#i am more versed to react on hostility than on support because when i get positivity and compliments i just go like

[katyspersonal]

...

Guys, I did not... expect this. When I saw so many nice messages, I think my heart jumped. I feel slightly out of touch from reality (in a positive way though) because this is... a lot of support I hadn’t realised, and it is hard to find words, I just... *jumps into a well where shark giants are*

sdfjhfdhds okay okay for real though, thank you very much; I do not deserve all this, especially because in that post I did forget to address the fact that it was not only insult to me but to my fans too (my bad, I felt a bit emotional). But I am thankful for each of these. ;-; It feels like that one moment in an anime where the character feels weak and struggles, and then the characters he’s helped along the way all come to encourage him to keep going - except instead of help it was just lore posts that some people found fun and/or useful dhfshds xD

I am very happy to have all this, thank you very much. It is just hard to verbalise how it felt to open my ask box and find THIS.

[scientificphilosopher]

I’m still learning how to be an effective ally in the pursuit of social justice. Part of this, for me, comes through figuring out how to best support other allies, how to effectively engage with them, even when they’re not as well-versed in the issues as I’ve become through many years of education. I often ask myself this: How can I balance meeting people where they’re at while also holding people responsible for their ignorant and harmful actions and beliefs? Is there a place for compassion and patience toward well-meaning allies, even when they unintentionally harm others?

What I want to focus on for this blog post is the phenomenon of what I’m calling “anxious allyship” — what it is, how it manifests in certain spaces, and what I do to prevent myself from both being an anxious ally and driving others into anxious ally behaviors via things like gatekeeping.

Anxious allyship, in short, is the tendency for well-intentioned allies to shut down and fail to meaningfully engage with social justice work — be it online or in person — out of fear of saying something wrong or appearing ignorant or racist. Now, it’s important to keep in mind that there are MANY reasons why an ally might fail to show up. There are various elements at play that lead to white people’s fear of appearing ignorant or racist in the first place. For the sake of this blog, I want to focus on how this crops up in online spaces full of predominantly white, left-leaning allies and the tendency for these spaces to partake in gatekeeping (though much of what I’m talking about can extend beyond just conversations with allies — that is simply what I’m focusing on for now). By gatekeeping, I mean for members of these spaces to be overly hostile toward people who are presumably not as knowledgeable in the topic or who say problematic things. In some cases, this type of gatekeeping results in driving people out of the spaces or even harassing them. This type of gatekeeping can be seen as self-righteous bullying, both deliberate and unintentional. At its core, it’s shaming people for not knowing what you know and using that to drive people out of an online space. Again, this can be done with the best intentions. Sometimes gatekeeping occurs out of righteous indignation, to really show that problematic fool how wrong and ignorant their views truly are. More often than not, though, it’s done for the sake of showing off; it’s done to signal to others just how knowledgable and committed of an ally you truly are. To be clear, I am not speaking about justified criticism or the moderation of certain spaces in the service of keeping discussions civil. There are often good reasons to call people out; there are good reasons to react with anger or exasperation; there are good reasons to ban people from certain online forums or refuse to take the time and effort to have a fruitful discussion with them. Just because an ally has good intentions doesn’t mean they are immune to criticism. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, as William James said. No, what I’m talking about is white folks lording their knowledge over fledgling allies for reasons like sanctimony and virtue signaling.

Just to be clear as possible, I want to emphasize what I am not saying throughout this post. I am not saying that there is no room for anger (there is). I am not saying that I shouldn’t call people out — allies or otherwise — for their harmful ignorance (I should). I am not saying that patience and effectiveness should always be the primary focus when engaging with allies. I am not saying that there is a singular way of doing any of this. The last thing I am interested in is tone policing. I am, instead, advocating for a pluralistic approach, and that means leaving space for people to be angry, enraged, unresponsive, disengaged, or any other manner of reaction. It is not my place to say that one should not react in anger or ridicule to a well-intentioned but harmful comment simply because it might not be the most effective way to engage with that person, to get them to understand or change their mind. Express your anger if you're angry. Be angry. There is a whole helluva lot to be angry about.

