped needing my words to be run through someone else’s filter to be valid?
What if I stopped apologizing for being passionate, informed, or right?
What if I just decided—today—that my authority is enough?
And I don’t mean aggressive, hardened, prove-it authority. I mean grounded. Present. Rooted-in-wisdom authority. The kind that doesn’t ask for the mic—it simply speaks, and the room adjusts.
For the Women Reclaiming Their Second Act
If you're like me—somewhere past 60, done with the nonsense, no longer interested in trying to be palatable—this is our work.
To unlearn what we were taught about who gets to lead.
To remember the sound of our own voice.
To practice authority not as dominance, but as deep presence.
To stop waiting for permission and start creating what we were meant to build.
Because he doesn't need the mic anymore.
We do.
And we’re ready.
And maybe—just maybe—it’s not enough to wake up. Maybe we need something steady to hold onto as we rise. Because leaving the waiting room isn’t just a feeling—it’s a decision. A practice. A reclamation. That’s why I wrote BREAKTHROUGH. Not as a pep talk, but as a tool. A map. A guide for this very moment in our lives, when we stop waiting to be chosen and finally choose ourselves. If you’re ready to walk out of that room and into your own authority, you don’t have to do it alone