Category: Voices

Jodi Harrell | August 13, 2018

I grew up in the 1980s with a mother who fully embraced the feminine ideal. I learned that to be feminine was to walk a more or less narrow line of conformity to what it meant to identify as female.

Graceful,
attractive,
pleasant to be around. Happy, if only superficially.

This gender identity construct was reinforced by the greater society and, for me, the sub-culture of the American South. I learned early on that as a young girl and as a woman, one must look a certain way. What I didn’t understand until much later was that this also implied I was to act a certain way.

As a young girl, I wasn’t interested in living up to the feminine ideal. Growing up in rural North Carolina, I spent a lot of time outdoors. I was a ‘tomboy,’ you might say, though I also did ‘girly’ things, like cheerleading and playing with dolls. As I became a teenager, while interested in boys, I was also interested in other things like literature, going to college, and travel.

Early on, I decided I did not wish to conform to these gender norms. And so I rejected the feminine ideal in theory but continued to abide by its rules in practice.

I went to college.

As many young people do when they leave home for the first time, I experimented with my appearance, but I never strayed too far from the feminine ideal. My mother would reprimand me for not shaving my legs often enough or, in the spirit of the Bra Burners of the 1970s, going without. But it wasn’t until I became a married woman that I really started testing the boundaries of the ideal. Given that for the first time in my life I wasn’t supposed to be in pursuit of a mate, I let myself be. I relaxed into my relationship and let the peace and security I felt with my spouse reflect outward.

For long periods of time, I wore no makeup. I loved it.
I got a facial piercing. I hated it.
I refused to shave. Or pluck or wax.
I sometimes wore dresses, but I often wore whatever was comfortable.
I swore off high heels.
And now, 4 years later, I am itching to shave my head.

To act out the feminine ideal was to be graceful (always), to be conservative in speech (because someone else knew more or could articulate it better), and to be humble and modest. This created an unhealthy dialogue in my head and impacted the risks I was willing to take to advance professionally. Not to mention dashing my hopes of having a fulfilling and satisfying career.

Professionally, the feminine ideal translated into an inferiority complex, without an understanding of why or where my feelings of insecurity had come from. For a long time, I felt like I was hiding inside a shell of myself, a shell that I had created, but one that I didn’t feel confident enough to step out of or, simply, to let go of.

It was only after acknowledging this schism, this dysfunction (even if I had no name for it and struggled to explain what it was), that I gained the courage to admit that the danger of NOT owning who I was 100% of the time, all the time, was greater than continuing to hide inside myself.

As a result of this greater self-awareness, I became more purposeful about the type of work I wanted to do,
the impact I wanted to make.
How I wanted to use my talents.

Ultimately, I changed careers. This small action propelled me to start owning who I was, both personally and professionally. I am not someone that can be one person at work and another at home so I sought out a profession, as well as an employer, where I felt like I could be more myself. I was drawn to an overwhelmingly female-dominated profession, and one you could say is full of introverts (like me), scholarly publishing.

In my personal life, it took getting married for me to stop aspiring to the feminine ideal, to stop trying to be someone I wasn’t.

I can say that I have only recently become my own best advocate. I was always worried to speak truthfully about my accomplishments when applying for jobs in fear that I would come across as inauthentic or braggadocious. I would even go so far as to hide my talents and skills because I didn’t feel qualified enough for the position to which I was applying. Indeed, a survey conducted by the Workplace Equity Project found that women, more so than men, are less likely to apply for a position when they don’t meet most of the job requirements. I worried constantly that someone would think I was lying even to the point of paranoia that I would be over-representing myself.

Abandoning this ideal in earnest has created more space in my life to simply be. I still go through spells when I fully embrace my childhood understanding of the feminine ideal – the only difference is that now I do it on my terms

because I want to,
because I choose to,
not because I feel like I should.

