To Ambitious Young Women,
My life has worked in mysterious ways. It’s zigzagged all over the place. I was supposed to be a violinist and then I wasn’t. I was supposed to go to law school, and I didn’t. Then, to my own shock, I became Miss America, which led me to television. But for goodness sake, there was nowhere in my mind that I ever thought that I would jump off of a cliff and become one of the poster women for sexual harassment in the workplace.
Through all the twists and turns, the one constant in my life has been that fire in my belly. You know what I am talking about – that feeling deep down, that drives you to do the right thing, compete and make the most of your life.
I never lost that ambition, that determination and I don’t want you to lose it either because I promise you, no matter what you do, life will test you.
As early as five years old, I had to advocate for myself. When I started kindergarten, the teacher divided the children up into two groups: kids who could read and kids who could not read. My teacher wrongly placed me in the group with kids who couldn’t read. I can still feel myself running home from school, slamming the back door and screaming for my mom.
“Mom! They say I don’t know how to read and I do,” I cried.
She called the school and the next day, I was in the right group.
If I hadn’t spoken up, it could have changed my entire educational trajectory, my self-confidence, my self-worth and my ability to stand up for right versus wrong.
Little did I know that there would be much tougher battles ahead. Luckily, along my journey, different lessons and experiences prepared me for my career.
I never lost that ambition, that determination and I don’t want you to lose it either because I promise you, no matter what you do, life will test you.
When I was six years old, I started playing the violin. It automatically clicked and became my life. I dedicated most of my childhood to practicing four to five hours a day, learning immense discipline. Seeing myself grow and get better allowed me to build my self-esteem from the inside out. Also, developing and owning a talent was something no one could take away from me.
Through the violin, I learned how to value myself for who I was, not what I looked like.
In 10th grade, I auditioned for the school play, Oklahoma, as well as for this singing and dancing group called The Whirlwinds. Also, I ran for class president. In one day, I lost all of them. I remember going to my grandfather, completely upset.
He said, “Do you know how many elections Abraham Lincoln lost before he became president?”
I said, “No.”
He responded, “A lot.”
He said, “Do you know how many times it took Thomas Edison to invent the light bulb?”
And I said, “No.”
He said, “More than 2,000 tries.”
I realized that most people who find success in their lives have done so because they failed.
I know now when and if I fail, I might have to take two steps backward to get back into the game, but eventually, I’m going to move one step forward.
Ultimately, my ambition led me to Stanford and Oxford before becoming Miss America.
When I started my career, I began to realize how many women enter the working world with fire in their bellies but leave burned by their bosses. During my reign as Miss America, I met with television executives, trying to get a leg up in the business. Before my year was over, two executives sexually assaulted me.
My first TV job was in Richmond, Virginia.
Ironically, one of the first stories I covered was the Anita Hill hearings about harassment and Justice Clarence Thomas.
I remember watching and thinking, “I don’t know why these men don’t believe her.”
Right after I covered the story, I was promptly sexually harassed on the job. If that wasn’t enough, I was earning $18,000 and soon realized the male reporters were making more than me.
Much of my young age of 22 to 23 was filled with coming to realize that there was massive gender discrimination and abuse toward women. But as women, we’re taught to put our nose to the grindstone, work harder, don’t tell anyone and stuff the hurt somewhere deep in your soul.
At the time, I focused on becoming the best reporter at the shop and ascending through the television ranks. Years later, I was offered the opportunity to be a host of a morning show at Fox, and I jumped at it. A national morning show gave me the opportunity to showcase my smarts, my journalistic credentials and my personality.
When I realized after a decade at Fox, it was all coming to an end, and it wasn’t my choice, I was devastated. I had killed myself for 25 years in a career.
That’s what when I used my confidence, my ability to bounce back from failure and my work ethic to take a leap of faith and speak up for myself and everyone else. If I didn’t do it, who would? That’s when I sued Roger Ailes, who at the time was the CEO and chairman of Fox News and one of the most powerful men in television.
Now, I am advocating for my kids and all of you, so you can work in safe and fair environments.
The two major ways sexual harassment has thrived in the workplace is through forced arbitration clauses in employment contracts, which means you can’t go to open court, allowing companies to cover up their dirty laundry and secondly, through nondisclosure agreements. For the last three years, I have been walking the halls of Congress trying to pass legislation to eradicate forced arbitration clauses in contracts with regard to gender discrimination and sexual harassment.
