When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.

—AUDRE LORDE

For years I was afraid to be my own hero. I was waiting for someone, anyone, to fly out of the sky, à la Superman in that first movie with Christopher Reeve, and scoop me up . . . just like Lois Lane! (She was so pretty! I wanted to be just like her!) Eventually, however, I began to question if this was a solid and stable life strategy. Waiting for Superman to emerge from the sky and take you on a joyride, when you have zero flying skills yourself, is problematic . . . to say the least. What if he has to drop you off somewhere because there’s some sort of crisis? You really have no control over where Superman drops you before flying off to save the world. And not only are you stuck in some random place, say Antarctica, but you can’t really help him solve the crises. So, Superman will go off and have exciting adventures without you. He will set the terms of which crises get priority and how to solve them. He’ll be the hero. Meanwhile, you’ll be freezing your ass off with a bunch of penguins, praying he’ll remember to come get you when he’s done. Eventually I came to this conclusion: Nah. Lois can have him.

After reconsidering my dreams of being Lois, I decided if I wanted to fly like a superhero, I would have to become one myself. Until I was in my forties, I didn’t fully understand my biggest barrier. It wasn’t that I didn’t come from Amazonia, or that I had no cape—although both would be total badassery. The barrier I faced could be summed up in two words.

Claiming Space

To claim space is to live the life of your choosing unapologetically and bravely. It is to live life the way you’ve always wanted. Your choices become yours. Your life is yours. To claim space is to never apologize for being the rule-breaking, rule-making badass/superhero/boss lady that you are. Not once. Not ever.

By the time I was a teenager, I had become a pretty damn good communicator, but I was also a master of ceding space. Somewhere deep down I believed that to stay safe, my true self had to stay invisible, so I used tactics women have been taught are acceptable. I flirted. I acted dumber than I was. I stated my opinion with apologies and questions. I often waited patiently for “my turn” to talk, while the young men at the table talked over me with impunity. I was getting the job done, but I was shrinking, losing a small piece of my power with every victory.

Then something miraculous happened. A car slammed into my head while I was riding my bike. I fully realize you may be thinking right now that I’m a bit nuts. Isn’t getting hit in the head with a car a bad thing? Well, yes, it was. Indeed, it was really bad for a while. But it ended up being a good thing too—it transformed my life.

Here’s what happened: The driver, while texting and driving, ran a red light. (Please don’t text while you’re supposed to be driving. Not ever.) After the car hit my body, I was thrown onto the hood, my head smashing into the hard metal. Then, unconscious, I bounced off her car like a rag doll, into the air, and landed on the ground. That’s when I smashed the other side of my head on the asphalt. I woke up with a bilateral brain injury and bleeding in my head, otherwise known as a subdural hematoma. My world was turned upside down.

The oddest thing about what happened was how strangely everyone acted toward me. When people stopped behaving quite so peculiarly, I asked my dear friend about it: “Kim, why is everyone acting so weird?” Her answer shocked me. Everyone else wasn’t acting weird; I was.

I had been talking painfully slowly and my once-rich vocabulary was basically gone. I was terrified. All my passions, all my work, had involved my communication skills, and now I couldn’t communicate. My mother, once a brilliant poet, writer, and beloved English teacher, had developed paranoid schizophrenia in her late twenties—trapped in her own mind. My deepest fear was that something might go wrong with my brain—it was my waking nightmare. Now, I was living it.

My intuition had always guided my communication. The accident seemed to have knocked that right out of my head. If I wanted my life back, I would have to rebuild my communication skills by meticulously breaking them down into component parts and then mindfully rebuilding from the ground up, brick by brick.

I began to watch . . . everything. Why are some people heard and others ignored? What makes a sentence compelling? How do people cede power? Take power? Make people happy? Scare people? How do they inspire?

I tired easily, so watching wasn’t as terrible as it would have been before my accident. When groups of dear friends visited, my ability to keep talking eventually faded. That’s when I would watch. During my solitary moments, I researched voraciously.

