Anxiety is an asset that lingers in my personal branding kit. As a 45-year-old twice-divorced diabetic who doesn’t own a home and can’t have children, my inner voice is constantly suggesting I am not enough. Maybe it was my competitive upbringing where the family motto of “play to win, don’t have fun” was only partially a joke.
Luckily, I found psychological resilience in an unexpected place: the poker table. Amid shuffling cards and faint whiffs of cigarette smoke, I learned to be in conversation with my inner voice, rather than fighting it.
Like much of my corporate career in fratty boardrooms marketing alcohol and cannabis, the game is heavily male-dominated, with less than 10% of global players identifying as female. Although in casinos I’m surrounded by women — masseurs, dealers and cocktail waitresses — they are catering to men rather than ante’ing up against them.
When I first began playing poker four years ago, it only heightened my nerves. My inner narrator, always abundant with self-doubt, suddenly gained even more fodder. The usual, What if I marry the wrong man again? suddenly competed with, Should I raise or call? Did that card help him or me? Is it better to fold? Am I allowed to take up space in this room?
