“The efforts stop with whatever measures protect the company. That’s partly because accommodating us is not as profitable in the short term, and partly because companies are made of people and people think disability accommodation means ‘can a wheelchair user technically get into this building/area,’ or ‘does a blind person have access to the braille version of this…’ And make sure you aren’t neurodivergent or need fatigue accommodation; instead of having your need addressed, you could just be dismissed for not meeting arbitrary requirements that no one in a similar job even does on a regular basis, like lifting 50 lbs.”
– Tinu Abayomi-Paul (RIP), the founder of Everywhere Accessible, “5 Phases of Facilitating Disability Inclusion”
It started with the Zoom calls. For a decade and a half the saying had gone, ‘If you get the interview, you’ll get the job.’ And suddenly, my 1% application to response rate wasn’t my biggest problem. I was.
Was I my neurodivergence? My invincible disabilities? My mental illness?
When COVID came in 2020, I had no idea how discouraged and lost I’d feel in only five years. I had no idea that — in addition to my ‘whiteness’ — the very traits that had always helped me succeed would be the disabilities that would hold me back.
Eventually, I found an ad for a job that was as old-school as I. A former cat breeder and lifelong cat owner, I applied to a digital marketing manager-level position at the leading international cat association. I was overqualified, but that had long since ceased to matter. After months of applying to every job that came close to matching my expertise and experience, I was overjoyed by the opportunity to ‘do what I do’ for a cause I care about — the “over” in “overjoyed,” perhaps, being the operative word.
Not to mention, I already knew they were in desperate need of the very services I provide — ostensibly, at a very high level. I’d seen their website, but didn’t know they’d already started off on the wrong proverbial foot, hiring a web agency before bringing on their new strategic marketing (and CX) lead.
Instead of using LinkedIn, a third-party HR platform, or an on-site careers page, the job posting instructed the applicant to send an email with a resume attachment. I did. And followed up multiple times over a months-long period before receiving a ‘stay tuned’ response. Another few months passed, and a call came in — an excited, even emotional man on the other side.
The COO wanted me to know the organization’s long-time marketing head was retiring, and he had finally convinced the board that it was time for a digital transformation: a multi-faceted process requiring research, strategy and large-scale, even business-level changes.
We met on Zoom, with the current marketing director, an older white woman; the COO was also white and older. I’d never heard this much enthusiasm from prospective employers in my life. And then the tone turned ominous… as they presented, apologetically, the salary for the position.
Feeling finally in a position of some power, I took a risk and pitched my value prop — perhaps, a privilege unto itself; with little hesitation, the COO agreed to “go back to the board,” proposing a 100% increase in salary and a role change from mid-level marketing manager to c-suite chief marketing officer.
For what it’s worth — and, believe me, it’s worth a lot — a Black woman with disabilities may have been ‘excused’ at this point, or even before.
Gender and race significantly impact how individuals experience and navigate compounded forms of prejudice and discrimination in (and out of) the workplace. “Intersectionality,” a term we use (and misuse) often in organizing and activism, was coined more than three decades ago by civil rights activist, leading theorist of critical race theory, distinguished law professor and acclaimed author Kimberlé Crenshaw; in 2020, she told Time it refers to “how certain aspects of who you are will increase your access to the good things or your exposure to the band things in life.”
Black women, for instance, often experience what Krenshaw termed “triple jeopardy syndrome,” referring to the combination of ableism, racism and sexism they face in the workplace.
I struggle overcoming ableism, alone.
It didn’t take long for the offer to come in, and I quickly and eagerly accepted; I’d already begun working for free, because the COO kept on calling — and inviting me to internal meetings.
We had our first official meeting after the contract was signed. Within a day I’d prepared and delivered my full 360-degree omnichannel strategy, as discussed during salary negotiations. It wasn’t high level; it clearly stated the required steps and timeline.
Addressing me as an immediate insider and right-hand man, the COO quickly spilled all the proverbial tea, lamenting historical red tape and inaction, and empowering me to meet immediately with all existing marketing staff, who’d report to me. I outlined my management style and plans for my first staff meetings: focusing on each individual’s pain points, needs, goals, and favorite parts of their jobs, so I could analyze, adjust and optimally leverage the team to the satisfaction of all members.
That’s what I did; apparently, the COO had forgotten to inform me that even the interns were headstrong and out of touch, but what soon turned most alarming was my ignorance to their dissatisfaction.
Was my autism the reason I thought my first call with each staff member had gone swimmingly!?
