Michelle: A recent study found that just 3% of Black professionals want to return to the office full-time. Three percent. Mark: Wow, that's a shockingly low number. You'd think it would be higher, with all the talk about collaboration and company culture. Michelle: Exactly. And that number tells a story. It’s not just about loving remote work; for many, it’s about escaping a toxic environment. Today, we’re exploring the 'why' behind that number. Mark: And that 'why' is something you think is perfectly laid out in a book that’s been making serious waves. Michelle: It is. We’re diving into I’m Not Yelling: A Black Woman’s Guide to Navigating the Workplace by Elizabeth Leiba. Mark: Right, and Leiba isn't just an author. She's a professor and a prominent social justice advocate. I read that her activism really intensified after the murder of George Floyd, which became a huge catalyst for her to write this book. It feels born from a moment of real urgency. Michelle: It absolutely is. This book is not just theory; it’s a response. And she starts by dismantling one of the most common workplace buzzwords we all think we understand.

Michelle: Mark, when you hear the phrase 'imposter syndrome,' what comes to mind? Mark: I mean, it’s that classic feeling, right? The sense that you’re a fraud, that you don’t deserve your success, and that any minute now, someone’s going to tap you on the shoulder and say, "We know you don't belong here." I think a lot of people feel that, regardless of who they are. Michelle: That’s the standard definition, and it’s a very real feeling for many. But Leiba makes a brilliant and crucial distinction in the book. She argues that for Black women, what is often diagnosed as an internal 'imposter syndrome' is actually a rational response to 'imposter treatment.' Mark: Imposter treatment? What’s the difference? Michelle: The syndrome is internal—it’s a feeling you impose on yourself. The treatment is external—it’s how the world, and specifically the workplace, systematically treats you as if you are an imposter. It’s not a bug in your software; it’s a feature of the environment you’re in. Mark: Okay, that’s a powerful reframe. It shifts the blame from the individual to the system. Michelle: Precisely. Leiba shares a harrowing personal story that makes this crystal clear. When she was just nineteen, a sophomore in college, she was falsely accused of shoplifting batteries she had a receipt for. She was arrested, put in a police car, and taken to jail. Mark: For something she didn't do, and had proof she didn't do? That's horrifying. Michelle: And here’s the key part. She describes feeling completely powerless, realizing she had no control. She had done everything 'right'—she was a good student, she was calm and compliant with the police—but the system still treated her as a criminal, as someone who didn't belong. That experience, she says, was a profound lesson in how you can be treated as an outsider, an imposter, no matter how perfectly you follow the rules. Mark: I can’t even imagine. For a 19-year-old, that’s a world-shattering experience. It’s not a feeling of self-doubt; it’s the world showing you in the harshest way possible that it doubts you. Michelle: Exactly. And that feeling gets carried into the workplace. Think about another example she brings up: Michelle Obama. People often point to her and say she admitted to having imposter syndrome. But Leiba reframes it. When Michelle Obama was applying to Princeton, her high school counselors told her she was "not Princeton material." When she got there, her white roommate's mother tried to get her daughter moved because she was Black. Mark: Wait, so she was literally being told, "You don't belong here." Michelle: Yes! So when she later feels a flicker of self-doubt, is that a 'syndrome'? Or is it a perfectly logical echo of the 'treatment' she received for years? The book argues it’s the latter. The feeling isn't the problem; the treatment is the problem. Mark: That completely changes how I think about it. It’s not an irrational fear; it’s a learned response based on real-world evidence. The world keeps giving you receipts that say you don't belong, so you start to believe it. Michelle: And when you’re constantly being treated like you don’t belong, you start to develop survival mechanisms. You put on a kind of armor, or a performance, just to get through the day.