Also, I recently started a nonprofit called Lift Our Voices. We are galvanizing an army of women and men across the world, trying to get rid of nondisclosure agreements for sexual harassment and gender discrimination.
But while I fight for you, I need you to make sure whatever path your life follows, straight or zigzagged, your fire not only continues to burn but turns into a collective blaze.
Whether you are five and in kindergarten or you are forty and on television, use your voice. Women are socialized to be quiet and nice. Stop being so nice.
Men have no problem asking for a raise when they only deserve it 10 percent of the time. Women don’t ask for a raise or a promotion until they’re 90 percent sure that they’re ready for it. I want you to go for it.
Stand up and say, “I’m worth it and I’m going to ask for what I want.”
Take risks. I’m not saying to be irresponsible, I’m saying to go outside of your boundaries and color outside the lines every once in a while because it’s going to help you gain more self-confidence.
Lastly, and most importantly, band together. Include young boys and men in this effort to fix problems for women in the workplace. Men are still running 95 percent of Fortune 500 companies and in charge of most of the hiring and pay equity or lack thereof. We need them to help us.
My hope is that the fire that still burns in my belly will burn down the old ways in the workforce, so that the fires in your bellies, whatever it is you decide to do, can be the flames that light up the world with your brilliance.
We got this,
Respond to my letter. I want to hear from you. Tell me your story or react to mine.
NEED TO ADD A VIDEO?
drag the video player below and add it into any row!
I have learned over my Fifty-Eight years of life, and more specifically over the last 10 that FDR's words about fearing only fear itself ring true; to me, they do, anyway. And, at the same time, how the words of the 23rd Psalm comfort me and my abundant faith in G-d allows me to fear only fear, knowing full well that He is always with me. Growing up in a Non-Orthodox, yet Observant Jewish family nicely brings both together and not only makes me feel more protected but commands me to believe so. You see, I have lived a different kind of life, as we all have to some degree, but mine changes daily. Not that I am ANY BETTER than anyone else, in fact, probably less so... I stray from my stories often. I shouldn't, but since my Stroke in 2012, I have somehow developed some sort of ADD, so please bear with me, the end will justify the means and I will *try* to stick with my story; for you, my readers. I moved my family of the ex-wife and four children Cross-Country in 2002 to be closer to my dad who was turning 75 that year, and while I could not afford both financially as well as mentally to move back to Southern California (where he and my mother lived), I chose the Midbar (Hebrew for Desert) of Arizona. Within just a few short weeks of moving here, I woke up one day with some of the most severe abdominal pain I had ever experienced. I found a local doctor and made an appointment to see him that day. I arrived at the appointment and was ushered into an examination room by their PA (Physician's Assistant), who is supposed to be the same as a Doctor, but not really (?). I was examined and Prescriptions for a Pain Medication and an Antibiotic. They continued to treat me in a like manner for almost six months when I ended up in an Emergency Room, where a CT Scan was performed and Colonoscopy was scheduled. I was then diagnosed with a grapefruit-sized obstruction and abscess in my colon that would require surgical intervention. Surgery was scheduled for two days later, on a Friday in Mid-March 2003. I arrived at the hospital at the designated time, 5:45 am; was admitted to the hospital; told them about ALL my allergies (including a BIG ONE, an allergy to a particular anesthetic agent), and taken to a room where I was put into one of those awful gowns and told that they'd be "right back" to take me to surgery. They promptly came back at 10:30 in the morning and took me to yet another room... to wait some more. At 11:45 the Anesthesiologist came in to talk with me. He informed me that he was going to use Propofol for my induction and that he was planning on using the EXACT ANESTHESIA TO WHICH I AM ALLERGIC to maintain me through surgery! "NOT ON ME, YOU'RE NOT", I exclaimed! "I'M ALLERGIC!!!" On my wrist sat a red band that clearly said ALLERGIES: CEVOFLURAINE. I then proceeded to give him a list of anesthetic agents that I knew to be safe. He tapped me on the knee and said: Okay, Smart guy, put yourself to sleep and quickly left the room. I awoke from the anesthesia on the following Wednesday evening. In addition to the NINE small incisions from various attempts to perform the procedure of removing 