Powerful and Phenomenal

Happy Sunday. I invite you to try to read today’s blog like an excerpt from a book.

Powerful and phenomenal. March is Social Work Appreciation Month and Women’s History Month.

“A woman with a voice is by definition a strong woman. But the search to find that voice can be remarkably difficult.”

“Well-behaved women don’t make history.”

The first time I heard my voice, I was 20 turning 21 working at Burger King in Cross County, Yonkers. It no longer exists. I was holding a customer’s tray of food and I had to call out the order number. I was just hired, so the manager who hired me, Derrick, was watching over me to see how I was coming along with the job. For some reason, I dreaded having to call out this three-digit order number. So, I said it out-loud, hoping the customer would hear. I was not loud enough. Derrick was right there. “You gotta speak louder if they’re gonna hear you!” Derrick was loud. I was hoping he would yell the number out for me. No, he didn’t. He gave me another chance— “go ahead.” I took a deep breath, and yelled the number out. Oh. My. God. That’s all I thought. Then Derrick, “See, you have to speak up.” Then work carried on. The customer came to retrieve their tray from me. And, there would be more trays, more numbers to call out, more opportunities where I would have to use my voice— and use it boldly.

It was so weird for me to yell! I was always a quiet girl. I remember having an outer-body experience. I am at the counter, uniform shirt on with a hat. It was hot, my hair was permed, and it was another summer day at Burger King. I was hired as a cashier, not yet a manager, and I had to do it. It was apart of the job. I was new and I was being critiqued. I probably had milkshake all over my shirt too, because I was bad at making those. The way I spun the milkshake using the machine, it always got on me. And it was summer, so people ordered a lot of shakes.

This would not be the first or last lesson about my voice, nor, would it be the last time I heard my voice.

I remember being a social work intern and I had a very upsetting experience with my field instructor/supervisor. My field instructor was a White woman and social worker. In writing this, I never thought I would think of her or write about her. One day at field placement (some of us call it internship), I had a strange feeling. We had a boys’ group, and she led with “being in a bad mood that day.” The day continued, and in the afternoon, I stepped out to go to the bathroom. By the time I came back, she was then taking “her bad mood” out on me. She needed to see me “right now!”

I replied, “I’m coming, I’ll be right there.” While I was using the bathroom, she checked/reviewed the field placement sign-in binder. I had not been filling it out correctly according to her. She was going off the handle. I sat quietly as she yelled at me. She turned red— you know they turn red. “So you have nothing to say?!”

My first response was, “Well, I think this is all really convenient as you mentioned ‘being in a bad mood today.’” She did not like that, at all. I then proceeded to explain that she had not previously reviewed the binder, I was sitting at the “intern station” (a computer and a chair) all day and she waited until I left the room to look at it. We were also nearing the end of the academic year (and our working relationship) and she never informed me of any issues with my work performance, time-keeping, or anything. “How can we correct this? How would you like me to correct what’s in the binder?” came next.

I responded to her. She did not want to talk. In fact, she got up, still red, and told me she “did NOT want and did not have to talk to me right now.” As a Black woman, student, employee, intern, I have learned that you don’t get up until you’ve been directed to or dismissed. Me leaving before that moment can be interpreted in a way that is unfavorable to me. So, I asked, “Are you finished meeting with me?” Yes, yes she was. I was officially dismissed and excused from this meeting.

Black women, sometimes we have to concede or acquiesce to win. Sure, I called her on it. She did not like that. But don’t make a professional issue personal. I needed a passing grade. I had exceptional evaluations from her as my supervisor/ field instructor up until this point. And, I had thought that we were pretty agreeable until that day. Come with truth and sincerity. My supervisor took an “emergency lunch” after her “emergency meeting” with me.

After that, we had a conversation. It is true with less than a month to go, I only found out on this “bad day” I was “messing up.” So, I asked how can we make it right? How can we course-correct? It all worked out in the end. I got a P (Pass), She did talk her stuff in my final evaluation. Shout out to Professor at school (field advisor), she saw that the last out of 3-4 evaluations was “quite different” from the others. My work ethic, effectiveness, and clinical acumen were never in question. It was personal.

My next and last lesson that I will share on my voice was from Sippio. Sippio Small, LCSW-R was my former, late supervisor, and therapy dad. Being in group supervision 99.9% of the time made me want some one-on-one time to get individual feedback. In true Ackerman style, pre-pandemic, Sippio and I watched some tape together— a recording of a family therapy session. Sippio watched my interaction with the family, formulated what he wanted to say to me, then he turned to me. Sippio said, “Is that what you wanted to say?”

I paused. Sippio again, “honestly.”

Me, “honestly, no.” Then I rambled on, trying to explain my co-therapist or someone behind the mirror called in— Sippio stopped me right there. “What DID you want to say? To the family in that moment?” I told him what I had actually wanted to say. Sippio then replied, with approval, “Next time, say what YOU want to say. Trust your own voice.”

He went on to explain in watching the tape/session and our review of it that I switched up, I questioned myself, and that actually did not help. What I shared with him in our mini-supervision was actually correct, or would have been more effective.

To be powerful and phenomenal, we have to use our voice. Listen to our voice. Speak up even when it’s uncomfortable (as hell), and trust our voice. I am thankful for all these lessons and those who taught them to me.

“Well-behaved women don’t make history.” Thankfully, I am not always well-behaved.

Thank you for reading.

-Mo.





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