Making Space
If you were to walk into my kitchen right now, you’d see complete disarray. Dishes piling up in the sink. A crowded island overflowing with kids’ crafts, toys, paperwork, mail. Random items scattered on the floor. The list goes on.
I acknowledge this is problematic at best, all-consuming and overwhelming at worst. Our tale is as old as time: two young kids, two full-time jobs, and not nearly enough time. My husband and I have learned to glaze over the chaos, to keep moving, to make the best of the neverending mess.
I open with this because, to me—as a Black woman—this feels all too familiar.
The clutter, the constant motion, the strategic ignoring of what’s right in front of you… it reminds me of how Black women move through so many of the spaces we inhabit.
When people refer to Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, and other communities as “people of color,” I understand the intention. But it also becomes an easy way to gloss over the unique injustices faced by any one group. Especially Black people.
And while Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) efforts are now more visible—on company websites, in job postings, at panel discussions—the race to be more “diverse” has, paradoxically, never felt more exclusionary. What should be a moment of clarity, of reckoning, of right-sizing the power imbalance… instead often feels like a black hole. One where the unique experiences of Black people, and Black women especially, disappear. As long as someone can check the “POC” box, it’s treated as progress.
But this is not what progress looks like.
The push to elevate women—especially in corporate, political, and nonprofit leadership—has, in many cases, overshadowed and even erased us.
I came of age in the era of “Girl Power,” which evolved into “Girl Boss” just as I was entering the workforce. I bought into it. I was fueled by the idea of cracking the glass ceiling, of pushing my way to the top. I networked relentlessly, took on extra assignments, contorted myself into the mold of what leadership was supposed to look like.
But proximity to whiteness wins the race.
After nearly two decades in the workforce, I can say: yes, the path for women has widened. Yes, more of us are being invited in. But when it comes to Black women, we are still routinely passed over. Even in spaces that pride themselves on progressiveness, we remain underrepresented, underestimated, and often unheard.
I started my career in a predominantly white city, and I remember feeling like a hamster on a wheel—running furiously just to stay in place. The agility, the hustle, the stamina it required... it was almost impressive. If networking were an Olympic sport, I’d have a shot at silver.
But the cost was high.
Like many Black women, I mastered the art of disarming and charming—making myself more palatable in rooms where I was often the only one. But in the process, I diminished my own worth. Not just internally, but externally, too. My years of experience, my hard-won degrees, my specialized skills—all of it often sidelined or second-guessed.
So, like the clutter in my kitchen, we learn to work around the mess. We build our lives and careers within it. We keep moving, surviving, adapting.
But I wonder: what might be possible if we didn’t have to?
What if we cleared the space—not just the literal space, but the cultural space, the institutional space, the narrative space—for Black women to be seen, heard, and valued for who we are? What if we didn’t have to minimize ourselves to belong, or soften our edges to be embraced?
What if we didn’t just make room—but made space?