Instead, I am arguing that overprivileged people such as myself should, perhaps, harbor some sense of responsibility in thinking about how to respond in ways that are more inviting to allies based on where they’re at in their educational journey, especially since it has increased potential for maximizing effectiveness and minimizing anxious ally behaviors. I am coming at these issues from a very different place than a lot of marginalized folks. It does not require as much emotional labor for me — an overprivileged white male — to discuss race with people as it might for many people of color. As Audre Lorde — a queer black woman — put it, “Frequently, when speaking with men and white women, I am reminded of how difficult and time-consuming it is to have to reinvent the pencil every time you want to send a message.” White men should, I think, be more willing to sometimes take on the time and effort to reinvent that pencil, especially since other white men are more willing to see us as “objective” and authoritative merely by merit of our maleness and whiteness. In a clear case of cosmic irony, white men will listen to other white men, even in regard to realities like racism, about which we tend to be utterly inexperienced and grievously ignorant. And to further the injustice of that irony, those very white men are the ones who are more likely to harbor power and social capital, thus the ones who can leverage our platforms in ways to most swiftly bring about systemic change. That is why I think those of us in privileged positions have a moral responsibility to learn to engage effectively on these issues.

Still, I’ve certainly found myself attacking people on social media, sometimes looking for that mic drop moment, and in hindsight, I realize I was doing it simply out of self-righteousness or to look smart to my virtual onlookers. If I had taken time to step back and evaluate what was motivating me to say what I was saying, I would’ve recognized that unproductive performative allyship showing its face. I don’t want to lend my energies to creating spaces that are needlessly hostile to people, including other allies. Spaces that are highly judgmental of their participants will engender performative behaviors precisely because people become anxious that they will mess up and get shamed for it. Not a feedback loop I want to amplify.

So, what can I do? Well, I don’t know, exactly. Probably a lot of things. One thing I try to do when interacting with other people who might be in the early stages of exploring their privilege or learning about race, gender, oppression, etc., is that I remind myself of my own journey. As an exercise in perspective and compassion, I reflect on the fact that education is largely a privilege. I have been absurdly lucky to learn the things I’ve learned, to have the resources and support in my life, the patient and empathic teachers. I remind myself of all these privileges, privileges that are not present for many people. Next, I meditate on the many ignorant, problematic beliefs and behaviors of my younger self. I was still me, just a version of me who was oblivious to the fact that a world existed outside the scope of my perspective. I harbored deeply racist, sexist, homophobic, and self-serving beliefs — because I was raised in a deeply racist, sexist, homophobic, self-serving culture. We all are. And I still grapple with these things today, and I imagine I always will. Of course, it is emblematic of privilege that some of us learn about oppression in more academic, impersonal ways, rather than having to confront its realities on a day to day basis. For overprivileged folks such as myself (and, really everyone to some extent), learning about the experiences of marginalized identities is an ongoing journey. None of us comes fully equipped. I remind myself of these things in order to temper my criticism with kindness and compassion. It is an exercise in humility and empathy.

I’ve also alluded to “effectiveness” throughout this post. How can I most effectively engage with other allies? Exercises in compassion and humility are good for me for a variety of reasons. They are humanizing. They are perspective-giving. They are, also, practical. I care deeply about social justice and I want to do what I can to keep privileged eyes and hearts on progressive change. One strategy that I find particularly effective is to meet people where they’re at, ask questions, and engage with them as if they were sitting in the room next to me. I try to remember that this computer screen acts as a veil of anonymity, which gives me a felt sense of licensing in treating people more coldly or harshly than I otherwise would.

So, in discussions with fellow allies, I try to exercise compassion and humility, while still keeping an eye on effectiveness. But this post isn’t solely about what I personally do to prevent others from becoming anxious allies. It’s also about how I try to recognize and combat the anxious ally in myself. Personally, I try to steel myself against some of these more toxic tendencies by practicing these things:

Being Okay With Mistakes. In fact, I have to work to get to a place where I embrace my mistakes. I have to be ok with being dumb and ignorant much of the time. I have to embrace the fact that I will mess up plenty. I have a wrinkly monkey brain and I know somewhere in the vicinity of none percent about the world. I am human, I am fallible, I am ignorant, and my understanding of reality is inherently limited by insulating and unequal social systems. One of the most insidious symptoms of privilege is how its benefits tend to be concealed from those who reap them. White people don’t need to think about racism; men don’t need to think about sexism; able-bodied people don’t need to think about accessibility, etc. This is all expected and understandable; it’s how we respond when our privilege is challenged that matters.

