On Saturday evening, October 26, 2024, at the annual Celebration gathering for the global connection company Polka Dot Powerhouse, I was honored (and stunned) to receive the 2024 award for Extraordinary Achievement as a Dot.

Polka Dot Powerhouse was founded in 2012 by Shannon Crotty, who wanted to create opportunities for connection and sisterhood for women who valued personal relationships above drama and selling to one another. In the past twelve years, it has grown to nearly 3000 members in more than 50 chapters worldwide. It focuses on both personal and business development for women (cis women, trans women, nonbinary AFAB, femme-aligned), or as I, a nonbinary AFAB, like to think of it: people whose predominant lived experience is being treated as female.

Every year, every Polka Dot member has the opportunity to nominate one of their fellow Dots for each of several awards, including Friendliest and Most Caring Dot, Extraordinary Dot Supporter, Rising Star, Speaker of the Year, Business Woman of the Year, and the award I won: Extraordinary Achievement as a Dot. The four names in each category with the most nominations go onto a slate to be voted on by the entire membership. The winner of that vote in each category is announced at Celebration.

This is not unlike the way some book awards are run, with nominations of author and title, then a vote by members of the sponsoring organization or attendees of a book convention. I’ve always considered these sorts of awards as popularity contests, and as such, I was never going to win any of them.

But I did win. And that called into question both the beliefs I held about these awards and the beliefs I held about myself.

To be fair, some awards in some organizations are indeed popularity contests, and that becomes obvious when it’s the same people or core group who win again and again.

But was this one?

I don’t believe so. I’ve never been in the popular crowd, and I’m pretty sure most of the other award nominees haven’t either. What we all have been is involved. What really makes Polka Dot Powerhouse special is the connections we initiate in between monthly chapter meetings—conversations in person or over Zoom to get to know each other. What makes you come alive? What lights your fire?

When I first received the news that I had been nominated, I was so surprised that I went to two different sites to view the nominations, certain I’d read it wrong. But no, there was my name. The only word in my mind: How?

It was so much not something I could easily accept that I kept forgetting about it, usually until someone else reminded me of it. I blanked all of it out: the award names, the nominees, that awards even existed at Celebration.

I felt a nudge to look for a dress to wear to the awards gala, rather than my usual slacks and a top. I hadn’t worn a dress since 2011, accepting a gold medal for a book I’d published. And then it became all about finding the right dress: appropriate for this year’s theme of “into the night,” not too long on my 5’1” frame, and forgiving of the 10+ pounds my weight can change depending on whether or not I have a fibromyalgia flare. I put a lot of time into finding the dress, but didn’t really think about why I was looking.

Even as I was dressing on the Saturday night of the gala, I was focused on supporting others, enjoying a gluten-free meal with friends, and bathing in the love and acceptance we fondly refer to as “the Dot bubble.”

A few times, the thought wormed its way into my mind that I had a 25% chance of winning. And then I immediately shut it down. I know well the disappointment of hoping and losing. To protect my own feelings, I was going to preemptively, in my own mind, take myself out of the running.

How many times do we do that? Out of fear we might not get something we want, or something others want us to have, we take ourselves out. I know I’ve done it a lot. Enough that it’s my immediate, default behavior.

And so when it came time for that award to be announced, I felt tense. I forced myself to relax, wondering which of the other three names would be spoken. I closed down even the tiniest hope. I had seen that the award winners just prior had said a few words to the audience of nearly 400 people. I didn’t try to think about what I might say, although I did look at my tablemates and asked, “There are speeches?”

And when Shannon spoke the words, “And the winner is… Sheyna Galyan,” I felt my entire body jump. The shock was visceral. You can actually see that in the video here.

I made my way to the stage (yes, I was limping due to a pinched nerve in my hip), accepted the award, and then hugged Shannon. I was going to do the quick hug, congrats, move on sort of thing. But Shannon didn’t let go. I thought, Oh, we’re doing this?

