Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,


Reading Diaries?

Me too, and I’ve never been so kind to myself as these last few weeks since I lost my job at iGrad. Having worked for a place like iGrad, INC for 18 months, this is the kind of educational institution where you can get financial wellness courses, articles, videos and content by finding your partnering school who supports iGrad, then signing up (for free). Try it.

The question of whether I quit or was fired remains to be identified, and I never signed a settlement or agreement to be quiet (or move away). Like the legal investigator that I spoke to on Friday for nearly five hours, I want to know the whole story about what happened with us at iGrad too. That legal answer has everything to do with why I am (or am not) worthy to be a coach of this one life.

The problem today is that I can’t afford a legal investigator, an official evaluation, and I am partial to iGrad. I loved that place and my colleagues use to feel like family. I made my home there, I took the garbage out a lot, I cleaned the kitchen like everyone else, and I even anticipated working there for a long time. Still, today I reflect on that old story with little clue as to how things feel apart with me so quickly.

Was it because I am gender fluid, though I display “woman” in the mirror? Was it because I told a few of them that they discriminated against me? or was it because of the hostile working environment we all endured? And, why do I feel like the victim again of a similar “INC” like I had in Phoenix?

Staring at my life today, from most outside perspectives I am unemployed, but that’s not 100% true. I know better, I am working right now and even as I write these words, I must pay me.

I am paying me to write this life sentence. I am paying me to understand where I went wrong by writing about it, and so I can make it right. I write to right the true story. I write to be honest. And honestly, I’m not sure I’m always right when I write either, but I try to be right.

Writing about fear is knowing the meaning of being right is sometimes wrong. Fear is writing about perfection in fear. Fear is letting these words flow through me and then clicking Publish for you, not just for me or for fear of being heard.

All the words above, I thought all those words and put them all together when I started writing at 6am. I paid myself to write all these words because I have to survive this firing. Happy Monday in this survival of the fittest (but am I alone in this office… again?)

In any case, I need to write my own timeline of what happened to me at iGrad. I need to send a whole bucket list of emails, text messages and MP4 files to a legal investigator who may or may not ever speak to me again. Then, I need to stop crying to myself about that old iGrad family who hates or loves me so much they chose to investigate whether firing me, a “star employee” (like many others), was legal.

Legally, some say I’m crazy, while others say I’m nieve to close my eyes and take the leap into those old stories. To write them all here, then to release them without knowing who will pick them up and read their very essence.

I am not afraid to write this time. Here goes nothing, I am taking this chance, opening up and knowing that I am in good hands or God’s hands. This is it, I am online and I am not going to be afraid this time. Dear diary, I let you know what I was thinking today. And today,

I am OK,

I’ve all ways been


I will all ways be

that way.



let it be different!…


Stephanie Bird

Dear Diary?




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