Staying Open and Receptive to Criticism. Ok, so making mistakes is inevitable. What do I do once I realize I’ve made one? How am I responding? An unfortunate reality for marginalized identities is that they too often have to undertake the emotional labor of teaching privileged identities all about these issues. This is not fair. It shouldn’t be this way. This makes it all the more meaningful when I get called out for saying something offensive, ignorant, racist, sexist, or bigoted. My initial response might be embarrassment or shame, and I might take refuge in my intentions: “That’s not how I meant it!” But this is defensiveness. This is symptomatic of what Robin DiAngelo calls “white fragility.” More to the point, it’s a bad interpersonal habit. As Cori Wong points out in her TEDtalk on feminist friendship, you would not react with hostility if a friend lets you know you had a big ol’ booger hanging out your nose in public. You might be embarrassed at first, but you’d ultimately thank your friend for speaking up so that you could take care of it (by wiping it inside your shirt like every warm-blooded American would). The same goes for people pointing out my mistakes in regards to social justice. My ultimate response, regardless of my intentions or initial emotional reactions, should be to listen and to give thanks. I have, after all, been presented with an opportunity to learn more.

Engaging With the Literature. Okay, so I’m willing to make mistakes and I’m willing to listen when people say I’ve messed up (at least some of the time). Is that enough? No. There’s still plenty left to do — and I cannot simply count on the emotional labor of oppressed peoples to figure out what to do next. Thankfully, I have incredible resources at my fingertips. I have YouTube channels, I have article after article after article, Instagram feeds, Facebook pages, books, books, books. There’s so much to learn and it can feel overwhelming to get started, but it’s never too late. There’s no better time than now. (I will also be making a blog post that provides a more extensive list of resources.)

What we have now, as mentioned by activist Maya Rupert, is a climate where the only people who are readily talking about race are those who know the least (vis-à-vis Dunning-Kruger effect) and those who engage with it regularly or professionally. The center has collapsed, with too many well-meaning white people sitting in anxious silence, thus reinforcing the very status quo they’re concerned with challenging. This is not an atmosphere conducive to collaboration, democratic and egalitarian participation, and effective mobilization. As an ally, I hope to do what little I can to correct this. I want to encourage other allies to take the leap of getting engaged. Advocating for spaces that are less hostile to newcomers is only a tiny piece of the puzzle, of course. But I think it’s a good step toward combating white fragility, white inaction, and anxious allyship — though white folks must recognize that it is our ultimate responsibility to undertake this.

In short, I want to be mindful of my impact, whether I’m criticizing people for virtue signaling and engaging in counterproductive ways, or I’m the person being accused of that very thing. I strive to foster allyship environments that are more welcoming and more willing to meet people where they’re at, while also fostering a willingness on my end to make mistakes while remaining open to feedback and staying committed to learning and changing. That’s just me though. In the end, a pluralistic approach to effective social engagement is likely what’s needed. It’s not realistic or productive to prescribe a one-size-fits-all approach to such dynamic and prismatic realities. On top of that, it’s clear that what I’ve talked about so far is just the beginning. A single angry Facebook post does not an activist make. Activism is more than simply learning about a topic; it’s getting involved in ways that lead to direct social and political shifts. It’s taking concrete steps. This requires more than reading a book or posting a hashtag (though these are not necessarily meaningless steps either). Remember: this is just the beginning.

Are you an ally of these movements? Are you nervous about engaging with folks, looking stupid or making mistakes? All understandable. The key? Make mistakes! Look stupid! Wade into the muck of it. Get messy. But just be sure to LISTEN and LEARN while doing so. Put down those defenses. Own your ignorance. Don’t center discussions on your own emotional well-being, but don’t render yourself paralyzed to the point of doing nothing either. Engage. Speak up, speak out. Explore ways to be an effective activist. Understand that social justice work is ongoing. You do not arrive into a state of enlightenment. You have to keep fucking up and keep learning. The reward? A better planet. Keep up the momentum, you messy, ignorant ally, you.

[queen-of-the-merry-men]

[I] trusted [you] + Any verse?

For Regina, talking with her foster daughter stirs up old feelings about her family.

Whole verse on AO3 or FF.net.

