The myth of bringing your full authentic self to work JodiAnn Burey
Transcriber:
So picture this.
Your friend calls to invite you
to a party this Saturday.
They say, “Yes, I totally understand
that Saturday is Halloween,
but trust me, it’s not a Halloween party.
October 31 just happens to be the best day
when everyone is in town.
No, no, no, no.
You don’t have to wear a costume.
It’s not going to be like that at all.
Just come as you are.”
A party with your friends on Halloween,
without having to go through
all the trouble of finding a costume,
a costume, mind you,
you’ll never wear again.
Oh, you will be there.
So Saturday is here.
You head on over
in your favorite faded jeans
and the stylish enough top,
quite frankly, you’ve been
lounging in all day.
You knock on the door.
Out steps these bright red boots,
the perfect accessory
to your friend’s Wonder Woman costume.
Wonder is the exact description
of the look on your face.
As you enter the house,
your eyes dart across
a number of cartoon characters,
uniformed professionals
and some unfortunate impersonations
of the latest celebrities.
You look to your friend for answers,
but they’re gathering
the final votes for the costume contest.
The costume contest.
You, of course,
receive no votes.
Do you feel that?
That feeling that you have right now?
The anxiety, the upset and bewilderment
as to how you came to be the odd one out
for just doing what you were told.
To come as you are.
That’s exactly how I feel
when I am told to bring
my full, authentic self to work.
“We want people of color
to feel like they belong here,” they say.
“We’re looking for passionate people
who can bring a fresh perspective
to challenge our way
of thinking,” they say.
“Our diversity is our strength,” they say.
“Come just as you are,”
they say.
Recruiters, managers, executives, CEOs –
all those responsible
for making decisions.
They say quite a lot.
And perhaps for good reason.
It’s long been the expectation
for people like me
who have been grossly,
often intentionally,
underrepresented at work
to contort ourselves into this caricature
of what some call professionalism,
and what we call a distorted elaboration
of white cultural norms
and the standards that meet the comforts
of those who hold
social and institutional power.
That’s professionalism.
The invitation to bring
our full, authentic selves to work
signals that this place could be the place
to safely shed the guise.
We could collect the parts of ourselves
we’ve compartmentalized
and trust that our differences
will be seen as assets,
not liabilities.
Seeded in this call for authenticity
is this idea that those
who don’t have to spend all their energy
hiding parts of themselves
could find more fulfillment at work.
The expectation is that
the more we could just be ourselves,
perhaps, just maybe,
others will follow suit.
The hope is that soon enough
the culture of the entire
organization will shift,
becoming more inclusive
and welcoming of difference.
My type of difference.
So I show up to work as I am,
with my Afro, my family photos,
my disability accommodation needs,
my questions, my pushback,
my perspective,
grounded in the lived experience
of all my identities.
I show up with this full, authentic self
to perform my job with excellence.
But when the time comes
for the stretch projects,
the promotion, equal pay, recognition,
mentors, sponsors …
I’m overlooked.
“You need to work on being
more of a team player,” they say.
“Your approach makes it
difficult to work with you,” they say.
“Try to help others feel
more comfortable around you,” they say.
“You are hurting
your relationships at work
when you talk about racism,”
they say.
No promotion, no mentor, no votes.
We cannot compete in the costume contest
without a costume
and expect to win.
The call to brave work
with more authenticity
undeservedly disadvantages
people of color.
Those of us who are already burdened
with the task of chronically
battling bias.
With precision, the work to shift culture
is designed to cost us
our own mental and physical health.
If who we are makes us
as difficult as they say,
then this demand for our authenticity
compromises our careers.
Listen, the fact is this:
one person, or even a few people
coming just as we are,
cannot change company culture.
How would change happen alongside rewards
for coded definitions of “fit”?
What difference would it make
to allege a value for diversity
without sustaining evidence of that value
in any meaningful way?
We know what we’re up against.
Authenticity has become a palatable proxy
to mask the pressing need
to end the racism, ageism,
ableism, sexism, homophobia,
xenophobia and the like
that run rampant
throughout our professional lives.
Without accountability to examine
these systems of bias and power,
the call for authenticity fails.
It fails to question who is in the room,
who sits at that table
and who gets to be heard.
It fails to demand
that we reveal the truth
about how racism impacts decisions
about who’s in the room,
who sits at that table
and who gets to be heard.
