For years, I’ve told the story of an early time when I stood up for myself in a workplace. It was the first time I had ever used my voice to say out loud what I wanted in a job.
I was a recent college graduate interviewing for a position I found through a newspaper ad. This was 2001 and Baltimore, like me, had many opportunities and many troubles. I had just finished a year of AmeriCorps and two other jobs to make one livable income—and decided to try corporate America.
I was dressed up, ironed, and wide-eyed in a small corner office of an electronic component company. My nerves were screaming, and I just wanted to say yes to anything and get the interview over with. The hiring manager was telling me about two open positions: an office manager and an inside salesperson. Either would have been fine, however, once he described the office manager position as a “mother hen,” something burst out of me like a lion attacking its prey.
My voice came from a place I had not met before—a well of strength I had not yet tapped into—but it came roaring out: “No, thank you, I will not be your ‘mother hen.’ I want the inside sales position!”
I had never been so clear at an interview or in previous positions. And they offered me the job. I stayed in that job until they had to make layoffs. Alas, since I was the last hired, I was the first fired—another first for me.
My voice came from a place I had not met before—a well of strength I had not yet tapped into—but it came roaring out: “No, thank you.”
One sad part of this is that I have come to realize that the tendency to not speak up is a tool that patriarchy relies on to perpetuate itself. In the workplace, I have found that many people—mostly men—have this “lion” inside of them, and they let it speak more often than not, while women like me are more likely to stay silent.
After years of describing my lion moment, I wish I knew then that the lion was a power that I could have used in every workplace to stop denigrating treatment and avoid endless hours of confusion and suffering.
I could have asked for what I wanted every time I felt ignored, looked over, or objectified. The lion was ready all along, but it often stayed hidden behind politeness, acquiescence, and smiles.
That lion remained submerged in my next job, a civil engineering firm that reeked of cigarette smoke and had posters of scantily clad women all over the walls. I did not tap into my inner lion when, at another workplace, a salesman I worked with refused to stop patting my body parts “as a joke.” Nor did I did call on my lion when I was required to wear pantyhose and heels at an advertising agency in 2014. My lion should have walked me right out of the interview when they told me I needed to dress like it was the 1980s.
I have learned to use my lion since then.
It should not be unusual for a person, especially a woman, to use her voice to ask for respect and say her needs.
Now, in my work teaching Pilates and sitting on the board of Strike For Our Rights, I let the lion out, and people respect it—my voice, loud and clear, standing strong and firm.
