Snide Remarks, Sarcasm and Being Told to be More Submissive: Dealing with the Aftermath of Workplace Racism

By Danah Lassiter 

The day I truly felt like an adult was the worst day of my life. And I’d had it somewhat rough up until then. Depression, suicidal thoughts, an abusive upbringing and a stint in a psychiatric hospital were all things I’d braved. Still, none of that quite prepared me for being twenty-five and unknowingly losing myself to a job that was insistent on making me, an African American woman, prove my worth in gold. Oddly enough, my white counterparts weren’t subjected to the same insistence. 

It was the way my boss spoke at me that chipped away at who I thought I was. The snide remarks; the sarcasm; telling the office I was bad at my job; telling supervisors I needed to be more submissive; pointing out my mistakes but not those of others. I think it was ultimately his distaste for me advocating for myself and my skills without directly consulting him that made him uncomfortable. This theory would explain how I could go from someone who was great at their job one day to someone who was on thin ice the next.

I found that in pondering those moments, I saw who I was then. I was someone constantly afraid. Someone afraid of failure and of never quite being enough. I questioned my skills – not just about technical things but about simple things as well. Could I listen actively enough to appease my supervisors? Could I transcribe notes well enough to get every meticulous detail right from memory? Was I a good enough employee? My subsequent termination from that job led to that question floating around my mind, attaching itself to any happy memory or positive affirmation.

Unfortunately, I learned to distrust my intuition. After all, it had seriously failed me. Those who said they wanted the best for me ended up being the ones who did me in, and those who smiled in my face then stabbed me in the back later. If I couldn’t trust them, and I couldn’t trust myself, who could I trust?

The weird thing about discrimination in the workplace is that there’s not always help in the workplace. There are not always people who want to make right those wrongs, even when you lay all the facts in front of them, and you have witnesses. Sometimes, that blind eye is stronger. Sometimes, no matter how hard you work, their preconceived notions of you win out. 

So, how do you cope? 

When I spoke to my therapist a few sessions after my termination, she said something that stuck with me. I was not who my employers thought they saw. Despite jotting that down and telling her I would use that in my writing, it took me a while to repeat that to myself and actually believe it. It took me a while to not equate my value with my work. I had to come to a place where I found value in who I was as a person just because I lived and breathed, even if no one else saw that value. 

I self-soothed by mediating, by writing, and by practising gratitude despite the anger and frustration that I was feeling. I had to practice being the best version of myself over and over…

and over…

and over…

and over. 

Through the tears and the exhaustion, I kept on practising. I went on unemployment, got a therapy dog and hung out with some really cool people.

Then there were the power dreams – those beautiful dreams – where my being fired turned into a battle of wills. Dreams where I didn’t take what they dished out. Where I stood up for myself and told them exactly who I was and what I was worth. Where I thanked them for their time and showed them exactly where to stick it.

I was curled up on my couch with the stains and crust of yesterday’s tears when I began to love myself again. Sun streamed through the blinds as a podcast by Alex Elle played in my ears. She said things like: 

Allow space for yourself to just be. 

Be kind to yourself. 

Remember that you are your own and no one else’s. 

That last part stuck with me. I am my own. 

I am my own, even when my employers can’t see the value that I bring. I am my own, even when the pangs of jealousy remind me of all that I have left still unaccomplished. I am my own, even when learning to trust myself again.

To any women of colour who have found themselves exactly where I am today and are wondering who they are:

You are loved. You have value that cannot be erased, even though they try. Say this. Repeat this. 

I am my own. 

I am my own. 

I am my own.