And then Dresden, my primary spirit guide, spoke quietly in my right ear. “Accept this. Let it in.”

I pulled my mind back to the present and focused on a real, in-the-moment hug of gratitude and humility.

And then Shannon gave me the mic.

I hadn’t prepared. I wasn’t going to win. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

As I tried to get my mouth to form words, I echoed my friend and winner of the Extraordinary Dot Supporter award, Jen Bee, saying the not quite grammatically correct, “They’re right; tears comes with this.”

I spoke from the heart. “Every other organization I have ever been in, I have had to hide some part of myself. Until I came to Polka Dot. You all have allowed me to be all of myself, and if I can see you the way you have seen me, I will have done my part. Thank you.”

Most of the rest of the evening is a blur. Hugs. Tears. Mutual congratulations. Really, truly, knowing I was seen and valued in this group. It was a lot, and I allowed myself to accept it all.

As I walked back to my hotel from the awards ceremony, Dresden congratulated me and then asked, “How are you feeling about this?”

“Conflicted,” I answered honestly. “Shocked. Amazed. Grateful. Confused. Pleased.”

“In the group exercise you did earlier,” Dresden said, “where you all practiced releasing a mask that was no longer helpful, what was the mask you released?”

He knew what it was, and I knew that he knew. But of course, this was all for my benefit. “Being unwanted.”

“Ah.”

I rolled my eyes as I crossed the street. “I get it. I can’t very well continue to believe that I’m unwanted if I’ve just received an award that had to be voted on by membership.”

“Indeed, that would require some mental gymnastics that I’d rather not talk you out of.”

“Ha ha,” I muttered, dodging college kids on scooters and bicycles out having fun on a Saturday night.

“Why are you confused?” he asked.

“I still don’t know what the achievement was. Something with my book, 10 Things Your Soul Guides Want You to Know? Or maybe just that I survived until now?”

“The beauty of this award,” Dresden said, “is that the extraordinary nature of the achievement is in the eyes and minds and hearts of those who voted. You don’t need to know what the achievement was. You only need to know that others see you as having achieved something extraordinary and accept it.”

“But what if I’m curious and I just want to know?”

“Are you really just curious?” Dresden asked. “Or is it more likely that you want to decide whether or not you earned it? You know that you downplay your achievements and see them as unimpressive. If you knew what others thought was your extraordinary achievement, how likely are you to downplay that achievement too?”

I pondered that as I waited for the walk signal at another intersection. “You’re saying that internally, I’m looking for ways to prove I’m not worthy.”

“Aren’t you? And this award is an entire organization telling you to stop believing yourself to be unworthy.”

I made my way into the sudden warmth of the hotel lobby. “But what about others who believe themselves unworthy who didn’t win? Not everyone gets an award to tell them to believe in themselves.”

I felt Dresden’s presence come closer as I entered the elevator. “This isn’t about the award,” he said. “This is about allowing others to see good things in you that you can’t yet see for yourself. It’s about accepting that others believe you are worthy until you can fully, and in all circumstances, believe that for yourself.”

“I can see that,” I said. “Kind of like how I said that if I could see others the way they see me—seeing each other’s worth—then I will have done my part.”

“Your acceptance speech was beautiful. Short, memorable, quotable.”

“Should it have been longer?” I asked as I got off on my floor. “Should I have mentioned which parts of myself I have to hide? My nonbinary self? My Jewish self?”

“No. The way you said it, others can relate with all the ways in which they’ve had to hide parts of themselves. I would encourage you to change only one thing as you think about and remember that moment.”

“What’s that?” I dug out my key card, opened my door, and switched on the light.

“For yourself,” Dresden said, “practice saying this: ‘You all have allowed me to be all of myself, and if I can see you—and myself—the way you have seen me, I will have done my part.’ When you display your award and look at it, remember this.”

“I will.”

And I do.