——————–

Regina didn’t like invading her kids’ privacy, especially not her foster kids.

Most of the older kids that they’d taken in have experienced living situations where none of their boundaries were respected and she and Robin tried their best to give them a better experience while they were in their care. Some of them still kept secrets though.

She never took it personally though. If anything she understood. When you thought the person in charge might be out to get you, it’s safer to keep the important things to yourself. She supposed that was why Mari had hidden all the letters.

All she’d wanted to do was clean her room a little bit. Mari was a handful, fond of backtalk and full of walls, but not exactly difficult. She followed rules, showed up to school everyday and generally raised no problems. If there was one area where she lacked it was simply cleanliness.

Mari was a messy girl, letting clothes drop all over the floor, leaving globs of hair product in the sink, half empty cups left out for days. She was better about it in the common areas of the house - living room and kitchen - but after several months of having her in the house Mari’s room had started to make Regina’s skin crawl.

Regina liked having things in order, it was necessary for her to feel calm. Messes made her feel paranoid and, honestly, a little unsafe. One day she looked into Mari’s room and just couldn’t take it anymore.

She’d been putting Mari’s folded clothes back into their drawers when she stumbled upon the letters. At least a dozen of them, all sent from the women’s state prison.

She grappled with whether to open them, tried to remind herself that it was best to respect her foster daughter’s privacy but… she was concerned and put on edge by the mess around her.

So… she opened them.

—————-

When Mari got home from work she found Regina waiting for her at the kitchen table. Fear and apprehension flashed in her eyes when she said she wanted to talk. Looking back, Regina realized that she probably expected to be told that she was being sent back to the system again.

Instead, Regina simply slid the letters onto the table and waited for Mari’s reaction.

In an instant the fear and apprehension turned to anger and hurt. “You went through my stuff?”

“I was cleaning your room.”

“I can clean my own damn room.”

“Well no one would know by how it looks,” she shot back.

“I trusted you! You had no right to go through my drawers!” said Mari, raising her voice and snatching the letters off the table.

Regina’s rebuttal died on her lips as Mari rushed from the table and stomped up the stairs, slamming the door to her room. She let out a regretful sigh, realizing that she might’ve lost what little ground they’d made in getting Mari to open up.

—————-

She gave Mari a few hours to cool, per Robin’s request. (”How did you expect her to react babe? You, of all people, should’ve known better than to give her a bed check.”) When she knocked on her door, she found the room in much better shape than she left it. Clothes were picked off the floor, the bed was made and even the bookshelf was alphabetized. She would’ve been relieved if Mari’s choice to clean hadn’t stemmed from the desire to keep her out of her room.

The girl in question was sitting at her desk, doing left over homework with her headphones in. She saw Regina walk in and rolled her eyes.

“I’m working,” she snapped at her.

“I know,” replied Regina, letting Mari’s hostility roll off her back. “I just wanted to have a talk with you.”

Mari sighed. “What?”

“I just wanted to apologize,” she said. “You were right. I shouldn’t have been going through your things without telling you. Robin and I promised to respect your privacy and I’m sorry that I couldn’t hold up that promise.”

Mari suspiciously narrowed her eyes, thrown off. “Okay…fine.”

“But…” drawled Regina, leaning against the doorway. “I still wanted to talk to about the letters you got.”

Noticeably bristling, Mari spat, “What’s there to talk about?”

“They’re from your sister,” Regina softly mumbled. “It sounds like she misses you.”

“And?”

“And… have you written back to her?”

“Nope,” Mari simply answered, trying to return to her homework.

Regina softly sucked in a breath. “You know if you wanted to see her…”

“I don’t want to see her,” snapped Mari. “There’s no reason to.”

There was bite to her tone and resentment in her eyes. And Regina could understand why, she’d read Mari’s file. She’d been put into the foster system after her mother died when she was seven years old. When she was 11 her older sister had gotten custody of her but she was only 18 years old herself. It was only a year later when she got arrested and Mari was sent back to the system.

“Look, I know she made some mistakes in the past but she is still your sister and -”

“And what?” snapped Mari, cutting her off. “I’m supposed to forgive her? No, not when she’s the reason I am stuck here!”

Her voice started to shake as she looked up at her foster mother. “She was supposed to take care of me! She promised she would and she screwed it up running drugs for her dumbass boyfriend instead of getting a real job! I don’t need to forgive! Not when everything I’ve been through is her fault!”

