Pain and privilege

Since I left my full-time role at Booksy I've had the opportunity to sit with a lot of people, in an unfiltered environment. No shared KPIs to discuss. No work politics to navigate. No hierarchy to honor. Just pure, human-to-human connections.

And, I’ve been reminded of something.

Behind every successful leader, every parent that seems to have their shit together, every person with the loudest voice in the room, and every under, over, or average achiever there is … pain.

I’m no stranger to it. But as open and authentic as I claim to be, I often avoid publicly exploring my pain and the adversity I’ve faced. Not because I’m not willing to go there, but because there’s another side of all of this that I haven’t quite figured out how to navigate. And that is a privilege.

A little background …

I grew up in the 80’s, in a rural community in Michigan. My Dad built our four-bedroom house with his bare hands, my Mom counted pennies and moved money around to ensure the American Dream could be ours, and my sister and I took jobs {upon jobs} as soon as it was socially acceptable to work. There was never any excess, but we had always had enough.

Never once in my life have I suffered from scarcity.
Never once in my life have I been denied an opportunity because of the color of my skin.
Never once have I felt threatened because of my sexual orientation.

The list goes on and it can be summarized with one phrase. “I am privileged”.

As a privileged, white, heterosexual female, who’s worked in tech since the ripe age of 21 I have A LOT of blindspots. Because of them, I make mistakes. I say the wrong things. And, I will be on a perpetual journey to be a better neighbor, advocate, and well, human.

In the same light, I understand that privilege is not synonymous with unscathed.

Privilege doesn’t give you immunity from pain.
Just like pain doesn’t always result in growth.
And, no matter how you slice it, pain will always be a common denominator.

The pain we experience, how we experience it, and what we do as a result of it shape who we are, and ultimately how we connect with other people. Over the last four months, as I’ve had the opportunity to explore underneath the couch cushions of my community, I’ve realized just how little space we allow ourselves to explore pain.

Because it’s faux pas in the workplace. Because it feels burdensome. Because it’s vulnerable. Because we feel isolated. Because it doesn’t seem to have a place alongside privilege. Because we have so much other shit to do.

But, as I’ve realized in the last four months, when you make space for it, when you take the energy to really look at people when they’re talking to you, and, when you ask the right questions, with the appropriate intent …

It’s everywhere. And, yet nowhere.

It’s nowhere because the institutions where we spend the majority of our waking hours have trained us so effectively to compartmentalize. To leave our shit at home. To adopt the mantra, “it’s just work” as an alternative to solving culture issues.

Virtual therapy, “unlimited” PTO, annual awards. In many cases {not all} these are just BS offerings to create the illusion of a positive workplace culture. But they mean nothing unless supported by the values of the leaders, are offered authentically, are not distributed based on privilege, and recognize the impact that work dynamics have on employees. As beings.

The point is this: When our workplaces aren’t conscious of their contributions to our mental health nor give us the proper tools to manage stress, our ability to manage pain universally gets so much harder.

And so the pain continues to get buried.

So what do you do?

1. Start by hitting the pause button. I know you’re so, so busy, but even you can block off an hour of your calendar next week.

2. Think about all of the sources of pain, stress, and discomfort in your life. And write them down.

3. Talk to people who really know you. Ask them if you’ve been present, what your general vibe is feeling like, and if there’s anything that they’re worried about on your behalf. This can be uncomfortable, but you can do it.

4. Look at your list, digest the feedback from your people, and then be honest with yourself. Are you thriving, or are you a sinking ship?

5. If the latter, make a plan. Are there things on your list that can be easily resolved? Do you have the resources you need to tackle the really tough ones? Do you need more flexibility at work? Who can you tap for support?

Do that on the regular. Otherwise one day you’ll wake up and realize that managing the weight of a father with cancer, a husband with alcoholism, breastfeeding, two kids, a household, international travel, work stress, and umm, your own perimenopausal body, is just too much. At least that’s what happened to me as a privileged, white, heterosexual female, who’s worked in tech since the ripe age of 21.

I have so many blind spots, but managing my own pain and tuning into the pain of those around me is one that I’m looking to bring into clear vision.

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