Then the day came when I could finally tolerate leaving my house. I’d always loved people watching, but I did it more closely now, analyzing every tiny detail.

That woman sitting quietly in the coffee shop, sipping tea and reading the Times . . . why didn’t anyone approach her? What signs did she give off that allowed her to read in peace? And that equally attractive woman at the table next to her . . . seemingly doing the same thing. Why did she have to fend off two men who tried to strike up unwanted conversations within a span of only twenty minutes? And why did it take her so long to shut each of them down?

I thought, and I watched, and I questioned, and I read, and I thought some more. The women who fared best in work and in life were, without question, masters at claiming space. But what did that mean?

At first I didn’t have a full understanding of what that meant; I just knew “claiming space” kept popping into my mind. The fiercer, more successful, and happier a woman was, the more of a badass space claimer she was. What was the one quality that allowed a woman to be visible without apology, to claim space like it was her damn job? There had to be a magic bullet, one simple, clear answer for how to do it. Eventually, I came to this inevitable conclusion: there wasn’t. That would have been great! But alas, we live in the real world, a world with complex problems calling for real, nuanced, and innovative solutions.

In the end, I figured out space-claiming queens understand the importance of five distinct qualities.

To claim space is to have great posture and speak with confidence. Know where your body is in space, always. The story your physicality and voice tells can clearly project confidence and strength.

Claiming space is not a solitary activity. Carefully attend to your friendships, cultivate your professional relationships, lean on other women, and help other women. Create and nurture effective, powerful “old girl” networks.

Claiming space requires more than the physical. It means looking carefully at your past, identifying and knowing your pain points. Are you susceptible to dangerous, toxic relationships? Do you have impostor syndrome? Gaining an understanding of what can bring you to your knees will allow you to work toward never self-sabotaging again.

Claiming space means refusing to put up with interruptions, mansplaining, microaggressions, and other behaviors. You can achieve this in different ways—by cultivating an ally or through direct intervention yourself, you can learn how to shut them down.

Unless you are claiming space for all women, you are not claiming space. It demands solidarity and unity. Approach work and life with an open mind and heart. Listen to, believe, and advocate for other women. When we rise together, we rise so much higher.

A full life is a life of continuous discovery, growth, and change. Wise women understand they can never really master all of the five qualities. Instead, they accept their shortcomings while at the same time striving to achieve mastery. These women are unstoppable forces. Their ability to powerfully claim space serves as their anchor during life’s inevitable storms and their wings when taking flight, reaching for the impossible.

Claim space without apology and you are a damn superhero—a fierce woman in control who makes things happen.

These five categories are powerful umbrella concepts for more granular life challenges. For example, take physicality/voice. You can’t just tell someone, “Hey, go out and claim physical space and use your voice like Beyoncé! Good luck!” The component parts of control over your body and voice must be broken down, understood, and mastered: posture, voice, physicality, messaging, and phrasing. Once you master those skills, however, you will own that category. A macrolevel discussion of each category and explicit, detailed how-to advice on those granular changes are what this book is all about.

Deep down, each of us once believed we could do anything, just like the boys. When we were little girls, we imagined a world that would receive us on our merits, a world that would be fair, a world that would never ask us to be small, to shrink, to diminish ourselves to survive. Time, and the world, showed us a different truth. Yet we continue to work for that world we imagined for ourselves, because giving up is not an option. And each time one woman is knocked down, gets back up again, refuses to become invisible, we all become a little wiser, a little stronger. We come a little closer to that world. We must work to throw out the rules that held our grandmothers and mothers down. We must fight to rewrite those rules so they never hold us or our daughters down. A world where every woman can claim space without apology or fear is a world worth fighting for.

I was going to call this book Conversations in the Bathroom. The women’s bathroom, which tragically is still not universally open to our trans sisters, can be a space like no other, transforming strangers into trusted old friends, lowering our guard in ways unthinkable at bus stops or cocktail parties. After giving my talks, when my mic has been turned off, leadership has shaken my hand one last time, and my work has officially “ended,” the second Q&A in the bathroom invariably begins. It can be cramped, and often it smells like, well, a bathroom, but none of us seem to notice. Experiences are shared and questions are asked. It’s been such an honor to hear every last story from each exceptional woman, even if it means almost missing my flight home on the regular. My bathroom Q&A record is almost two hours . . . I didn’t regret a minute of it.