Regina’s heart pounded at Mari’s sudden outburst. She took a deep breath, trying not to let show how much it rattled her. Pausing for a beat, she crossed her arms and pressed her lips together before speaking again.

“I understand,” she said. “She failed you and you’re mad at her for that. You have every right to be. But she did try Mari. And she’s still trying even if you’re not.”

Mari just shook her head. “Whatever…”

“You know… I have a sister,” she mumbled. “She’s a few years older than me. Zelena.”

She paused, taking a moment to think of her sister. It’d been years since they’d last seen each other outside of social media. She hadn’t even come to Henry or Roland’s weddings, had found an excuse to miss both. Not that Regina was surprised by that.

“Our mother was…strict,” she said. “Scary strict. She liked things to be exactly as she wanted or she would… not react well.

“Once when I was six and Zelena was ten she told us to have the house clean by the time she got home from work and we did our best. We scrubbed the house clean until it sparkled but I… I made a mistake. I was supposed to clean the kitchen and instead of sweeping into the dustpan and throwing it out, I swept the crumbs under the fridge.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought she wouldn’t check there but she did. And she was furious at us. That night, at the beginning of winter when temperatures were in the low 30s at the warmest part of the day, she handed us two sleeping bags and said if we didn’t respect the house she gave us then we couldn’t sleep in it.”

“She made you sleep outside,” Mari said.

“For the next three days, yes,” she said, with a nod. “It’s why I like - why I need for things to be clean around the house. Our childhood was not pleasant.”

A completely understatement but Mari only shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve heard worse.”

“I bet you have but that’s not the point,” said Regina. “The point is for years I used to dream of running away with my sister. I used to think that one day she’d wake me up in the middle of the night and we’d escaped our mother together and find some place to be happy. We escaped but we each had to do it on our own.

“She went off to college and never came back. Didn’t call, didn’t write, didn’t reach out at all.”

Talking about it still stung. She’d thought she and her sister had been in it together but turned out she was wrong.

“She didn’t care about you,” muttered Mari.

“No,” said Regina. “She cared about me, she just cared about herself more… because she had to.”

She paused before continuing. “Once I went to college I reached out to her. Took a couple tries but she let me come visit. For a while everything was fine…until I brought up our mother and it was like… she shrunk three sizes in front of me. Instant reaction. She cried and bawled and lashed out at me. Said she knew letting me visit was a bad idea, that I’d set her back.

“So I left, checked with her roommate a few days later they said she’d been a little depressed since I brought everything up,” she mumbled. “That’s when I realized that even though my sister loved me… she connected me with a painful part of her past that can still break her with a single thought.”

Regina shrugged her shoulders. “So we don’t talk anymore, she doesn’t come around anymore. And it hurts but I know it’s what she needs to survive so I let it be.”

Mari rolled her eyes. “Big sisters suck.”

“Big sisters… are people,” said Regina. “Who have their own weakness and strengths and pain and mistakes. And Zelena might not talk to me anymore but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still the girl who snuck an extra blanket into my sleeping bag so I could be as warm as possible. I still wish her the best.”

“What’s your point?” asked Mari.

“My point is… everyone tries,” she said. “Your sister tried to take care of you. Did she succeed? No. And if talking to her and being around her makes you feel bad or unsafe then I get why you want to avoid her. And I’ll do all I can to support you in that… but if you’re just doing it because you want to punish her for not being the superhero you expected her to be? Then believe me, you’ve succeeded.”

“Because as someone who’s been cut off by the last piece of family she had I can tell you… it stings a lot harder than I think you know.”

Mari just crossed her arms, remaining silent.

“Don’t bite your nose to spite your face Mari,” advised Regina. “Being alone in this world is a lot harder than you think.”

Mari looked up at her with hard eyes. “I’m already alone.”

She slipped her headphones back into her ears, silently signaling the end of their conversation. Regina sighed walking out of her room and shutting the door behind her.

As she walked down the hall towards her bedroom she slipped her phone from her pocket. Opening facebook, she pulled up Zelena’s profile. She looked good, happy, judging by the photos.

Staring at her older sister’s picture she wondered, as she always did, what her life would’ve been like if her big sister had been just a little bit stronger.

