The Power of Being Seen: What it means for Black women to be recognized, not just represented

I recently attended the BLACKWEEK conference, an economic forum and cultural festival designed to help brands, founders, creators, and business leaders harness the cultural trends shaping the future.  My dear friend Jodie Patterson had a conversation with the legendary writer and TV producer Mara Brock Akil about her hit Netflix series Forever. When Jodie asked how she was feeling because of the show’s success and the profound way she is being celebrated, Mara responded, “I feel seen.”

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be seen for more than a year—how rarely Black women get to feel seen, even when we are successful and strong.  What moved me about Mara’s words is that she is so accomplished as a writer and TV producer, yet her awareness reflects a truth so many of us share: Black women leaders are still navigating the landmines of bias, microaggressions, and discrimination in every sector. ItIt’s time to stop pretending that inviting a Black woman to have a seat at the table is the same as being seen.

This blog is not anchored in complaint. It is an illumination because being seen is restorative and essential, particularly as we have so much at stake in this country.

When I think back to the earlier days of my career, when I became a Director of Development for the first time, I was the only Black person on the management team. I was proud and excited to hold the position and brought with me a work ethic I witnessed from my mother—passionate, committed, and hardworking. But buried somewhere inside me was the knowledge that two White men had been hired before me and had not succeeded in the role. It wasn’t until I accepted a position with another organization that I was offered the job.

I succeeded. I succeeded big time. I doubled the budget.  But I also hurt myself by working under so much stress and through long, grueling hours. I became resentful because my colleagues were not carrying as much labor as I was.  And I was too afraid to say anything about the unrealistic amount of work my team was responsible for. I didn’t want to appear weak. After all, I was supposed to be grateful for the opportunity—and I felt that energy from leadership.

I remember when I made the slightest mistake—and it rarely happened—I felt judged. This is not me being hypersensitive; it was my reality. A Black woman in a leadership position is held to a different standard.

That experience became a blueprint for what I would encounter repeatedly. The titles changed, the missions shifted, but the pattern remained the same—an invitation without inclusion, visibility without value.

The Mirage of Inclusion: “We’re Letting You In”

Looking across my positions, I can see many examples of being “invited in” but not supported. There was a pattern, and many Black women have shared the same experience—recruited as a symbol of progress or as the right “DEI thing to do,” yet never treated as true partners. The unspoken rule: be perfect, be humble, and certainly don’t challenge or question.

I remember a tense meeting where I asked questions about decisions made before I stepped into the leadership role—decisions that directly affected my ability to do the job well, and my mental health. Merely by asking questions, I was told I was being defensive. My takeaway was clear: How dare you ask us questions and bring stress to our lives.

The way I was spoken to was demeaning, especially when I had nothing to do with the organization’s financial situation—I inherited all of it. It felt as though I had been hired to fix a problem I was never told existed. This is what so many Black women describe when they become senior leaders or Executive Directors. There are too many of us with the same story for it to be dismissed as coincidence.

There is a systemic issue that nonprofit boards and leadership must be willing to name if they want to strengthen culture and advance social change. I’m not saying White women haven’t been blindsided in leadership roles. But there is, without question, a pattern of Black women being expected to work harder, not push back, and to be grateful for the opportunity.

The reality is Black women can be in the room and still not be seen. Too often, organizational cultures create false narratives about us instead of taking the time to truly see us. As a society, we’ve become so accustomed to fakeness that truth now makes people uncomfortable—especially in the workplace. So much so that speaking honestly about your own work experience can get you labeled as “creating a toxic environment.”  This is how racism and patriarchy intersect in professional spaces—rewarding compliance over truth-telling, integrity, and organizational impact.

The Burden and Gift of Truth-Telling

I’ve come to understand that truth-telling is both a gift and a burden. The gift is that honesty fuels transformation.  It is essential to our humanity. The burden is that honesty is often met with defensiveness instead of gratitude, keeping us stagnant.

When we are unseen—when our voices, perspectives, insights, and lived experiences are ignored in the workplace—it doesn’t just harm Black women. It harms the entire nonprofit ecosystem. It moves social movements backward and replicates the same divisive and polarizing behaviors organizations claim to be working against.

When we see Black women—truly see us—we don’t just uplift individuals. We change the culture of organizations and strengthen social change. 

Being seen now, for me, means leading with clarity instead of fear. It means allowing honesty to guide my work, even when it’s uncomfortable. It means understanding that visibility isn’t validation—it’s alignment.

My hope for the nonprofit sector is that seeing Black women is not viewed as charity—it’s values and strategy. It’s how we build institutions that can truly change the world.