What I Found When I Found My Voice
Sometimes our hardest experiences become the compass pointing us to the change we want to see in the world:
Similar to so many early teenagers, I never felt like I fit in with everyone else. I was a geeky, intellectual girl—and at my school, in my grade, there were geeky boys but no geeky girls. I thought about the deeper nature of things, but I couldn’t keep up with the nuances of middle-school social life.
Really, I think the only way I survived being excluded by my peers was by hiding with a book by the back shelves of the library during lunchtime. Then, in high school, I joined a youth group that gave me a place to belong, and my experience of exclusion receded. I had found my tribe. I found more tribes as I moved through high school into adulthood.
This experience left me with a deep connection to inclusion, and a sensitivity to who is being included and excluded in a group. When I participate in groups, I immediately notice: Who is speaking a lot? Who isn’t contributing? Who holds the power in the group? Who does the group take power from or give less power to? Who takes less power?
When I facilitate meetings, I build conversations for inclusion—by setting agreements to create safety or structuring conversations that give each person a chance to contribute.
My commitment to inclusion is not just intellectual. I feel it in my body. When I’m part of groups that are not respectful to all group members, I feel a lack of safety, and I feel myself shrinking. Even if I’m not part of the group being excluded, I’m not comfortable. Some part of me goes right back to the pain I felt so many years ago.
I reflected on all of this as I attended the Alliance for Nonprofit Management Conference recently. The theme of the conference was Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI). We had the opportunity to learn about and discuss research in the nonprofit sector on DEI, explore challenges and think about how to bring an equity and inclusion lens into our work.
One memorable session, skillfully facilitated by consultants from Praxis Consulting Group and ClearWays to Change, was about “Exploring Our Roles as Nonprofit Change Agents in Cross-Race Consulting Teams.” Part of the session included dividing into two groups: white people and people of color. Each group spoke on their own about the advantages, challenges, and sensitivities of working as part of cross-race consulting teams.
After the groups separately met, we did a “fishbowl,” in which each group formed a circle and shared reflections from their conversation, while the other group listened. In my group of white people, we spoke about how it was sometimes difficult to work as colleagues with people of color, because we feared saying something insensitive or speaking incorrectly on behalf of our colleagues.
As we spoke, I started to feel overcome with emotion. I thought about the experience of being in a group that claims to speak for everyone, but some people of color may feel left out because group leaders do not take their perspectives into account. I thought about the pain that I imagine (and have heard about) of being a parent of a child of color in a white-dominant environment, and knowing your child might be excluded or even in danger due to his or her racial background. I thought about the general, ongoing pain that racism causes in our organizations and our society.
I felt all of this deeply, and tears came to my eyes. Something had happened. I became aware of, and acknowledged, how painful this is for me; so much so that I’m committed to change.
This time, I didn’t shrink and I didn’t hide. I spoke up and said that even when I’m not the person being excluded, I feel a sense of pain at seeing exclusion and I want things to be different.
I don’t know exactly how I’ll go forward from here. I do know that I am going to keep telling the truth that I feel about race and racism. One of the takeaways from the session was the importance of speaking up, however imperfectly, as opposed to holding back for fear of offending someone. So as I go forward in my consulting work and my relationships with others, I’m going to speak up more—in individual conversations and in groups—to talk about the pain I observe or wonder about. And I’m going to structure conversations that let all of us speak up.
This writing is much more reflective than usual, more a statement of accountability. I hope you will join me in this cause, to stand for the “life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness” bequeathed to us all in our Constitution. Choose to speak up for those without a voice in these situations, but do not speak on their behalf. Encourage them to join us and to use their voice to effect change. This is the way we can truly respect others and their perspective, by hearing and sharing them.
As it was, at age 12, being sensitive was an unmanageable burden. Many years later, growing into this sensitivity, I see how it might be able to help me—and help all of us.
When I look back at that time, the way I feel about it has changed, but not much else. Who knows, you might find me in the back shelves behind a book in the library at lunchtime.
Try this:
Reflect: What do you observe that makes you uncomfortable? (That discomfort has power, because it’s something that you care about.)
What do you need to do to acknowledge that discomfort?
What do you want to do about it?
Last month’s post, “How saying Goodbye Helps Us to Say Hello” got a number of responses from readers experiencing all kinds of changes. It introduced the importance of processing these changes in order to move on from them. Read it here and hit reply to let us know what you think.