She didn’t know that down the hall her foster daughter was staring at old letters wondering the exact same question.

[msjoyful23-blog]

Black in Corporate America

I never imagined during my collegiate days that I would still struggle with being African American working for Fortune 500 and global companies. It's a thought that never crossed my mind as I sat in my business classes with professors who walked the walk before me. They would lecture on working harder than everyone else, on making friends with the folks in the mailroom, and learning how to play the "corporate game". All of these things went over my naive head in the early 90s. I suspect it's because I went to private school from first to twelfth grade and I never experienced being treated unfairly by my teachers or any classmates for that matter. I was smart and never felt any type of way. I knew it existed with some of my other classmates being called a nigger and the like but it didn't affect me the way it does now. I guess you can say I wasn't "woke" in my teens the way some of these young people are in today's racial climate. I was more concerned with watching "The Box", watching Soap Operas, and hanging with my friends. I wasn't versed on the Regan and republican politics nor did I care. As a college student, my focus was on graduating not on Bill Clinton's crime bill. I voted for him and even helped with his campaign but that's where my interest ended. Eighteen years in Corporate America. Almost two decades of being a professional and productive member of society. I have a Masters degree in Business with a concentration in Accounting. I'm the real deal...I'm a woman...a Black woman...with a MBA...and a tax accountant! I'm dangerous and so I've learned over these past eighteen years I'm not wanted. As I've matured over the years I've learned to ignore that part, but all of the other stressors shine the light on the fact that we African Americans deal with some very heavy obstacles that few seem to be able to manage. I've seen it over and over countless times of disparities in the workplace that plague us from city to city and company to company. It doesn't matter how great a company's diversity programs are there will always be an employee or two or a hundred who don't buy into the company's million dollar program on inclusion and diversity. And somehow I often end up reporting directly to the aforementioned employee and I'm not sure how I survived this long. My Dad in all his infinite wisdom told me very early in life to become an entrepreneur. He had the right ideas but no advice how to execute and after seeing his business fail, I decided working for someone else was safer. I wish I had listened to him or asked more questions. I always rolled my eyes and blew him off because let's face it African Americans don't have access to capital and resources to start businesses. We don't even support our own community entrepreneurs and I wasn't going to be any different. So like those books I used to read when I was a kid where you had a choice of an ending by choosing a certain page, I chose Corporate America and turned to page 97. My mother often says that I'm the most resourceful person she knows and that I can find out anything. I wish I had drawn from her faith in me and started my own business. But no I chose page 97 so here I am. The lure of Corporate America is of course the money, status, benefits, and holidays off. Unless you went to FAMU's School of Business and Industry (shameless plug) no one tells you of the unspoken stress that affects those of us bamboozled, lead astray, and run amuck by a form of modern day slavery. As a Black woman I have to constantly combat stereotypes of the "angry black woman". I constantly wonder if getting upset in front of my coworkers adds fuel to the ridiculous notion that Black women cannot be angry. As if we are expected to always wear a smile and deal with every level of BS that comes our way without any form of emotion. It's ridiculous and also preposterous to think a human being cannot show emotion. You are allowed to feel and have emotions. You should be able to express yourself without someone labeling you as "angry" as if that's the only emotion we carry. How about frustrated or annoyed, which doesn't always equate to "angry". Please don't be lazy and label black women as angry because you don't want to do the work to have a conversation about what the issue may be. I equate this to slavery because we are being told without being told how to feel and how to react to being mistreated on sometimes a daily basis. Most women of color that I know have had that instance in the workplace where someone who is not a person of color told them to smile, not shake their head or roll their eyes as if we are property and they can still dictate what we can and cannot do with our own bodies. To demand a person of color to smile or not shake their head or roll their eyes is rude and racist. In addition to constantly wondering about my "perception" (also a racially motivated term in Corporate America), I am constantly conscious of my tone and sound of my voice. Can you image if everyday you have to think about not only what you say and how you say it but the sound of your voice too? That stress alone is enough for anyone to flip over their desks and walk out with the peace sign high in the air with any song by Kendrick Lamar playing as theme music. Ok maybe this is my recurring dream and everyone doesn't feel this way but I know at some point you have had to navigate through this maze of BS dealing with your tone and sound of your voice. After you have managed to identify this obstacle, your next obstacle is to learn to play this ridiculous middle school game of office politics. This is where I fail miserably because I'm grown and believe in