Other changes I’ve made include starting to negotiate the terms of my employment including a switch to part-time and additional paid time off. Never before did I feel like I had enough experience to negotiate my pay or benefits. I never felt like I was important enough to ask for “special treatment.” I always just took what was offered, never giving much thought to what I was worth based on my education and work experience. I was shocked when I realized that my male spouse has been successfully negotiating pay and benefits in his career in every position he’s had for over 10 years!

In addition to my husband, I’ve learned a lot from my male colleagues. I challenge myself to model what I think of as stereotypical male behavior, which is really just confidence such as expressing interest in an open position where traditionally I would have waited until the job was posted online.

Now, I define femininity differently, and I no longer ascribe to a feminine ideal. For me, femininity is a personal expression, and different people choose to express it differently. Besides, we’re all made up of masculine and feminine traits, and gender identity isn’t as important.

With greater gender fluidity, I often wonder how the next generation will understand the traditional binary categories of male and female. I also wonder if gender identity, as we currently understand it, will ultimately fade, giving rise to a society that identifies sex but not the social construct that we know and understand as gender.

We all have our definitions of what it means to be male or female. For most of us, this concept was defined for us as children; however, as adults, we each get to choose our place in the world and how we express ourselves. I would encourage all of us to think about how our gender has impacted us personally as well as professionally.

What does femininity mean to you? Were you raised with similar gender ideals?

Jodi Harrell is an Editorial Professional at Research Square where she oversees the peer review process for two chemistry journals. As a former researcher, she was inspired to join scholarly publishing to support research communications for authors around the globe.

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Originally published by the Workplace Equity Project.

Chhavi Chauhan | September 25, 2018

Equality…what equality?
No two individuals of the >7.4 billion humans are identical in appearance, aptitude, emotional IQ, physical and mental wellbeing, and their personal and professional stature. I wonder if the human mind unconsciously seeks ways of sorting the gazillion people we come across in various walks of life. And if so, what does equality then mean to each one of us?

Empathy Embraces (In)Equality
Do we automatically get up to offer our seats on a crowded commuter train when we see a pregnant woman or a mom with an infant enter?

Do we offer a smile and hold the door of the elevator, even when we are in a rush, when a stressed individual who seems to be struggling with a disability is trying to slowly get in?

Do we pause for a few minutes and heartily offer unsolicited advice to help a slightly older individual who seems to be frantically trying to embrace some sort of technology?

Do every time we come across a (single) parent juggling groceries while the kid(s) hang on to her/his arm, we feel the need to offer help by holding the door open or proposing to pick up the groceries?

Do our hearts ever fill up with empathy when we see an appreciative guardian trying to meet the needs of a special kid; pouring her/his heart out unconditionally?

These, often intuitive, decisions are guided by human empathy that most of us regularly practice in our everyday lives.

Professionalism versus Performance
Have you ever have to work with ….

an expecting mother with several OB/GYN appointments?
a new or single parent who tends to need personal time more often?
a parent who has kids with special needs and hence needs flexible work hours?
a colleague who had to work while suffering with a disability that seems to slow her/him down?
a coworker who is juggling work while taking care of a parent/spouse in dire need of help, of course, whom s(he) cannot abandon at the cost of keeping a job?
or an older individual who is extremely wise and experienced but seems to be as technologically challenged as I am on most days?

I bet you saw a few images/recalled a few scenes already by now.

Please take a moment to analyze these scenarios; what REALLY stands out in your mind? And hold that thought….a while longer.

A Moment to Ponder
Were your thoughts related to their performance, or lack thereof? Were your thoughts about the quality of their work? Were your thoughts about them struggling to maintain a work-life balance or even keeping their cool? Were your thoughts on the amount of work that was apparent to come your way due to their situation?

OR were your thoughts on finding innovative ways to empower them to perform optimally and to regain control of their lives?

The Unfortunate “Workplace Culture”
If your thoughts were any one of the above but the last, then you are victims of the unfortunate workplace culture like the majority of us.

