Most know me as a Realtor but my career path has always been full-time accountant. All I know is math, I’ve loved math since I was a kid but now, it’s gotten me to a point where I absolutely hate it. I never thought I would ever see the day where those words, “I hate math” would be a thought. Math has always been my thing. It’s literally like putting together the smallest pieces of a puzzle together or simply telling a dope ass story with numbers. When I dissect why I no longer love math, it comes down to simply being Black in Corporate America.
I’ve been through the shit and back. Written up, “are you having problems at home,” “do your kids live with you,” “your hair is cute, I just want to touch it” I’ve had to keep a journal of my work life, documenting every incident when all I’ve ever wanted was to be a damn accountant. Instead, I’ve become an author, writing an autobiography of the last year of my life, wanting someone to publish me and the world to simply read and understand my story. To protect me and my passion for numbers but I was failed countless times. I was written up on 20 items that were filled with discrimination and lies. I had to take 4 hours of my life to write a rebuttal, “reference page one and two” and explain how management style was hostile in nature causing a hostile environment which caused me serve mental anguish. Did I grab your attention? Spending time in HR to explain all of the facts only to have majority of my write up removed because in their words, you were very professional, articulate, and chose the high road. As if I’m some dumb little black girl that doesn’t know how to act outside of being ghetto. Man, fuck y’all! (Is that ghetto enough)! I told you 6 months ago but only because now it’s in black and white, its enough to start an investigation. You see, you didn’t realize I was well organized and well versed in accounting files. You only saw one thing in me that allowed you to overlook that your notes didn’t match the facts. Most would call you a liar, but I would like to call you a racist. (Again, fuck y’all) Have I grabbed your attention other than the color of my skin, or the color of my braids. Now we’re on to mediation to “solve and make a healthier environment but you know it won’t happen overnight.” Well, how about 2 ½ months? Is that enough time to make the discriminator stop or do I need to continue to suffer through more pain before you get it.
On Jan 13, 2020, I finally had enough. Enough of the belittling, enough of the down talking, the overloading of work, the harassment and the discrimination. I simply had enough. My mental capacity just couldn’t and wouldn’t’ allow another day of being Black in Corporate America
So, when you say effective immediately, you mean….
It means, my desk is clear, here are my keys, I’m done.
What does it truly mean to be Black in Corporate America?
It means having to work harder, smarter, longer, without mistakes. It means being a robot and saying yes, whatever you need done, while your counterparts can work less, with mistakes and be less qualified. Being Black in Corporate America will have you questioning and doubting your worth, thinking maybe it’s time for a career change because you’re not cut out for this kind of work. You’re not good enough. But in all actuality, the system was not designed for us to succeed in a cultural that needs diversity and inclusion training. Why does this type of training exist anyways? I mean, I know not to walk up and ask why do your chink eyes look that way. I know better than to ask are you having problems at home. I also know better than to single you out based on the color of your skin. We don’t need any diversity and inclusion training but for some reason others do, others like you. Is it a sense of entitlement or is it just plain ignorance?
Society says, go to college, get a degree, find a good job in corporate America, so you can afford to live the American dream. However, what society failed to mention was the American dream didn’t include me and my blackness. It didn’t include my perfectly versatile hair, nor did it include my black thoughts and black feelings.
I am no longer Black in Corporate America; I don’t know if I ever will be again. I fought so long for a seat at their table but now, I’m choosing to create my own table. Who needs a seat?
– A Quiet Girl, with a lot of Shit to Say