My name is Valentina, well... my name was Valentina.
My story of how I lost my name and my identity begins back when I was 25. At the time I was fresh out of business school, and I was determined to make it in my career. Several headhunters offered me jobs, I decided to go with a growing firm out of Chicago. I was working on a high floor in a building located in the heart of downtown, my window had a great view of Lake Michigan. But my gaze wasn't set on the water, it was on the corner office that I wanted to be in by the time I was 30.
I was a fourth-generation Latina, my great grandparents came over to the United States during WWII when there was a labor shortage. My parents had both have advanced degrees and they put a lot of work into making sure I would be a success. My father, a bit of a bleeding heart, is a doctor and I think he was a bit disappointed that I chose finance over medicine.
I kept myself in good shape, image is important in the professional world plus I loved the way I looked in jeans.
