When Does It End? Navigating the Unyielding Attacks on Black Women in Corporate America and Beyond

I haven’t shared it widely: I entered the workforce again late last year to avoid taking outside funding for M.O.R.E. And as I navigate the intricate pathways of Corporate America and the tech industry, the echoes of isolation reverberate louder than ever. As a Black woman, it feels like standing at the intersection of my identity and my profession, only to find myself increasingly sidelined. This isn't just about feeling left out; it's about feeling actively pushed out.

Just last week, an executive leader commented on how "eloquently" I speak. The compliment, if it can be called that, was laced with a tone of surprise—as if the expectation was anything less from the most senior Black woman at the company. This microaggression is a stark reminder that no matter my achievements or seniority, I remain an anomaly to some. It underscores a persistent, gnawing isolation that professional milestones cannot seem to overcome.

The sense of siege extends beyond the corporate walls into our very homes and communities. The tragic execution of Sonya Massey by a police officer in her own home—after she called 911 for help fearing an intruder—ignites a searing anger in me. It's a chilling reminder of our vulnerability, reinforcing a narrative where our safety is perpetually at risk, even in our sanctuaries. This tragedy should be causing uproar, yet the performative allyship of 2020 has waned, and Sandra's story is being whispered when it should be shouted from the rooftops.

Amidst these personal and communal assaults, the online vitriol targeting Kamala Harris's endorsement and pending nomination as potentially the next president of the United States adds another layer of distress. It’s not just the volume of the attacks, but the venom in them that strikes deep, revealing how far we have yet to go in our journey toward equality and respect.

Despite striving for rest and respite, true relaxation remains elusive. The concept of rest morphs into a mirage that dances on the horizon—visible, yet forever out of reach. I catch moments of pause, yet they fail to rejuvenate my spirit or quiet the tumult of my thoughts. It’s a fatigue that sleep cannot cure, born from the constant need to defend my right to exist and thrive in spaces that weren’t built with me in mind.

In this environment, the allure of Black spaces becomes a beacon of hope. These are sanctuaries where we can be unapologetically ourselves, where our laughter isn’t subdued and our voices aren’t tempered. Here, we are not anomalies or checkboxes on a diversity report. We are simply human, allowed to breathe free from the incessant scrutiny and covert judgments. 

With another election on the horizon, there's a palpable dread that the strides we've made could be rolled back, that the walls around us might grow taller and thicker. This looming event stirs a tempest of concerns: Will our workplaces grow even more isolating? Will the corridors we walk every day turn colder, more hostile? This isn't just speculative fear; it’s a cautious reading of the currents and undercurrents shaping our society.

I'm left wondering—and I ask you to ponder with me—how do we continue to fight when the weight of the world seems poised to crush our spirits? How do we maintain our strength and resilience when the systems meant to protect us turn against us? How do we fortify ourselves against the tempests of exclusion and hold onto spaces where we can thrive unapologetically? Your stories and solutions are as vital as ever. Let's share, let's heal, and more importantly, let's navigate these tumultuous times together.