Not because I missed a deadline, violated a contract, or underperformed. The PR agency delicately told me that while they vehemently disagreed, the brand no longer wanted to partner with me because my content included themes they considered NSFW (Not Safe For Work).

What they meant, without saying it, was: Too Black. Too bold. Too Woman. Too much.

That email stayed with me for days. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to shrink, soften, or sanitize myself. 

Church taught me how to perform purity.

School taught me how to button up and carefully fall in line. 

Corporate life taught me how to say just enough to seem valuable, but not enough to sound threatening.

And content creation? I naively believed that after leaving the corporate world, after building something of my own, I was finally free to be fully me. Turns out, the expectation to perform, play by the rules, and appear palatable doesn’t end just because the office does.

{https://www.instagram.com/p/DCIKHlNSckZ/}

I was raised in the Apostolic Church and was taught from the crucial age of 11 that a woman’s body should also be seen as her greatest shame. At this church, women were not allowed to wear jewelry (because, of course, Jezebel was known for her excessive jewelry and the jingle from her anklets could be heard before she was seen), perm or cut our hair, wear pants… the list goes on. The only rule for men, was that they could not grow their hair too long. 

One particular Sunday service comes to mind, as I wore one of my favourite dresses with wide, ivory straps over my shoulders. My mom immediately placed an itchy chiffon cardigan on top to cover my shoulders. When I started to object, one of the elder women of the church jumped in to yell in my mom’s defence, ‘you think you’re going into the house of the Lord with your skin all out? Who do you think you are?’

Understood.

My 11-year-old shoulders were sinful and needed to be hidden from even God himself. To be respectable and safe for a church house, I need to dress in a manner that earns respect.

The policing of Black women’s bodies is of course an issue that dates back to colonialism, and the adultification of young Black girls is no different. Certified Emotional Intelligence and Neuro-Life Coach Karlyn Percil explains that she “doesn’t wear anything that doesn’t make [her] feel good.” I take comfort in Percil’s words today, knowing that she, as a successful business woman who partners with Fortune 500 companies, assures me that fashion can be a form of therapy, allowing Black folks to connect with their roots, research their histories and of course showcase their personalities. “When I wear something from a Nigerian designer, I am connecting with something ancestral and having to deepen my knowledge in myself,” says Percil. 

That moment in church stuck. Over time, it shaped the way I moved through every space that followed: school, work, the internet. I got really good at reading a room and tucking parts of myself away. Call it survival, strategy, codeswitching, hiding, I just knew that to be accepted, to be respected, to be safe - I couldn’t be all of me.

When I attended university, at what’s now known as Toronto Metropolitan University, I was one of five Black girls in the entire broadcasting program. We naturally gravitated towards each other based on this shared experience. Other students quickly became annoyed by this, assuming we were stuck-up or antisocial. In the student lounge, a boy yelled, 'Why are the Black girls even in this program?’ 

To this day, I’m not completely sure what he was suggesting. Perhaps he couldn’t fathom that Black girls could actually be shy and find safety in being ourselves among ourselves? Perhaps he couldn’t see that every other race, culture, and identity group naturally gravitated toward their own affinity circles, but only our group enraged him? I’m not sure. But what was understood was that my need for social safety and comfort did not make me safe or accepted in an academic environment.

Years later, I graduated and received one of my first jobs as a marketing manager in Dubai. I flew halfway across the world to support young founders in building their marketing agency. As the only woman in the office, they'd often call me into client meetings, ‘joking’ that they needed a skirt in the room. In that same office, we hired a coordinator, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl from Australia. She seemed to have an obsession with the N-word and just couldn’t restrain herself from using it, daily. She'd use it in place of 'guys' or 'everyone'. No one in the office said or did anything about it. Whenever she blurted it out they would all look at me to see how I’d react. At my wits end about it, I reported it to the founder, who then asked me if I was ‘going to be the bigger person or if they should fire her’. 

Understood. 

My need for psychological safety made my white counterparts uncomfortable. I wish I could tell you that my immediate response was ‘yes, get rid of her and bring in an HR specialist to investigate this place’. I was in my early twenties, on another continent, and afraid of upsetting the peace. Instead, the founder gave her a scolding, and she pulled me aside after work to cry and ask why I would tell on her.

I continued to climb the corporate ladder, moved back to Canada, and was consistently praised for how well I took criticism and for being the most mature person on the team. During one performance review, I was told that although I wouldn’t receive the promotion I had worked so hard for, I should be congratulated for my 'professionalism' and maturity. My director even asked me to help hold our team accountable because ‘Dom, you really are the most mature person on this team.’ This coded compliment sounded a lot like taking on the responsibilities of the senior manager role I was working for, without the title. It sounded like working twice as hard to get half as far. While my white counterparts were able to have angry outbursts, even cry when they didn’t get their way, my ‘professionalism’ earned me a pat on the shoulder while my colleagues were celebrated and promoted publicly.

I had successfully embodied the respectability politics that my upbringing relentlessly imposed on me. Dilute. Mask. Shapeshift. Prioritize their safety in that moment to ensure your own security in the long term.

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“Embrace the process of unlearning all the blockers you put on yourself in the hopes of coming across as palatable to your white coworkers”, advises Jermaine L. Murray. 

Jermaine L. Murray, also known as The JobFather is the founder of JupiterHR. Murray is well on the way to completing his mission of helping 500 Black people get jobs in tech. Every day he works with Black candidates getting into mostly white tech spaces. His advice is always to show up as yourself. 

“Authenticity is one of the highest forms of self-respect, but as Black people, we are often penalized for being authentic. It would make sense to accept that showing up as yourself isn’t going to happen overnight. So ‘tek time’. Give yourself grace and slowly interject more of you in your day-to-day until you can fully embrace being who you are in all spaces,” says Murray.

I left my corporate job last May, and now I am very intentional about how I show up. In every client meeting, branded partnership presentation - I refuse to code switch, dress or be in any room that doesn't feel authentic. I go back and forth deciding if I’m incredibly privileged to not only get paid, but paid well for this, and even more so to feel safe when holding these boundaries in my work life. 
But safety shouldn’t be a privilege. 

As I continue to grow and shed the corporate cloak that I once used to hide my true self, I'm exploring new ways to express myself - ways that the little church girl wasn't permitted. I’ve signed multiple brand partnerships with Fortune 500 brands, and I refuse to conceal any part of who I am. I'm grown, married, a mother, and bursting with creativity - if I do say so myself -  and I'm letting reflect that authenticity. If this feels NSFW for a brand, then that’s unfortunate. But if working with you means I can’t be truly myself, then that’s NSFM (Not Safe For Me!)