Within hours, the COO was calling again, as excited as the first time. But now he was angry. “They’re threatening to quit,” he screamed through the phone. Parked outside Sephora, waiting for my wife, I asked, in pure shock, why that meant I was the problem — after all his incessant complaining about these very employees. He really wasn’t in the mood for talking. And as quickly as he’d convinced the board to double their investment on me, he’d decided I was no longer right for the role. The full strategy I’d built, he got to keep.
My passion for the project wasn’t merely misunderstood, it literally cost me my job. According to my therapist, it’s the (impulsive) borderline personality disorder that overwhelms and discourages employers.
And I was back to being unemployed, again.
The young star at Morgan Stanley, recruited by Barclays and earning six figures by 21… before his mom slipped out of remission, and he watched her lose her faculties, dignity, and life.
When he was best known not only for his writing and sharp wit, but for his commitment and his ‘way with people.’
Next was a pharma nonprofit, equalizing access to life-saving cancer medications. My mom died of cancer, and economic injustice has always been a core focus of my pro bono activism. Needless to say, I was even more excited about this opportunity than the one before. Would this excite the C-suite, too — or terrify them?
This time, I’d landed the role combining new- and old-school methods: specifically, using social media and word of mouth to identify mutual connections and solicit a personalized referral for the role. Initially, the COO, an older white woman, was as energized as I. Or so I thought.
Again, the position was being created for me. And again, the COO was “going back to the board” to pitch me as the answer to their marketing and sales goals. The board agreed, the job was offered, and I was employed.
Again, I quickly delivered on key reports, kicking off my process with the preliminary research I’d expressly stated throughout contract negotiations was a requirement for developing a strategy customized for the organization.
On Zoom, I’d present these reports, along with next steps and timelines. The COO would then lambast me for doing exactly as she had instructed. Calling me repeatedly “confused” by her behavior would have been a major understatement.
And then this opportunity evaporated, too.
In the interim, I’d established three other part-time clients: a cattery, whose owner, a middle-aged white lady, haggled over every fee and thought she could do everything better than the professional she’d hired; a realty, whose owner, an older white lady, haggled over every fee and thought she could do everything better than the professional she’d hired; and an artist and organizer, a Black woman who co-founded and leads two highly regarded and active justice organizations.
My relationships with the cattery owner and realtor lasted as long as I could keep them convinced that digital advertising and lead generation and conversion optimization actually do require a professional’s touch (to say the least). In stark contrast, my relationship with the Black leader increasingly strengthened — and, in spite of her hectic schedule and resulting lack of availability, led to conversations about increasing salary and responsibility.
Unfortunately, as a nonprofit leader infinitely dedicated to her community, this one stable client could also only pay so much. Not even close to enough for me to earn even a fraction of a living wage in New York.
So, when I received an email from an old agency coworker, a young woman with tattoos and face piercings, I was ecstatic, again, that yet another near-full-time opportunity had arisen.
A coffee company, aggressively positioned as an ethical brand, with a truly sustainable product and a legitimate commitment to workers on other continents, needed a content marketing expert whose capabilities spanned SEO web content and blogging, digital ads, paid and organic social media, and email marketing. My former coworker told me she’d thought of me right away; they needed to pivot from last year’s poor choice of prioritizing lead generation to targeting the right audiences and optimizing lead generation and conversion — coincidentally, the same thing I tried to tell the realtor who decided she’d rather “run my own ads.”
After a quick and constructive first Zoom conversation with ‘my friend,’ a meeting was immediately scheduled with the head of marketing and sales. We met on Zoom, and it didn’t take more than a minute for me to feel different vibes from the boss, a white man around my age. Was he taken aback by my zeal? Why wasn’t he dazzled!?
Nevertheless, my contact remained optimistic, and the company made an offer. More money per month than either of the prior two formal roles and 400% more than I was earning from my only remaining client, the selfless, overworked organizer.
The contract for the coffee company listed January 13 as the start date. Twice. A title appeared beneath my signature line. Twice. And then, once, in an addendum, the contract listed a “project start date” two weeks later than the date listed twice in the contract itself. I thought nothing of it.
It was a no-brainer. In addition to the pay, I would report not to the white boss but to the young, hip woman I knew, who’d vouched for me; the assignments, goals and expectations would be clearly delineated; and, everything would be discussed and documented using proven communication and project management platforms. In other words:
No need for me to start with research; I could review what they’d already found
No need for me to produce appropriately sized — but seemingly overwhelming — strategy documents; they’d already realized what would increase ROI, when managed by the right person
No need for me to manage senior-level egos and micromanagement; my manager would manage it for me
I took the job, expressing what, in retrospect, might have been an atypically high level of enthusiasm.