18" of my diseased colon through a scope, I also had one 6" cut in my belly that began around my navel and continued to just above my groin. I also began experiencing severe shortness of breath. The staples were ripped out of my skin by the Butcher Surgeon two weeks later, but my breathing difficulties continued. After being examined by one doctor after another, I finally decided to be examined by The Mayo Clinic. Over a ten-day to 2 week period, I was examined by multiple physicians, underwent numerous tests and procedures and was finally ready for my Report Appointment. I would learn the results of all of the tests and procedures and hopefully have a clear diagnosis and prognosis. The verdict had come in. Diagnosis: Terminal COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease Causation: Bacterial Pneumonia due to Malignant Hyperthermia caused by induction of Detrimental Anesthesia Prognosis: 5% chance of Five-Year Survival I then took my report to a highly regarded Pulmonologist for Follow-Up Care, but not before enrolling in Rabbinical School in New York City. I had, (since age ten) always wanted to be a Rabbi. It was now or never. On the advice of the Pulmonologist, I began taking Prednisone (a Steroid) that would open up my Bronchioles and make it easier to breathe. The normal dosage for a man who is 5'9" and weighs 150 pounds (before I got sick, I weighed 174 pounds, all muscle, by the way) is <100mg per day. My STARTING dose was 100mg THREE TIMES a DAY. the dosage was increased every few months for the following THREE YEARS, when, on Sunday, September 9, 2007, at the weight of 340 Pounds (the Steroids had been increased to 250mg Four Times a day), I collapsed and at Mayo Hospital, was intubated where my organs began failing. Two nights later, on the First Night of Rosh haShana, the Jewish New Year, and while being mechanically ventilated, I went into Full Blown Total System Failure, and suffered a Cardiac Arrest for 14 minutes, followed by a Coma of several weeks duration. During my Coma, I felt as if I was in a box. The box had four dirt walls and smelled like the Morning Dew. In the upper right corner of the box sat a red square with a white X inside of it. "If only I could click on that X, I might stop this program", I thought to myself, but I could not move; I could not stand; could not reach, and could not scream for help. I lay in this place crying out in fear for what seemed like days and weeks and months. Suddenly, my cries were replaced by Psalms. I was reciting Psalms, some of which I had never even read before! And the Psalms turned into Prayers; The Kol Nidre, chanted at the beginning of our Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur; every other prayer recited on this Holy of all Holy Days; the Prayers for the Sukkot Holidays that follow the next week and the Readings for every single Torah Portion of the year. I somehow knew them all. By heart. Without hesitation of memory and obviously without any text to look at. I kept reading and chanting day and night; night and day and resting in between. Really resting. Sleeping... until one day, I opened up my eyes to see my beautiful son Zac sitting at my side on my bed. Covering the holes in my throat and on the side of my neck, I managed to spit out "C'était le rêve de dix minutes le plus étrange que j'aie jamais eu"! I told my son that was the weirdest ten-minute dream that I have ever had in FRENCH, my first language and native tongue. He then told me that it had been over two months, and I was in a Hospice Facility. The night before, I had begun to breathe on my own a minute or so after being disconnected from the machines that had sustained my organs since September. A few days later I was wheeled to an ambulance outside to be transported to the truly amazing HealthSouth Rehabilitation Hospital in Scottsdale. The sun kissed my face as I felt like I was pulled up into a body of love. It spoke. In Hebrew: Don't worry, it said. "You and I are going to be okay". I spent the next six weeks learning to do things like eating and holding a pencil; how to shower and dress. I learned how to return to life. Six weeks after leaving HealthSouth, my dad died. In July 2018, my mom joined him. I have had many trials and tribulations over these last twelve years. A Stroke in 2012 took my ability to project my voice loudly; I've been hospitalized many times and know how very precious time is. I do not live for today, rather, I live for tomorrow. I do everything I can do today to help others, and pray that I am again awakened tomorrow to do more good. And if so, great! And if not; if G-d decides to take me tonight, I will hang out with my parents and loved ones forever. I win either way. President Roosevelt was right to believe in only fearing fear. Psalm 23 is even more so, as Faith follows all of us.