being honest and upfront with people. I don't believe in throwing rocks and hiding my hand, throwing my coworkers under the bus, or being mediocre on a daily basis. I've never mastered this game and I flat out chose to sit on the bench while they sell their momma's out for a few coins. It's never been worth it to me to become a phony and unprofessional person. I happen to believe in the character of a person and being honest and trustworthy but I guess those are just buzz words nowadays that get kicked around like an empty soda can. Trust. It's such a heavy and important word. In Corporate America you are expected to trust those above you in a blind way like you trust God. I'm sorry but for me when someone shows you they mean you no good, trust is not an option. But the stressful part is you have to work with this person regardless of how you feel about them. Most people say they can work with anyone regardless of how you feel about them, however I believe you don't do your best work when you are literally working side-by-side with Satan himself. I've found myself leaving the office completely drained of any energy. Their negative and toxic selves suck all the energy from your body that you literally go home and sink into the couch in a semi-comatose state. It's unfair to work in a hostile environment where your boss curses, calls you out of your name in front of others, and yells at you and has not one professional bone in their body. So the nitpicking obstacle is enough to send your eyes into involuntary rolling. It's harassment in no uncertain terms. It's the kind of harassment that has you questioning why you even work there when at the same time you are more competent than most and have tons of education and initiative that you are often the one overworked because you do the most. You take on project after project because you are driven by nature not realizing it allows some to get comfortable in their mediocrity. They don't have to do any extra work because they know you will. Yet, the powers that be nitpick you to death and it's almost always not about your work product. 9.8 times out of ten it's about the "perception" that was conjured up just in case they need some justification to screw you out of a raise, promotion, or even your current position. Even if you are promoted they will stifle your growth and limit or eliminate your authority. You were a calculated promotion because they can say in their review that they embrace diversity all while making your life a living hell and increasing their bonus. I have no advice for those in similar situations except pray because that's all I've been able to do. Pray that God gives you peace to endure through these storms that seem to never end and pray that God fights your battles because if you try you will most definitely fail. The system is not designed for people of color. It is a winding and rocky road we travel for success that only we can measure. No one can measure your success for you. All you can do is your absolute best with whatever position you happen to hold. Well I do have two pieces of advice and that's by all means don't go to Human Resources. They are not your friend and they don't care what happens to you. They work for the company and their vested interest is to the company. Your issues with your supervisor or manager are just a means to weed you out and hire someone else who doesn't "complain" or "cause trouble". It's a shame that a person who is being discriminated and harassed by a fellow employee has no resources with their employer...or maybe it's just us...just people of color that have to abide by this unspoken rule. Hire a lawyer if it's that bad. My second piece of advice is to journal your experiences every single time. The best method is to email your personal email account from your work email. It is date and time stamped so it gives much more credibility than a handwritten journal. This is something I failed to do time and time again. From one company to the next I never documented my treatment and thus never had an advantage whenever I was disenfranchised. This documentation can also be used if the treatment is so bad you have to seek legal action. Maybe it's just me and I'm alone in this world of trying to navigate Corporate America while maintaining some form of sanity and purity of self although I know I'm not. I've seen my friends post their woes on social media detailing accounts of harassment and mistreatment by coworkers or managers above them. I've talked with folks who have cried on numerous occasions because folks are out here playing games at work when they clearly don't have enough work to do meanwhile we are all stressed out seeking professional therapy. It's incredibly discouraging because I'm a mentor at heart and I want to tell these young professionals to run far away from this toxic and demeaning environment designed for us to fail. I'm sure there are anomalies out there that truly believe in treating others with respect and dignity and who believe that diversity and inclusion are better for society as a whole. But until then, start your own businesses and build the community by creating jobs for our own. Don't pick page 97 if you don't have to because of fear or comfort. Be better than me and find a way to be your own boss. There is something to be said of being free completely. This is the answer that I ignored in my youth. It may not be too late for me but it's definitely not too late for the younger generation and I implore you to explore your options. African Americans, if I don't know anything else, are the most creative people on this planet. You can do this! Start teaching your children about starting businesses because that is the key to building wealth without of course stealing it but that's a blog for another day. Stay Blessed.