Integrating Empathy and Professionalism
Despite being the most empathetic souls, I wonder how often and to what extent do we rely on our emotional quotient in a professional setting. Are our decisions at work guided by the immense volume of work we are expected to handle under strict timelines? Or are they driven by a desire to realize and exploit our emotional quotient and empower us as well as our colleagues to deliver under all circumstances, despite all sorts of personal and professional challenges and oddities?

In my mind, there is no reason why each one of us should not feel similar compassion, empathy, or the urge to assist a colleague when we know someone is expecting, on maternal leave, juggling work (alone) with responsibilities with young kids, assisting parents/kids with special needs, fighting with a disability. There is no reason why we should not be automatically compelled to take a moment to consider ways of supporting these individuals to help them perform up to their caliber to achieve the professional stature that they rightfully deserve.

Coaching Authority
I wonder if an individual with decision-making ability inevitably determines that an individual (as listed in instances above) might have a lot more transient personal responsibilities that (s)he subconsciously decides they might not be a good (productive) fit for a job that is tailor-made for them or for which they have shown their worth over and over again? Are professional growth opportunities instinctively denied to some individuals because of how the current workplace culture has categorized them? Do capable individuals often suffer by losing growth opportunities due to a lack of effective policies to empower employees? Does a leader choose to offer a strategic position to someone less capable or deserving because of the attached stigma of anticipated average performance by even a high performer given the (untoward, in their mind, in terms of perceived productivity) circumstances?

I strongly believe that these subconscious but apparently deep-rooted biases in current workplace culture can be easily toppled by embracing and exhibiting empathy. One sure-shot way to achieve success would be to bring equality for all performers and embracing diversity at ALL professional levels.

Inclusion Is My Conclusion
I have routinely worked with several colleagues with the majority of the mentioned challenges and we have constantly (proudly) innovated to improve efficiencies. Providing an unbiased equal opportunity platform for each and every team player not only allows them to realize their potential but also empowers them to reach new heights despite constraints. Time and time again, my team and I have collectively out-performed ourselves and each one of us has happily embraced the opportunities that resulted from these collaborative efforts. I most certainly attribute my professional sanity to embracing inclusion!

Chhavi Chauhan is the Director of Scientific Affairs at the American Society for Investigative Pathology and serves as a Scientific Editor for The American Journal of Pathology and The Journal of Molecular Diagnostics. She is a passionate researcher who transitioned into scholarly publishing to effectively communicate dense science to masses.

Join Chhavi Chauhan when she presents Making Telecommuting Work: An Interactive Discussion of Best Practices, an SSP regional event at Research Square, October 25, 2018, 3:00-5:00 pm.

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Originally published by the Workplace Equity Project.

Laura A. Lander | November 27, 2018

My career entry into scholarly publishing happened in a round-about matter.  After college, and having studied and lived in Germany for two years, I returned to the States and sought the advice of friends’ parents concerning a possible career path. I did not (or even know how to) dress conservatively enough for the bank management training program I interviewed for, but a number of the elders had also recommended publishing. Instead, I settled on the incentive travel industry.

One day, in mis-dialing the number of a travel-oriented company, I ended up speaking with a man who did not understand the type of work I was looking for. However, he did understand that I needed a job – and I got that he needed an employee. He was undertaking the publication of an investment-related newsletter, and since I was already open to publishing, I interviewed with him that same day and started work the next week.

That first “real” job, and my German-language knowledge, set the trajectory of my professional life. After growing out of Outstanding Investor Digest, I worked with a bi-lingual language agency and ended up as an editorial assistant at the old Springer-Verlag.  I did not need to use my German, but in those days, it was still spoken around the office. My boss there, Philip T., and I worked well together and he soon took me with him to a new division of Frost & Sullivan called Faulkner & Gray. STM Publishing was a small world, and I was eventually wowed away by a small Dutch medical conference proceedings publisher, Simon K., whom I had met at a trade show while working for Springer.  As the U.S. representative based in NYC, I wore many hats.