Funny my mom passed in 1991 as a 13 year old it was hard but she was much more then beauty. She was a fighter from the beginning and I will never be able to explain her impact. It shows you came from a strong famiy and I'm glad you had both a mom and dad because a lot of people don't. I pray your truth can make a difference
This is trying to scare us with more misinformation then actual information but thank you for giving us your reality. I like it a lot.and people just wash your hand like you should be doing anyway 😂
Great discussion, as well as some interesting numbers which I'm not sure are meant to calm us, or install even more fear. I have many of your same concerns. Just yesterday I scheduled a work trip to Miami for late next week, but am unsure if it will happen or not. And while i say or act like i'm not concerned, sub-consciously, i am quite sure it is weighing on my mind each time i cough, or sneeze, or feel "a little warm", or if someone around me does. One of the biggest fears i have is that with all of the media coverage and the additional testing becoming available, the numbers are sure to skyrocket, and this is going to really set some people off. Our country is going to go absolutely bonkers . We are all guilty of taking limited amounts of information and either talking about it like an expert, or completely overreacting. Here's hoping that the number stat to level out, and then drop. Lets hope that the American people can follow simple suggestions. Lets hope that countries from around the world can work together to come up with a viable plan to slow this train down. And last but not least, lets hope our politicians can come together to provide our country guidance as we all try to get through this. Lets hope they can forget about the presidential race for just a minute to remember what their job really is; to serve the American people. And now is their time to really step up and lead by example.
Lauren, like you I have to balance my fear and confusion. I work directly with the public and I have an immune system that is partially suppressed as a by product of treatment for Rheumatoid Arthritis. I fear for my Father the most as his body is much weaker than even mine. I visited the Cleveland Museum of Art on Sunday just to learn three people were positively diagnosed on Monday in Cuyahoga county. You aren't alone in that fear. I think that we must turn to hope to keep us in this trying time. We have to...
Terry, As a man who has lived and breathed baseball, your letter was an absolute joy for me to read. What young boy wouldn't want to be in the clubhouse with his Dad? During your time as manager I've been to quite a few games in Cleveland. None though were as special as July 12th 2014. That was the day I celebrated my 30th birthday. Though the day centered around my birthday it saw me doing something for someone else. It was the day I took my Father to the very first professional sports game in his 59 years of life at the time. It was so touching the certificate that he got from the wonderful folks at Guest Services. And although the home team lost to the White Sox that day, it will always remain one of the best days in my heart. Letters like yours only serve to renew my love for the game of baseball. Thanks for sharing it with the little boy still inside of me wanting to throw that 0-2 curveball to the best hitter in the league.
[…] enough, in the email was your letter to your late father, former NBA basketball star Anthony Mason, talking about your struggles after his death. You wrote […]
Sweet Lauren, I agree completely with the promise that Brian asked you to make. Frankly, it is the only way that I know to love; totally, completely, wholly and unconditionally. You deserve nothing less, nor does your future love.
Wow. What a truly moving and powerful story. We often take for granted the small gifts we give each other just by being present. I'm sad for the heartache. I'm glad you stayed and became. Who knows what little girl or boy will be attributing their life's purpose to some kindness you shared. Peace and Sunshine
You’re welcome Lauren looking forward to all the future stories :)
Thank you Tony. I appreciate all your support.
Thank you Tony. I appreciate all your support.
I’m sorry to hear about Brian but he was right you are too beautiful to not receive roses Lauren:)
[…] Here is why you need to stop being nice and start being loud […]
Thanks for this! So what movie set did you get on?
So nice Roger <3
Pat, Your letter touched me in a very profound way. It left me in tears in the middle of my work day. It made me want to share something with you. On a July morning in 2007 a police officer answered a 911 call I had made when my Mother went into cardiac arrest. Between that officer, my best friend and the fire fighters who showed up minutes later they were able to restart her heart, however at the hospital she passed away an hour later. At the end of his shift that officer stopped by my home to check on the situation and cried when I told him the unfortunate news I received only 4 hours prior. He tried to apologize to me. I looked at the anguish in his eyes and asked him directly what for? He described the ways he felt sorry. What I want to leave you with was my reply to him. I told him he had nothing to be sorry for because he answered the call in what was the darkest moment in my life. I told him that he was a hero regardless because it takes a special person to answer calls like that. You are a hero to people Pat. No one can ever take that away from you. I understand the process you're going through as I've been there myself and like you I still struggle with it when no one is looking. You aren't alone in this. I hope your healing process continues on and you can regain the happiness in this beautiful life. You'll always be a hero to those people, because you were there when the call came Best wishes Roger Chamberlain
Ruth, your letter moved me to tears. Once upon a time I was very closed off about the LGBT community but over a course of several years, I turned my fear into understanding and I actively stand with the community for their equal rights because it is the right thing to do.