
Please Don’t Tell Me That “I Speak English well”
Why is what I speak and how well I speak or don’t speak fraught with so much curiosity, perplexion and at times even tension?
Head of Inclusion, Equity and Impact at Carta

Why is what I speak and how well I speak or don’t speak fraught with so much curiosity, perplexion and at times even tension?
"Don’t worry, I am going to be brief,” she said, as she interrupted me. She went on for another 5 minutes. And then another person jumped in and went on for 7 minutes. And then the panel ended because time was up.
Why do we offer to make introductions we will actually never make?
Our lives, which slowed down for so long, seem to be quickly speeding up again. While everyone else is moving more quickly, I feel myself moving more slowly. A very heavy weighted blanket of deep sadness and anger envelopes me. Because while everyone else is moving quickly, I can’t forget about India.
On the growing list of everyday microaggressions we encounter, I have now added this phrase: “You look tired.” The “you look tired” has been yet another subtle dig, sometimes intentional and other times unintentional.

The pronunciation of my name has been the root cause of many of the growing list of microaggressions, or rather everyday aggressions, I have experienced in my career. While I continue to give people the grace, the support, and the help to pronounce my name correctly, my patience for misspelling my name is currently at an all-time low.
Earlier this year, a friend of a friend wanted career advice to transition from a smaller company to a larger one. It was the first time we had ever connected, and I was happy to allow her “to pick my brain” and provide any type of coaching or support she needed.
When I was in junior high school, my friends and I would be on our (then cool) cordless phones for countless hours. I have absolutely no idea how we could talk for so long, or what we even talked about!
“What’s the last book you read?” I was asked during a recent interview. I was certain they were looking for something profound. My Own Words by Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Think Like a Monk by Jay Shetty. Born a Crime by Trever Noah. The Warm of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson. The Truths We Hold by Kamala Harris.

I might be the only one letting out a secret sigh of relief that when I am out and about, I have my face mask on tight. I am happily wearing a face mask to protect myself and others. But who knew that a simple piece of cloth would be the one thing to free me from my complicated relationship with makeup? I no longer must pretend to like lipstick.

"More grapes, please," my daughter asked, as she continued to color her Peppa Pig drawing at the kitchen table."What do you say?" I asked her, as I was about to hand her the bowl."More grapes?"I shook my head."Please?"I stood there."I want green grapes instead of red grapes?"I shook my head again. I handed her the bowl of green grapes. "Thank you. Please don't forget to say thank you.""Thank you, Momma!"

"I think you need to stop being so difficult and just let this go," the senior leader said exasperated, handing my sheets back to me. He was annoyed. I took my sheets back and walked out. It was a battle I wasn't about to win.Those sheets outlined my compelling case for delaying the launch my team had been leading. The proposition wasn't differentiated. The media plan was underfunded. The estimates from sales teams were coming in lower than expected. My persistence, my persuasive business case,

Last week, I scrolled and clicked. I clicked some more and more. Scrolled, paused to answer a Facetime call from my mom, and then got right back to scrolling. I added a total of seven dresses into my Ann Taylor cart. And then I paused and asked myself the following three key questions...

It's Week 21 here, and I am still here — sitting in my corner bedroom, typing away at a makeshift desk. And my children are here, too. Nope, they haven't gone anywhere. Can't you hear that howling in the background as I smile into the webcam and conduct our meeting, pretending everything is ok, and that I have smoothly embraced my new normal?That howling, the wailing, the laughing, the shouting, the screaming — that's the soundtrack of the life of a working mother, now available for all of you t

On one of my first assignments at a large corporation, no one could remember my name. It wasn't because they couldn't pronounce it. It wasn't because they had never met me. It wasn't because they had forgotten it. It was because everyone kept calling me by someone else's name.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." I had sat there listening on the phone to the apology she believed she had offered me at the beginning of this year. "I'm sorry you feel that way. And this situation, well, it's really not my fault. It's not his fault, and it's not her fault, either," as she had named the other players who had been involved in the situation that had transpired amongst those who I had trusted and thought were friends. And clearly, they weren't.

Earlier this year, I was speaking at an event and walked into a small auditorium which held no more than 250 seats. I gathered my notes and carefully got situated on one of the high-top chairs trying to remember what Kate Middleton would do. To cross or not cross the ankles, that was the question.

We live in a world that doesn't shut up... But maybe it's time to change that.

It was one of the most valuable lessons I learned early in my career about what constituted a good meeting: always come prepared. Preparation to make a meeting as painless as possible was key. Otherwise, you have to be prepared to kill the meeting as one of my favorite leaders always did. There are plenty of bad things happening right now. We don't need to add the stress of a bad meeting to that list.

I remember when I was growing up, my dad would read the local newspaper in the morning with his cup of tea, and a plate of runny eggs and toast. In the evenings, he came home by 6pm and would watch the CBS evening news and help us with our math homework. On some nights when he had dinner meetings, he would come home with leftovers for the next day. But then he started traveling more globally as we grew up, and he would only be back home in a handful of days

We are all under a lot of pressure under COVID-19. And, sometimes, the easiest thing to do or say in the moment… it's also the wrong thing. But can we afford to not lead with kindness? Pre-COVID-19, kindness was still a synonym for being a pushover, for being weak, for being ineffective. Now, during COVID-19, it's a synonym for strength, power, and influence.

In the greatest forced social experiment of a lifetime my hair is constantly forced into a long ponytail, my eyelashes are bare, and my feet haven't felt the inside of a pair of heels since...

I find myself closing my eyes and imagining... The sweet scent of a Starbucks grande chai latte. The familiar aroma of my faded car air freshener. The smell of a half-eaten banana tossed onto the passenger seat… Yes, I miss my commute.

During a recent meeting on Microsoft Teams, I couldn't seem to get a single word out.
We use a few cookies to measure what gets read. You can decline and still read everything. Privacy policy.