Other Black People thought I would ‘Act Funny’ when I got promoted

Anatomy of a self-hating Black Woman Part V: My experience of internalized racism and misogyny with Dr. Michelle Yvette Francis was not my first time stepping into the landmines of the social hierarchies, particularly the haughty behavior and attitudes many people of color adopt once they feel that have “arrived” and are now above people akin to themselves. If there was any doubt that she was trying to subjugate me into a “lower Black” status she confirmed it by having her associates post online that the only reason I am writing about my experience being assaulted by her is because, “I am infuriated that she is light skin”. This is an interesting accusation considering that I could have more easily made the case that she mistreated because I am of a darker complexion. Observe that similar to the question about whether or not my sister that knows foreign languages is Black, now she has told on herself by saying this about light skin v. dark skin issue without any attention to her lack of medical ethics or humanity. My sister, mother, grandmothers, and great-grandmother (that was a product of a sexual assault from an Irish landowner and a Black house worker) all happen to be much fairer in complexion than Dr. Francis and complexion really should not matter, the argument is silly and juvenile, so in her attempt to distract other people from her poor behavior she has told on herself. Now there is no doubt that her aggression towards me is intertwined with my “Blackness” and her internalized racism and misogyny.

Sadly this whole ordeal is another instance where I am learning a hard lesson about other Black professionals, for many of them, our shared history is simply not enough to warrant treating each other with common courtesy. I was walking to my desk one morning, per usual, and greeted people as I moved through the floor, later another Black employee said something that saddened me. Yes, I am one of those Black women in Corporate America that likes to change my hair and wear colors that I like having on my body even if the dominant culture would consider it “too bright”. I figured out if everyone was going to look at me anyway that I would make the most of it and get to know people up and down the chain of command. I eventually became what some refer to as “corporate famous” at my company. This former employer still uses images of me with big curly hair on their marketing to recruit diverse talent. I once had a more senior business manager tell me that I “knew too much”. Trust and believe, yours truly is an equal opportunity networker. I knew people from the big wigs at the top to the middle management pawns, the lunch staff, security, admins, shoe shine people and even the night staff cleaning crew by name because I used to take pride in working long hours. I even mingled with the social outcast corporate citizens that had weird quirks that kept others from engaging with them or inviting them into cliques and no one understood why. I was a little Black girl on Wall St. working at a Fortune 500 Company with no one to help me if I failed at my career and got knocked on my ASymptote, so I kept my ears open, smiled and enjoyed a loyal base of information feeders. When I got my first big promotion some days I would run into the bathroom stall, lock myself in, hyperventilate and break out in hives. I was under pressure and so distressed at the thought of making a mistake and my corporate sponsors, who speak for me when I am not in the room during performance and talent reviews, turning on me. I concluded I had to always be vigilant. If someone told me something that did not smell right, I knew how to casually go out and verify by a few other sources, all under the radar. You would be surprised to find out how much the person other people see as “a nobody” knows. What had saddened me one morning during the waltz to my desk while I was saying “Good Morning! Good Morning! How are you? When is your next vacation? How are the kids and blah blah blah?” With my MAC lipstick popping trying not to look at the carbohydrates on the aisle table my team brought in to share, I passed a Black consultant that had been in my department well over a year and gave her a warm greeting. She told me, “Roslyn, you’re the only Black person at your level or above that even speaks to me.” I was struck, I was so busy running my mouth and keeping tabs on when the next layoff was coming and who was on the chopping block that I failed to realize some of my Black professional peers may have been chummy with me, but were too high and mighty to acknowledge this woman’s presence when based on our floor plan arrangement it was impossible to be in the office and not see her. Come to find out this woman had a Phd and was brilliant, she had been a senior executive at a Japanese bank before shifting into consulting and was a first lady at a vibrant Christian church in Queens. She had already been there and done that on the corporate ladder, I learned a lot from her professionally.  Most Black women are concurrently visible and invisible. I had served on numerous diversity, equity, and inclusion committees. I was the engine driving forward a series of career development workshops within my company for women based on a curriculum I was taught at Google. It was not until I had resigned to join another company that an outpouring of women from all backgrounds reached out to me to share how my presence had impacted them, other Black women congratulated me but confessed they were sad I was leaving. Somehow I managed to actually be seen in this environment and now I understand that if I was doing it, then they felt they could do it too. I wish I had some of this good Black girl karma to protect me when I was being verbally abused by Dr. Francis. 

I am now terrified of having children or seeking further healthcare. If I trust another doctor, then this could happen again or something worse and there is very little legal redress available when these things occur. Powerful institutions like Mount Sinai easily sweep it all under the rug. I wonder what else is hidden from public knowledge.    

Self-hate confines the mind, callouses the heart, and corrupts the soul. Dr. Francis stabbed me with hostile projections while I was in my most vulnerable disempowered state. What could I have said or done while my labia were compressed with metal to justify her malice? How could any whole self-loving Black woman see me in that state and treat me this way? I may never know the true source of her discontent or what compels her to dominate others through fear and intimidation, but I acknowledge that we are both prisoners of prejudice. She could not internalize something that does not exist, hence the tree of racism’s hideous seedlings, she displayed what has also probably been done to her. 

Brokenness begets more brokenness. When will self-flagellation stop? Freedom from captivity is sorely done a disservice whenever we do not operate from the place of self-love.

The decision to be open about this ordeal was challenging and the biggest risk I have ever taken in my life. No matter the result, I still have to go to work, face my colleagues and function sanely as someone’s manager. I have to face the chain of leadership at my employer. I have to face my family, including relatives that do not like me. I have to face my friends and extended professional network.

Dr. Francis are now perpetually bonded in brokenness just as our pain-bearing mothers, grandmothers. We are the daughters of Black women of yesteryear on this soil and abroad that were used up, then discarded. I never asked for perfection, only basic human decency. 

The behavior of OB GYN Dr. Michelle Yvette Francis has scarred me, but I choose to send her love. She cannot give what she does not have for herself. 

If I do not eventually forgive her, then I could become her and I want to end the cycle of Self-Hate.