An Ill-fitting Suit

As a queer woman working in tech, I've often found myself navigating rooms where I'm the only woman and the only queer person. I’m also very petite, which has the effect of making people think I’m younger than I am. (This is something I enjoy as I get older, but it hasn’t always been an advantage.)

You may have encountered the advice from leadership books urging women to lean forward on the table or adopt power poses to command authority and be taken seriously. I read those books. And to combat the effects of some of those aforementioned attributes, I did those things. And I incorporated other such advice, too: minimizing emotion, relying less on instinct and more on data when making decisions, commanding authority by being quick to react and unwavering in my decree; always having an opinion; speaking LOUDLY.

I knew that playbook inside and out, but the strategies felt like borrowed rules for a game I wasn’t even sure I wanted to play, never fitting quite right.

No matter how I tried to adopt them, it always felt like I was wearing a suit for a much larger, stiffer person, and it smelled of mothballs – a fashion from an earlier era that folks were trying too hard to still make cool.

Someone Else's Rules

Nevertheless, for a long time, I played along, convincing myself that any challenges I faced weren't due to discrimination but simply part of the game.

I got “should on” a lot.

You should be more aggressive, more commanding. You should insert yourself more; use more “I” language and less “we.” You should be more professional. And all this meant what, exactly, I wondered. I should be less approachable? Less attractive? I should be less of a woman, perhaps?

Despite all the “should” I took, after a while, after a lot of hard work, I got a seat at the table. For several years, I spearheaded collaborative efforts with IT leaders from colleges across North America to customize software tailored to the unique needs of college bookstores. I was immensely proud and fulfilled in my role as a Chief Information Officer for the retail arm of a large public research university. It was more than just a job; it felt like a mission – important, innovative, and deeply rewarding.

Left Out or Left Behind?

But as I looked around, I realized something was amiss. There was a marked lack of diversity among my colleagues and few others who shared my background or my experiences. And the camaraderie I longed for wasn't there either. In between meetings and after hours at conferences, conversations revolved around wives, kids, golf scores – topics that felt worlds away from my reality.

I had a female partner waiting for me at home, and instead of children, I had a fat, fluffy cat and a mix of hobbies that didn’t seem to be interesting to or popular among my colleagues: driving a Sprinter van around the Washington rainforest, transforming traditional Italian recipes into gourmet vegan dinners, writing travel memoirs. I didn’t own a boat, or a vacation home, and I didn’t know the score to last night’s game. Unlike those born into business-savvy families who funded their education, I came from immigrant parents who believed in the ethos of self-reliance and self-made success. It was disheartening to be passed over for invitations to events where others bonded over shared interests that I didn't share.

On top of all this, despite my long-time involvement in, or at least exposure to, the tech industry, I am not a developer. I didn’t arise or ascend in the same way as most of my colleagues. This lack of technical expertise often left me feeling like more of an outsider, an outright fraud at times, questioning my place in the field and at the table.

And then something terrible happened. I started “shoulding” on myself.

The Weight of Representation

I should guard this place at the table at all costs, I thought. I should represent women and queer folks and the “others” all at once and if I squander this chance then I will have failed everyone who might never get the opportunity to begin with. I should be a better example. I felt the weight (perhaps self-imposed, yes, but heavy nonetheless) of representing multiple marginalized groups.

So I leaned forward, I put my hands on my hips when I addressed the room, I spoke LOUDLY, got serious, smiled less. I played the game with someone else’s rules because I thought it might be the only way to play.

But despite my efforts to conform, I often felt overshadowed or crowded out.

My view was obscured by much larger and taller men; my comments and ideas got lost in much louder conversation. And throughout it all, I grappled desperately with imposter syndrome.

I wasn’t hiding my truth; I just wasn’t sharing it.

Who Am I If Not Me?

As incredibly out of place as I felt, it was no more out of place, I finally realized, than I’d felt for most of my life.

Starting with the early experience of growing up as a petite "tomboyish" girl in rural Pennsylvania, feeling different, being uncomfortable, and getting left out was nothing new to me. So I decided to transform that discomfort into something useful. While I may not have possessed the technical prowess of my peers, I brought a valuable contribution to the table.

Embracing my authentic self and rejecting playbooks that weren't tailored to me, I began to recognize my true worth. I discovered that what I had to offer – understanding, patience, a unique perspective (my "yin" power, as I sometimes refer to it) – was valuable. I was curious, observant, I listened to everything, and I often stumbled upon hidden treasures of insight along the way. The discoveries often amazed people: “Why didn’t I notice that?” they’d ask.

Yin Power

But what truly made the experience special wasn't the seat at the table or the title; it was the exceptional team I had the privilege of assembling and leading. Together, we tackled complex challenges, broke new ground, and made meaningful contributions to our industry. And we laughed. A lot. It was through this collaborative effort that I realized the power of forging my own path, playing by my own rules.

So I started crafting a new playbook.

And I started getting my clothes altered (to continue the mixed metaphor). They fit much better now!

My team was supportive and gracious; they guided me through tech jargon and answered my silly questions with patience and respect. And more than anything, they appreciated my efforts to understand their roles, to delve into what they loved about their work, to support their individual career journeys and uplift their contributions. Despite my initial insecurities, I quickly realized that my "silly" questions often led us to uncover opportunities for enhancement or simplification in our projects. In many ways, I served as the end user, the customer, for much of what we developed. This perspective allowed me to provide valuable feedback, ensuring that our solutions were not only technically robust but also user-friendly and practical. What I lacked in programming skills, I made up for with genuine curiosity and a willingness to learn.

Over time I discovered that my passion truly lies in helping others excel in their work and find purpose and meaning in what they do.

This is fulfillment for me – being a leader who empowers and supports others on their journey. It's a role that's often overlooked, just like us petite folks and those who don’t fit the traditional mold. But it’s incredibly important. Leading from a supportive position isn't just about managing tasks from the sidelines; it's about getting to know people, seeing their unique talents and nurturing them, making space for growth and change, and championing inclusivity. It's about recognizing the importance of every individual contribution and creating an environment where everyone feels valued and heard. And yeah, it's about saying "we" a lot.

The Magic of Outsiders

So, while I may still be an outsider in the world of tech, I've learned that sometimes it's the outsiders who bring the most magic to the table.

I found that what I could bring was a fresh perspective and approach to the industry, contributing in ways that may not fit the traditional mold but were valuable nonetheless.

Now, in a new phase of my career as Senior Project Manager at Forem, I get a great deal of fulfillment from supporting the paths of developers from around the world and working in collaboration with my own dedicated team. It's a role that I’m proud of – knowing that the work we do impacts the lives and livelihoods of so many individuals in the tech community. That's why events like we_coded are so personal. They remind me that there is a place for everyone in the tech industry, and indeed, in the world.

Our differences, far from being obstacles, are what make us valuable. They are our secret sauce: the unique blend of perspectives and experiences that drive innovation and progress.

A New Playbook & A Side of Secret Sauce

This is one of my favorite quotes of all time. It's from e.e. Cummings, a poet celebrated for breaking rules and ignoring conventions in order to express himself more authentically:

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

So here’s to the outsiders who bring fresh perspectives to the table and make us all better, smarter, more accomplished, and more of who we really are in the process. ❤️