Something happened a month or so ago that pissed me off. At first, I tried to shove it down. I talked myself out of getting upset, reminded myself that people like me more when I’m easy going, and kept my cool, even when I had steam coming out of my ears. My efforts to keep my righteous indignation under wraps worked for a few days. Then Victoria Rochester took over, and all hell broke loose.

Introducing Victoria Rochester

First, a bit about Victoria. When I was a little girl, I hated my name. Lissa Rankin. It’s so unsophisticated. So unglamorous. I wanted a beautiful name, one that rang with a regal chime. So I secretly renamed myself Victoria Rochester, and in the stories I wrote, she was my alter ego -- the gorgeous, sophisticated, powerful diva I wished could replace the meek, nerdy, plain, boring Lissa Rankin.

As I grew older, Victoria Rochester started making appearances from time to time. She’s the one who got all glammed up for her senior prom and strutted her stuff as a model in a television commercial. Victoria showed up on my wedding day when I was wearing the princess dress with the long train and rode off in a white horse-drawn carriage. She dined at French Laundry a few months back, and when I was on View From the Bay, it was Victoria sitting there in that television studio, not me.

But Victoria Rochester is not all haute couture, five star dining, and cameras. She has a dark side. A very, very dark side. She’s the one who starts screaming at perfectly lovely waiters when they bring her a dish sprinkled with bell peppers when she was very specific about alerting them to her allergy. She’s the one who throws a hissy fit when the scrub tech in the operating room hands her the Heaney Ballantine when she very clearly asked for the curved Heaney. She’s the one who told a grocery store clerk who couldn’t seem to ring up her groceries correctly, “If I did my job the way you do your job, there’d be dead people everywhere.”

Victoria Rochester may be glamorous, but she’s a total bitch.

You kinda want to steer clear of her, especially when she gets upset. My deepest fear is that she’ll become me, especially if the launch of What’s Up Down There makes me famous. What if I become one of those self-righteous, pompous divas that movies love to make fun of (think The Devil Wears Prada, but with more vaginas)? What if meek, nerdy, boring Lissa disappears altogether and is replaced by my alter ego doppelganger? What would happen to me?  So I strive to keep Victoria Rochester under wraps. Sure, she comes out to play here and there, but mostly, I let her know that I’m alpha dog.

But a few weeks ago, Victoria snuck out after curfew and wrote a very…um...let’s say forceful letter. She shocked even me. But she had a point. And she sure as hell got her point across. When I think about it, her righteous indignation might even be justified. And I’ve just been informed that her forceful letter is spawning some action. So I’m inclined to pat Victoria on the back, rather than grounding her for sneaking out after curfew.

Why be afraid of your inner diva?

It made me realize that we all have our alter egos, and yes, we’re all divas to some degree. But why be afraid of your inner diva? Sure, nobody wants to become Mariah Carey with her penchant for only blue M&MS or Madonna who won’t allow air conditioning on her tour bus because it might hurt her voice. But being willing to speak up for yourself rather than rolling over and being nice? Recognizing that you’re beautiful, glamorous, and deserving of fine things? Being courageous and speaking your truth and not being afraid to put yourself out there? Standing for your mission, your desires, and your partner? Overcoming anxiety so you can use the limelight to help save the world? Bring it, baby.

So I’m here, owning my inner diva, welcoming Victoria Rochester in, as long as she knows her place (I’m still alpha dog). So keep your eye out for her. She was the one up on stage when I spoke to thousands of women at the BlogHer conference keynote in New York a few weeks ago. And she’ll be the one who sits across from Oprah on that famous couch. Meek, nerdy, quiet Lissa will be home in her PJs, cheering Victoria on.

What about you? Are you in touch with your inner diva? Do you have an alter ego you try to keep under wraps? What might that alter ego add to your life if you could own that piece of yourself without being afraid of it? Do tell…

Slipping on my tiara,

Lissa