I had forgotten what it felt like to get punched.
People often ask me how I got into the work I do.
My answer usually involves various examples from my own work history about times I have felt excluded or unable to be myself. And I usually go on to talk about how I now reflect back on those time and realise the ways in which I also contributed to creating that environment, and how I was also complicit in upholding systems and behaviours that excluded and make other people unable to be themselves too. You see, through my work I understand how I play the part of both the victim and the oppressor, and I feel it’s always best if I’m honest about that.
Something else that I realise now, as a result of my work, is how far removed I am from some of those situations that I used to find myself in. Both in terms of being able to check my own behaviours and listen to feedback, and to not finding myself so frequently in spaces where I’m made to feel like I don’t belong or that my experiences and identity aren’t valid. That’s one of the joys of working towards building an equal future, peers and committed leaders are having the kinds of conversations that are challenging in a much more productive way.
Which is how I found myself forgetting what it felt like to be punched.
As a small business owner, I find myself popping along to networking events. I love meeting new people, and I’m always curious to engage and collaborate with other leaders and creators – and if I can do this face to face, even better.
A few weeks ago I booked myself onto an informal meetup at the last minute; the opportunity to network with business leaders in the construction and property sector. Being me, I thought things like “this is probably a sector that would have some interesting thoughts and perspectives on inclusion” and “I wonder who attends this and how engaged they are?”. So, I paid for my space and off I went. Nice Friday lunch event, and at a football club too. Different. Fab!
The event overall was great. Interesting people from hotel groups, local colleges running apprenticeships, tech people with fancy construction focused apps, and of course people at the forefront of site contracting and management. There were plenty of conversations about the challenges they were facing and fascinating schemes they were trialling to make improvements. It was really interesting! After the first bit of networking and a presentation was finished attention turned to milling about over lunch and nattering.
Anyone who’s ever met me will know I love this bit. Even when people hear what I do for a living and shut me down with statements like “oh we’re really diverse already so we’re ok” (and that’s literally with me just saying what my job is and nothing more! As if a person who sells shoes might immediately be on their hands and knees untying your laces if you don’t express how happy you are with your kicks in the first 10 seconds of meeting them.. anyway not the point.) I don’t mind that.
What I do mind is the two men who, upon hearing what I did for a living, decided I needed to be told how terrible women were at playing football. How, even though there is a lot of people talking about the current England ladies team, they actually can’t keep possession of the ball, so they’ll never be much good. And, if you took the best women’s team there was and played them against a rubbish men’s team (citing the team whose venue we were in no less – the charmers) that the men’s team would destroy them, because, you know, men are just better.
Right.
And this continued for a few minutes (but it felt like days), but what stung the most? Not one other person on the table of 6 men around me said a word. In fact, one person pulled out his phone and muttered something about checking emails. Awesome guys. Thanks.
Now, this is the point I’d love to be able to tell you I delivered a perfectly polished monologue (channelling my inner Olivia Pope for those of you who are familiar), educating this man in a firm but fair way on why what he just said was horribly misogynistic.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I froze.
Because all the years of being called unpleasant things in previous jobs when I was the only women in the room came flooding back. The feelings I had in the past that made me want to be accepted and not draw attention to myself so it would stop – they erupted within me out of nowhere. I stared. Allowing this man to lecture me. I did, at one point, try to interject with something about equality of funding, but it was a feeble attempt to engage in a conversation that I was one half of, but not welcome into. So…. Slowly dying on the inside because I couldn’t find my voice. I smiled and I took it.
Perhaps it wasn’t his intention to trigger me (at least I hope not, but who knows), in fact, he would likely have no idea at all this is what his impact was on me. But there I was. Small. Frozen. Alone.
I was relieved when he finally ran out of road and declared he was leaving. Busy person and all that. And everyone else followed suit. Leaving me. Small. Frozen. Alone.
I’ve since had some time to reflect on this and talk about it with my incredible circle of people who understand exactly what this feels like. And one in particular who said, “you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be punched”.
They explained to me that boxers, who are in the business of getting hit for a living, train to take punches. To handle the shock that first time you get a fist in the face. The kind that leaves you (literally) dazed and confused. They become resilient to the blows that land so they can focus on their task in hand. Which for them is fighting back. But in the workplace that resilience to the blows that land is often just to get you through the day.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be punched.
I had grown comfortable in my bubble of inclusive leaders, respectful peers, and curious conversations that were about exploring fears and not about landing punches.
I realise now that I am privileged that feeling this way is not a regular occurrence for me anymore. How for the majority of my day-to-day life I can go about my business, protected from many of the microaggressions that people different to me will face. This is one of the reasons why this came as such a shock to me. I had found myself in a life where I was comfortable enough to let my guard down, and I entered a space where that privilege and comfort did not extend itself. I had forgotten the punches existed, never mind how they felt.
I am equal parts ashamed about this and pleased for the reminder. Because this is why I do the work. To prevent this. And I needed this reminder to stay awake and alert.
I needed a punch to land.
And this is why allyship matters too.
To prevent this.
I needed an ally, and there were none at that table.
To signal that this isn’t ok, and that people are paying attention.