I sat in my corner office on the top floor of one of the most beautiful office buildings in Sydney, staring out over the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House. My assistant handed me a stunning black lace Collette Dinnigan cocktail dress and strappy Jimmy Choo shoes to get changed into.
It was a heady experience being surrounded by so much masculine intellectual horsepower. I had always been both attracted to and intimidated by intellect — especially intellectual men. And with that, I often underestimated and undervalued my own skills, talents and intellectual capacity. The men I was working with were, unquestionably, some of the brightest around.
And yet here I was, in the financial services industry, which was arguably one of the most male-dominated and intellectually challenging at the time. I had made my way to the top echelon by the age of thirty-two.Advertisement I was the consummate swan, looking like I was gliding across the pond to the outside world. But underneath, I was flapping my feet a hundred miles an hour.
Within weeks of my surrender, the sharemarket crashed, and with it, the second tranche of the options I had received disappeared. They had been considered a “sure thing” and, given this, I had bought a home in Balmoral Beach, one of Sydney’s most expensive beachside suburbs, in advance of them vesting.
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