As soon as I could access all the apps, I was up and running. In mere days, I provided feedback on every brand, research and strategy doc; wrote an SEO blog post and dozens of headlines and meta descriptions; and edited a lengthy ebook, primarily poorly written and even more poorly designed.
I got fired anyway.
According to the leaders of the self-appointed ‘ethical’ brand, here’s why and how:
I added a new position to my LinkedIn career chronology, per standard practice, using the title the company had listed twice under my signature line in our contract.
I published a ‘celebrating a new job’ post on the same platform, writing only of my excitement to be working with my friend for this ethical brand changing the world of coffee; I used the brand’s approved image and language, not my own.
Finally, at month’s end, I sent an invoice, per our agreement, from the start date the company listed twice in the contract.
Initially, before the invoice, I received an email from my former coworker and referring employee: the higherups “have concerns” — they have no idea where you got the title you used in your career chronology!
“Um, from the contract they wrote and signed twice; twice.”
OK, “I’ll go back to HR and AP” and let them know, she said.
I continued my work, worried but unimpeded, until the next email. “Just want to make sure it’s OK with you. They want you to use ‘Content Marketer,’ instead,” she wrote.
No problem! I really don’t care! Easy fix!
I went right to LinkedIn, and made the switch. Apparently, how easily I adapted did go unnoticed.
Then came the clincher, the nail in yet another coffin. “Where did you get that start date!”
A third email. Less deferential. More agitated.
“From the contract they wrote and signed, twice,” I said.
The higherups are saying they’re seeing a lot of red flags! We have to get on a call!
So we did. On the Zoom, as in the round-one email, I expressed my confusion, as well an eagerness to adjust. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I must’ve been confused. I used the start date listed twice in the contract, but clearly I should’ve used the project start date listed once in the addendum. Let them know it’s no big deal, and I’m happy to send an updated invoice!”
Great! It would be fine, she told me.
But the very next day — a Friday, after 5 PM and my completion of what would be my last project — I no longer had a job.
What’s worse? This time, I lasted a week. A week! Without a major strategic or business disagreement. Without an overbearing older male boss. With a tenth of the responsibility, with clearly outlined responsibilities and goals.
And with what I thought was my newly learned, more professional behavior. Months and months of the narrowest focus in therapy. How to properly communicate — and not get fired — at work.
In fact, on my first day with the coffee company, I Slacked my contact, ‘getting in front of it’ by letting her know I would readily accept constructive criticism if I behaved too energetically or, conversely, wasn’t producing as expediently as desired. The only two possibilities, I thought, putting the onus on myself to perform ‘like a normal person.’ It didn’t work.
The young star at Morgan Stanley, recruited by Barclays and earning six figures by 21. Unemployed again. With one client, who, somehow, does seem to understand and value him.
So is it me? Because it was easier to blame myself when I kept making the same mistakes. Now? I don’t know. What did I really do wrong at the coffee company? Adhered to the contract? Took responsibility?
Is my instinct right that my very nature turns certain people off? Is it true that only Black women and leftists will give me a chance? Will tolerate me? Will understand my passion? My compassion?
This passion and compassion that benefited me throughout my childhood, during college, in my early professional career, and even after the loss of my mom. The passion and compassion that allowed me to keep for a whole year my first job after her death, in spite of an attendance record only befitting an active addict. The passion and compassion my mom warned me about in the letter she struggled to finish for me before she died.
The passion and compassion are what make you the loving, giving and creative person you’ve always been, she wrote. They’re also the very traits that could kill you.
And that’s how she died: worried my passion and compassion would overwhelm me. And someone would get hurt.
Since losing my last real job toward the end of the pandemic — after working tirelessly and producing extraordinary results for a company that chose to go under, over heeding my advice on the areas that, if improved, could save and even expand the brand — I have yet to land on my feet. I make one-tenth what I made a quarter century ago.
A professional once coveted, now unemployable. The kid with a 4.3 GPA, with barely a reason to get out of bed.
Maybe it was my destiny. I showed signs as an infant, after all. Or maybe hibernating through COVID brought upon a psychiatric break that might’ve otherwise been avoidable.
A few things are for sure. I’m disabled. Af. Applying for disability now feels more natural than applying for a job. And I’m not alone. Far from it. And it’s worse for women, Black people, the LGTBQIA+ community, elder statesmen (I’m 43, and look younger), and other people of color.
I refuse to abide by the bullshit I hear from the right. From white men. DEI is not to blame. I am. And so is the very patriarchal system that made DEI a necessity in the first place. CEOs and HR leaders don’t care about anybody, but they don’t even try to understand us.
My passion and compassion. My autism, my BPD, my creativity. These are powerful gifts, when unlocked. If given the chance. Smh.
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