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Love Note to the Leaders Among Us

by Marnie Handel Nir
 ∙ Mar 28 ∙ 5 Min Read

Dear Fellow Lovers of Leaders:

Don’t know what it is about those Leader Fuller women, but when asked if I wanted to write something for Campowerment in the middle of book launch week, under an impressive pile of things I’m either doing or actively not doing (hi, proposal for book two) – I couldn’t do anything but genuinely smile, be grateful, and say, “Okay.”

Okay. That’s a lie. I know exactly what it is about the Leader ladies that I love. But the admission of it, would put some of the onus back where I don’t want it to be: on me.

I love those ladies, not just because they are amazing human beings, who care and believe in us more than we do, BUT because they are us: flawed, funny, fearful, and fearless. And in the face of whatever comes their way, they not only stop, drop, and roll––they sage, gong, and wear war paint (neon).

So, in the face of fear (chicken) and sheer lazy (brat), who do I want to be?

Answer:  Grandy.

IMG_3249In honor of this week’s launch of Maybe It’s You: Cut the Crap. Face Your Fears. Love Your Life., the book I co-wrote with my baby sister and boss (!), Lauren Zander, I wanted to share one of my favorite excerpts from the book with you.

No surprise here, it’s about the chicken and the brat.

For any of you who never made it to one of my Circles or Workshops at camp – either because you were waiting until I washed my own mouth out with soap, I simply wasn’t your jam, and/or I don’t walk barefoot in the dirt,
angelically carrying a unicorn (though clearly I should) – just know, you can still get a ton of coaching out of the book, take it in small doses, and skip over the curses! (Yes, I still managed to slip a few in!)
You can order Maybe It’s You now on Amazon.

And, if you live in New York City, please consider joining me, my sister Lauren, and the Handel Group (and Campowerment!) tribe for the book launch party at ABC Carpet & Home this Thursday, March 30th! Lauren will be joined by Elena Brower and Dr. Mark Hyman for a Q&A to celebrate and share some favorite “maybe it’s me” moments. Click here for tickets ––and YES the $35 ticket includes a copy of Maybe It’s You!!  

Love, Marnie

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From Chapter Two of Maybe It’s You: Cut the Crap. Face Your Fears. Love Your Life:

Maybe It's You book launch


No surprise here, the chicken is the voice of fear in your head. It’s scared and worried. It’s not loud in the areas where you are excelling or where you stay in action regardless of your fear, but in any area where you are a tad fearful, concerned and/or worried, your chicken hatches a plan to keep you safe. Its job is to always make sure there is an exit route, an escape hatch. It anticipates potential problems. It has collected data throughout your entire life to support its cowardly theories. Though it indeed has a skewed sense of history, your chicken can, at a moment’s notice, recount whatever tale it needs to slow you down in the face of anything that might seem hazardous to it—you know, dreadful things like being excited about a date, asking for a raise, telling your mate what you want in bed, etc. It’s way more of a doomer than it is dumb. It’s accommodating, doesn’t want to ruffle feathers, and is willing to watch a dream slip away or start making concessions if there is any risk or discomfort involved. The chicken is conservative, pessimistic, and not the realist it claims to be. Its primary job is to weigh all options and keep you protected in your life, regardless of the fact that a safe life may preclude fun, profound happiness, and pride.

The chicken’s myriad excuses seem intelligent, wise, and incredibly reasonable—but in reality, of course, the chicken is, well, just a pussy.


No surprise here either, the brat is the voice in your head that sounds very much like an annoyed, defiant, and entitled child. It’s the adult version of a tantruming four-year-old. The brat is stubborn, manipulative, and always running a scam, either trying to get what it wants or get you out of doing something. The brat’s favorite day of the week is tomorrow. It fights harder sometimes for an Oreo than a promotion. Your brat, I swear, even likes a bad day. After all, on a really bad day, you deserve that martini, no? Ever notice how on a bad day you never deserve a salad? I mean, how long do you think your bad mood would really last if you only fed your brat celery? How many bad days would your brat tolerate if it no longer got rewarded a drink, a cigarette, or an entire Netflix series on the couch for it? Exactly.

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