A Black Woman In Corporate America
My friend December Wells wrote this wonderful reflection on this last day of Black History Month in 2021 and gave me permission to share it with you. She's a wonderful human doing incredible things in this world. She’s taught me an immense amount concerning all sorts of things regarding race, LGBTQ advocacy, and how to best use your voice to make a difference in this world. She’s been on the podcast before (and will be back later this year), but today she steps onto the blog to share her heart and experience with you …
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We have come to the end of Black History Month in the year 2021. This is following 2020, a year overhauled by a pandemic that has deeply affected the lives of everyone on a global level. Joined by traumatic and tragic public examples of racial injustice. Injustices that had seemingly forced the world to pay attention to systemic oppression that people of color have been bringing to the forefront since before I was able to breathe air on this earth. In acknowledging all of what I just shared, I realize I sit in what many would consider a space of privilege.
During this last year, I not only excelled in an amazing company over the previous 6.5 years but managed to secure a new career path doing something I am incredibly passionate about. I am doing this in a growing company filled with talented individuals who share a vision and purpose of creating opportunity for both its internal and external customers. Working from home the last year gave me the ability to further invest in myself financially. Improving my credit, savings, and overall relationship with money through financial groups and a lot of discipline. I have also been able to hold down a 4.0 GPA for a year straight as I work to complete my bachelor's degree. This does not even scratch the surface of what I have been able to do with the grace of God and a support circle personally and professionally that is tighter than my best drawstring ponytail. I say all of this to say that I am beyond grateful and appreciative for all I have and all that I can do. I didn't lose my job, contract Covid-19 (although I lost and supported family and friends who did), and I am still standing on what feels like solid ground after many of my own personal struggles.However, none of these blessings and accomplishments minimize what it is like to navigate white corporate America as a Black Woman.
I wouldn't change being a Black Lesbian Woman if given a choice. Those three descriptive nouns are partial cores of who I am, and owning that identity is brave in today's world. Sadly, feeling seen, heard, and acknowledging the inequalities experienced by those within that lived experience, still prove increasingly difficult. Specifically in corporate infrastructures, no matter how large or small that corporate infrastructure may be. In a time where research regarding oppression, microaggression, unconscious bias, systemic racism, sexism, and intersectionality are readily available at our fingertips, true visibility and equity continue to be an emotionally and physically taxing journey, specifically after 2020, where words like "equity," "inclusion," "diversity," and "equality" have become buzzwords that attract oppressed communities excited to finally be heard. Only to realize those topics have now become marketing tools that internally fall drastically low in priority when discussing the business needs.
I learn more that in larger companies, people of color, who in my opinion are the subject matter experts on these topics, still face tremendous hurdles just to get a seat at the table to discuss the work needed to dismantle their own oppression amongst non-people of color. The same non-people of color who have confirmed seats at the table and remain the gatekeepers, for lack of better words, of who gets a seat. It is sad to realize that for many people of color, it is still about who you know, even when it regards dismantling your own struggle. While simultaneously in smaller companies, the conversations are happening, but there are fewer people of color to push these conversations forward, making them easier to table when the time or money doesn't allow for making them a company priority. This move to table these issues always strikes me as counterproductive when you consider the success of companies who make tackling issues of systemic racism a priority amongst all other business needs. Also, let me take a moment to say a letter from your company CEO sharing that my Black life matters sent while issues of unconscious bias, microaggressions, and racial injustice continue in your own backyard makes your message completely tone-deaf.
Being profoundly aware of this daily is just a small piece of why it still feels hard to be a Black Woman. Why one may ask?
First, being aware of this while navigating corporate infrastructures, large or small, you often fight daily struggles that seem nuanced to those who lack the range or exposure to understand them. For example, often feeling like you must apologize for being confident and accurate in your feedback. While this is a common human issue, being a Black woman means fighting an added narrative of being "an aggressive or angry" Black Woman simply because you've exuded passion, even amongst your white female peers. Proving that while we are all Women, the differences in our lived experiences remain an added burden and barrier in our quest for liberation.
Next, that feeling of being, again, somewhat of a subject matter expert on topics like microaggression, toxic positivity, intersectionality, and racism while at the same time being one of the small few who outwardly acknowledge these topics are essential to effective communication. You must significantly tailor your approach to ensure you are perceived as diplomatic, non-threatening, and appreciative that you have been afforded a place in the room while bringing attention to the fact that how we work in the room needs some adjustments.
Third, the frustration of knowing that in order for these very necessary changes to be effectively implemented, they have to be understood and championed by those in the room with the most power and privilege. Meaning it must usually come from the mouths and actions of white male allies as they are often the majority in executive positions.
More importantly, if you take the risk of even sharing what I am choosing to share today, how will it be received? Will you lose your job or the respect of those who saw you as a happy token Black woman not realizing you possess in you both the spirit and passion of Marsha P. Johnson, James Baldwin, Diahann Carroll, and Malcolm X simultaneously (all historical Black mentors to me for many different reasons). Will using your voice limit your ability to do what many of us have been told to do our entire lives, TO PLAY THE GAME! To wait until you get to the top to bring attention to things that will truly make a difference and create unlimited amounts of necessary emotional discomfort without consequence? To know the skin you're in means authenticity comes at a cost. The cost of knowing if you do speak up, you have got to be EXCEPTIONAL amongst your peers with no room for mistakes in your day-to-day work to not fear some sort of repercussion, be it overt or covert retaliation. Let's be honest; Black Women are not afforded the same freedom of authenticity as their non-Black counterparts, and we know it. So those of us who maintain that authenticity do so at great risks. I write this now two weeks into a career I love wondering in my Dave Chappelle voice if this is "when being real goes wrong" for me.
I am a blessed and grateful woman, but I am deeply affected by these burdens. While at the same time, I remain compelled to do the work to ensure the weight is lifted off of our community in a way that is sustainable and affords everyone involved the grace and patience necessary to make this change.
Where do we begin? For me, it begins with finding my voice and fighting the fear in making it heard. It starts with being accountable for how I show up, which means owning that therapy (while it remains a negative stigma in the Black community) is key and should be regarded as the true necessity it is. It means finding peace, comfort, and safety in my circle of allies, friends, and family, both personally and professionally. It also means knowing I am still going to get it wrong at times and that while I may bring light to very valid issues and experiences, I will never be conscious or "woke" enough to stop unlearning and introspectively examine my own behavior and perspective.
So I end this Black history month by saying yes, in 2021, it still feels incredibly difficult to be a conscious Black Woman in the arena of white corporate America. However, the burden will NEVER outweigh the will to be vulnerable, to be courageous, and to be authentic in my fight for sustained change. I also hope that other Black Women and Women of color, in general, read this and know you are not alone. You are seen, you are heard, and you are VALUED. We need these conversations, and we need the exhale of relief that comes with knowing you have not only been heard but understood. That in all of that heaviness lies the foundation of a legacy that will positively affect everyone, even those who can't begin to comprehend said heaviness. That talking about these things often doesn't mean "you're making everything about race" but instead challenging atmospheres that once told us we never belonged to hold themselves accountable.
More importantly, and I say this unapologetically, that even in your imperfections and flaws, your talent and lived experience is, without question, a profoundly essential piece of what will make this country and this world a better place. Own that and manifest this shared vision of equity for yourself and for everyone you come in contact with. Last but not least, Happy Black History Month! I leave you all with the powerful words of Audre Lorde. "When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid".
December Wells