What many people of color find
is that even when we are in the room,
sitting at that table,
stating firmly, “I am speaking,”
very few people are actually listening.
It starts to feel like our bodies
are wanted in the room,
but not our voices.
Look, I know what that’s like.
A couple of years ago,
at the end of the senior
leadership brainstorming meeting,
I was called into an unscheduled
check-in with an executive.
She sounded enthusiastic
about how my contributions
helped move the project forward,
so it surprised me when she then suggested
that in future meetings,
I should try to be more agreeable
to help give others a win.
If I did have feedback,
she advised that I send it
over email instead.
Honestly, I was taken aback.
Like, here I was feeling
like my contributions mattered,
that my seat at that table
had proved pivotal
to the success of our work together.
Excitedly, I felt a lightness,
ideating alongside my colleagues
without reserve.
The work was riveting.
So I opted outside
of my usual guardedness.
I stopped hiding my opinions.
I worried less
about those constricted norms
of how I should express myself.
For the first time, I felt like –
Like I could take off that costume
so many of us have to wear.
Clearly, that was a mistake.
At the end of her comments,
I tried to keep it real with her.
I said, “Your advice is consistent
with the way women of color,
Black women especially,
are treated at work.”
Her response fit perfectly
into this three-step framework
I’ve now come to know as DARVO:
deny, attack, reverse the victim
with the offender.
DARVO sounds like this.
(Clears throat)
“Jodi-Ann, this has nothing
to do with your race.”
Deny.
“You’re just being
too sensitive and angry.”
Attack.
“You know, if you’re going
to play the race card
every time I try to give you feedback,
it’s going to make it really hard
for us to work together.
I just want you to be successful here.
I’m just trying to support you.”
Who’s the victim now?
Her attempts to gaslight me,
to psychologically manipulate me
into questioning my own reality
was futile.
Even then, in that moment,
I knew that my experience was not unique.
For too many Black women
and other people of color,
people living with disabilities,
nonbinary people, deaf people,
LGBTQIA+ people
and others among us
that are constantly featured
on the “Come work with us” section
on company websites,
we know this harsh reality intimately.
Being authentic privileges those
already part of the dominant culture.
It is much easier to be who you are
when who you are is all around you.
Coming just as we are
when we’re the first,
the only, the different or one of the few
can prove too risky.
So we wear the costume.
We keep the truer parts
of ourselves hidden.
We straighten our curly hair
for interviews.
We pick up hobbies we do not enjoy.
We restate our directives
as optional suggestions.
We talk about the weather
instead of police brutality.
We mourn for Breonna Taylor alone.
We ignore the racist comments
our supervisor makes,
we stop correcting
our mispronounced names.
We ask fewer questions.
We learn to say nothing and smile.
We omit parts of our stories.
We erase parts of ourselves.
Our histories and present reality
show this to be the best path for success.
But now our society is reaching
a new tipping point.
Inequities,
racism and bigotry
are finding fewer places to cower.
Silences are becoming harder to keep.
Our most radical collective
imaginations for racial justice
are reaching new possibilities.
And so I’m asking
that we, the people who have
and continue to be denied inclusion
in that refrain,
dedicate the authentic fullness
of who we are to that work,
the work of making space everywhere
for who we are – to breathe.
But just for a moment,
let me step away from that work
to tell the rest of you this.
Black people do not need
to be any more authentic.
So no,
this Black disabled immigrant woman
will not be bringing
her full, authentic self to work.
But she is asking that you,
those of you with the power
of your positions
and the protection of your whiteness
and other societal privileges
you did not earn,
to take on that risk instead.
There’s an opportunity
in this movement for change
for you to do just that – change.
Not your hearts and minds.
Close the gap between what you say
and how we’re treated.
Change your decisions.
Make working effectively
across racial and cultural differences
a core competency in hiring
and performance management for everyone.
Define good product design
as one that centers
the most underserved people.
Close the racial gender pay gap,
starting first with Latinx women.
Build responsive people systems
to manage racial conflict
with equity and justice.
These aren’t the decisions
that shift culture,
but rather a tiny sample
of the expansive possibilities
of what you can actually do today,
in your next meeting,
to realize the hope for racial equity.
You do the work to make it safe
for me to come just as I am
with my full, authentic self.
That’s your job, not mine.
It’s your party, not mine.
You set the rules and rewards.
So I’m asking you,
what will it take to win in your contest?
Thank you.