Yet I understand the reason we have to huddle in the bathroom is that so many of us don’t feel safe claiming space outside of it. Until women, as a collective, master the five ways to claim space, we never will. (This includes raising our voices against the exclusion of our trans sisters from women’s bathrooms. When any woman is unsafe in a space, we all lose.)

This book is a detailed guide to space claiming, which is a hell of a lot more rewarding, fun, and empowering than freezing your ass off in Antarctica with penguins, waiting for Super-man to save you. It will empower us all to stand tall in the face of fear, raise our united voices, and be heard even in situations that traditionally would silence us. It was inspired by my journey and informed research, and created for all women. It owes a lot to my clients’ experiences, and those wonderful moments throughout the world I’ve spent huddled around a bathroom sink, engaging in real sister-to-sister talk. I wrote it envisioning a busy woman going to the index and saying, “Damn, I’m struggling with [insert space-claiming issue] today. I know there’s got to be a chapter on this!” And lo and behold, there it is! She reads the chapter, making a few mental notes about how and when she’ll apply her new skills. Soon after, she walks into work in her full power.

I hope you enjoy reading the book as much as I loved writing it. And if you do, please claim some space and pass it on to other women committed to stepping fully into their most badass selves without fear or apology.

Women who are best at claiming space are our real-life super-heroes. They are our Oprahs, Kamala Harrises, Sandra Day O’Connors, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortezes, Ruth Bader Ginsburgs, and Maya Angelous. They are our Firsts . . . the First CEO of this company, the First mayor of that town, the First woman in her family to start a business, the First daughter in her family to attend college, the First women who said #MeToo . . . We point to these women and say, “She did it! It’s possible. And if she can do it, then maybe I can too!”

If we’re lucky, one of our everyday heroes, one of the Firsts in our lives, will believe in us. “Of course you can!” she’ll say to us. “What will your First be? I can’t wait to see it! What are you waiting for?” And we will listen.

We can all be “the First,” whatever that may mean to us. We can claim space with courage and empathy and conviction, breaking rules and making new ones. We are not meant to be earthbound, freezing our asses off in Antarctica, waiting for some guy in a cape to save yet another cat in a damn tree. We are far more fierce and strong and brave and capable than that.

The best part is, when we claim space for ourselves, we can turn around and see the other women struggling like we once did and reach out our hands to them, arms outstretched. We can reach for our daughters, girlfriends, coworkers, or sometimes even perfect strangers; we can be empowered enough that we know how to help other women claim space. We can complete the cycle of sisterhood, because we know when we rise together, we rise so much higher.

Sometimes we run from lessons because we don’t want to think the thought, “Damn, I wish I had known this sooner! I wasted so much time!”

Fear of wasting time is one of the best ways to waste your life. It is a counterproductive mindset.

My brilliant friend and mentor Kim Munson-Burke is a gifted therapist, but I like to think of her as Yoda/Morpheus. She once said to me, “I don’t believe in the concept of wasting time. You can’t waste time, unless you don’t learn and grow from your experiences.” Had I not learned to reframe my ideas about time, I would have missed critical lessons.

As you read this book, remember that every lesson you learn, every time you realize you could have done something differently, you have not wasted time. When you learn what you could have done differently, you are saving time, because you’re saving your future.

You can’t find heaven if you’ve shackled yourself to a road in hell.

Make this book work for you! There is no “right way” to read it! This book was written for real women who live busy lives. Each woman faces different challenges, and sometimes they change from day to day. While each part of this book builds on the last, each section of each chapter is also able to stand alone. There are days you may “need” to read one chapter out of order. Do it! Skipping around isn’t cheating!

Using this book in a way that best fits your life isn’t cheating. Quite the opposite. It’s a pretty space-claiming thing to do.