Mark: That makes perfect sense. If you're constantly being treated like an imposter, you must have to put on some kind of… performance, just to survive. It sounds exhausting. Michelle: It is. Leiba dedicates a lot of time to this idea of performance, and one of the key behaviors is code-switching. It’s a term that comes from linguistics, but in this context, it’s about altering your speech, your mannerisms, even your personality, to fit into the dominant, usually white, professional culture. Mark: Like being a different person at work than you are at home. Michelle: Exactly, but on a much deeper level. Leiba references the famous concept of "double consciousness" from W.E.B. Du Bois—this sense of always seeing yourself through the eyes of others. She shares a personal story about co-hosting a podcast with two white men. One of them gently told her, "I wish you were with our guests the way you are with me on the phone." He noticed she was more relaxed, funnier, and more authentic in private, but became more reserved and 'professional' during the interviews. She was code-switching without even fully realizing it. Mark: Wow. And the fact that her co-host noticed it… that’s telling. But isn't part of being professional adapting your style to the environment? Where do you draw the line between adapting and erasing yourself? Michelle: That’s the critical question. Leiba argues the line is crossed when the 'adaptation' comes at a high psychological cost and is based on negative stereotypes. It’s not just about being polite; it’s about suppressing your authentic self because you’ve been taught that your authentic self is somehow 'unprofessional.' And this performance isn't just verbal. It’s physical. She has a whole chapter on the politics of hair. Mark: The politics of hair. That sounds intense. Michelle: It is. She tells a story about an interview at a tech company. She had natural hair and debated all morning whether to wear it in an afro or pull it back into a more 'conservative' bun. She chose the afro, thinking a cutting-edge company would be progressive. Mark: And I’m guessing they weren't. Michelle: The reception was icy. The interviewers seemed disinterested. She didn't get the job, and she was left with this sinking feeling, questioning if it was her hair. She writes, "If someone doesn’t want me in a space because of my hair, then I don’t want them." But that experience highlights the immense pressure. And this isn't new. The book digs into the history, like the tignon laws in 18th-century Louisiana, which forced Black women to cover their hair to signify they were of a lower class. Mark: Hold on, there were actual laws about how Black women could wear their hair? Michelle: Yes. It was about control. And that legacy continues today, in subtler ways. Research shows Black women with natural hairstyles are often rated as less professional in job interviews. And the book cites a heartbreaking statistic: a study found that 81% of Black girls in majority-white schools say they sometimes wish their hair was straight. Mark: Eighty-one percent. That’s… that’s the psychological cost you were talking about. It starts so young. The message is clear: the way you naturally are is not acceptable. Michelle: Exactly. It's a constant, exhausting performance. You're monitoring your tone so you're not perceived as 'yelling.' You're monitoring your language. You're monitoring your hair. It’s a full-time job on top of your actual job. Mark: This all sounds incredibly draining and, frankly, infuriating. So what's the solution? Do you just… endure it? Is there a way out of this performance?

Michelle: That's the powerful final act of the book. Leiba says the way out isn't just endurance; it's reclamation. And it happens in two major ways. The first is finding and using your authentic voice, even when it’s terrifying. Mark: Which is where the title comes from, "I'm Not Yelling." Michelle: Precisely. It’s about being passionate, direct, or assertive without being slapped with the 'Angry Black Woman' trope. She tells a story from her own corporate life. During a big project, she was constantly being interrupted and spoken over by more junior, white colleagues in meetings. For weeks, she bit her tongue. Finally, when a man cut her off mid-sentence, she just stopped and said, "I wasn't finished speaking. Please let me finish." Mark: I can feel the tension in the virtual room just hearing that. What happened? Michelle: An awkward silence. The man stopped interrupting her in future meetings. But afterward, her own supervisor, another Black woman, pulled her aside and told her she needed to "fix her face" and be less outspoken. Mark: Wow. So even when she stood up for herself, she was policed by her own manager. That’s a double bind. Michelle: A complete double bind. And it illustrates the risk. But Leiba's point is that the risk of silence is greater. You have to set the boundary. You have to speak up. That’s the first step. But then she takes it even further. She questions the entire goal of "getting a seat at the table." Mark: What do you mean? Isn't that the goal of corporate advancement? Michelle: She asks a radical question: Why are we fighting so hard for a seat at a table that is fundamentally broken, a table where we have to constantly prove we deserve to be? The data she presents is stark. Black women make up over 7% of the US population but hold only 1.4% of C-suite positions. The path is incredibly narrow and fraught with the 'imposter treatment' we talked about. Mark: So if the game is rigged, you stop playing. Michelle: Or you build your own game. This is where she champions entrepreneurship and creating your own opportunities. She did it herself. She left a high-level corporate job to build her own brand as a writer, speaker, and educator. She found that the tables she built for herself were far more welcoming and rewarding. Mark: Ah, so that connects back to the opening statistic! The 3% of Black professionals who want to go back to the office. It's not just about avoiding the bad; it's about the freedom to build something good. The freedom to not perform, to not be subjected to microaggressions, and to define success on your own terms. Michelle: You've got it. It’s about shifting the question from "Am I good enough for this space?" to a much more powerful one that she borrows from another advocate: "Does this space deserve me?"

Michelle: When you look at the book as a whole, its power lies in that journey. It takes you from a new diagnosis of the problem—it's imposter treatment, not a syndrome—to the daily symptoms, like code-switching and hair politics, and finally, to a prescription for a cure: finding your voice and, if necessary, building a new world for yourself. Mark: And the title, I'm Not Yelling, really is the core thesis, isn't it? It’s the perfect encapsulation of the entire struggle. It’s about reclaiming the right to have a passionate, valid, authentic perspective without it being immediately filtered through a negative stereotype and dismissed. It’s a demand to be heard for what you’re actually saying. Michelle: It’s a declaration of existence. It’s saying, "This is my voice. This is my hair. This is my truth. And it is professional precisely because it is mine." The book is so highly-rated because it gives readers not just validation, but a practical and spiritual toolkit for that declaration. Mark: It’s a powerful message of self-liberation. It’s not just a guide to navigating the workplace; it’s a guide to reclaiming yourself within it. Michelle: And that leads to the ultimate question the book leaves you with. It asks us all to consider whether our energy is best spent fighting for a seat at a pre-existing table, or if it’s time to start designing our own. It's a profound question for anyone, in any field, who feels undervalued. Mark: What does building your own table look like for you? It's a question that really sticks with you. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Join the conversation with our community. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.