For Women Who Live in the Margin
Over the years I’ve spent in the workforce, I’ve seen many tactics to keep women living in the margin. As the only woman on my shift at the Post Office, my male colleagues resented me, and one once held a knife to my throat because he thought I was making the men “look bad.”
At the pharmaceutical company, I was sexually harassed, touched inappropriately, and paid less than male counterparts. I returned from maternity leave to find I was not getting my old job back, but rather one with much less flexibility. I spent my lunch hours nursing my daughter and came back to find my boss at my desk, checking his watch, accusing me of being late, while the rest of the department was still out having happy hour.
When I had a miscarriage I didn’t get a card or a call from anyone because my boss had announced I had requested to be “left alone.” That same boss said to me on my return, “Well you didn’t want another baby this soon anyway.”
At a nonprofit, I was part of an entire team of award-winning communicators who not only lost our “seats at the table,” but also had them yanked out from under us. We were perp-walked out and told we could take the “glass thingies” (awards).
And at least three times during a recent conference call, I was told, “We need someone who knows what they are talking about.”
Twice, it was a direct response to answers I was giving about strategic communications initiatives. The third time it was to decline my offer of asking other Strategic Communicators (from a professional organization I am a member of) to consult with us. Apparently, I was then judged “too close” to the work I do.
This was not the first time I found myself being marginalized by important people with important ideas intent on ignoring or discounting those with “institutional memory.”
Why does this happen?
Sometimes it is the belief that experienced people will be resistant to change. Sometimes it is the fear that knowledgeable people may raise objections, or even worse, have suggestions of their own. And sometimes it is the ugly hydra of misogyny, ageism, racism, elitism, and hubris. But this time, I was not going to limp away convinced that I indeed, did not know what I was doing.
My experiences over the years are not unique.
When I participated in the Women’s March, I was struck by the number of women who remarked how sad it was that “we were here again.” That’s what it means to be a woman in the margin. My sign was simple. Respect me.
But there’s a funny thing about the margin. That’s the place where you find doodles, creative thoughts, and wise observations. In the margin is where your kindred spirits dwell, and where resilience is stored.
So, today I may not be the person “they” think knows what she is talking about. My voice may be ignored, my suggestions rejected. “They” will be the people who seek solutions in the outlines, bullet points and policy statements they have written in the center of the page, or have floating around in their heads. I’ll be the person over in the margin; not limping, not weeping, not berating myself. I’ll be too busy filling the space with color, laughter, strength, and forward movement.