My boss died, the company was in disarray, and I did not like the direction in which my career was heading. I was not mature enough to take on the role of acquisitions editor and was not a great fit for sales jobs.  I seemed to have few other options. Trade publishing, which I found quite attractive, would have taken me on a deep dive down the pay scale. So, after a break due to health issues, and resorting to my continued fluency in the German language, I ended up working for a German trade show company in NYC, and then moved on to a museum of German and Austrian art. In 2009, after over seven years there, I lost my job. (I blamed this on the market downturn but it really had to do with a challenging boss, whom I finally dared to challenge in return.)  Having maintained contacts to my friends and former colleagues in STM publishing, I reentered this world after a dozen so years, ending up back at Springer.

The publishing industry had greatly altered in the interim, having warped into more of a business than a gentleman’s profession and pink-collar world. There were consolidations, equity investors, and something called EBIDTA. And of course, we no longer received manuscripts written on paper bags sent via air mail from India.  The business had entered the brave new world of electronic publishing. This was shocking. Submissions systems were another language to be learned, and I relied heavily on my junior colleagues to translate what I was looking at on the screen. Despite this, I gained respect and status, and the confidence to move on to the next position. I landed here at ACM.

My career in scholarly publishing has taking a long and winding path. Professional growth has been intentional but not always linear.  As a critical thinker, I solve problems and take on challenges I could not have handled earlier in my career. As a woman who started her working life in the early 1980s, looking at gal Friday ads in the migraine-inducing New York Times classifieds and taking numerous typing tests, I can safely say that opportunities for women were not quite the same as for men.  However, for the most part, I feel that I have been treated with respect in my career, and it was often men who encouraged me and gave me a foot up along the way. The rest happened according to my own strengths and weaknesses.

In my next post I will write about the role of mentorship along the way.

After having been both in and out of the STM publishing business for years, Laura A. Lander has been working as Journals Manager at the Association for Computing Machinery for over the past seven. Her time at ACM has allowed her hands-on management experience in many areas of publishing, not only editorial and peer-review management, but also production, rights and permissions, ethics and plagiarism, IT, finance, membership, and marketing. She has some degree of insight into almost every operation of the organization, as well as the scholarly publishing industry itself.

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Originally published by the Workplace Equity Project.

Laura A. Lander | December 11, 2018

Both personally and professionally, my life has been influenced by a few important people. I consider my first mentor to be a college professor of German, Rick R., whose support and enthusiasm steered me to include German as a major to my already selected major in French. He bolstered my confidence and not only recommended that I apply for a Fulbright to study in Germany but simply assumed that I would be awarded with that prestigious scholarship, which indeed proved the case.

My next mentor, Philip T., whom I only knew to credit as such later in life, taught me some valuable skills on the newly introduced PC, especially how to use the precursor of Excel, and took me with him to another organization. He was my advocate, never failing to give me credit for work he presented to his own superiors. After that, Simon K. – the Dutch publisher of my previous post – took me under his wing for a six good years of my life (if not the most stellar in my career). I did not consider him a mentor, but he was nevertheless important both professionally and as a friend.

My third and most influential mentor, whom I credit with taking the time and at great effort to introduce me to the brave new world of digital publishing, was Jennifer E. of the renamed Springer Science + Business Media (now Springer-Nature), where I first ended up after a 12-year stint outside of scholarly publishing. Jennifer taught me journals management and more, and because of her, in 2011, I found a better job at ACM as Journals Manager.

In my professional life I have had many positive experiences. Gender discrimination has not been the dominant force, although I was not setting out to break any glass ceiling. Additionally, I am matter of fact, pragmatic and have mostly learned how not to be overwhelmed by, or react negatively to, unrealistic workload expectations. I also did not have children, although I have had health issues. I mostly kept them to myself but they did manifest themselves in needing more time off than others around me, including a break of six months many years ago. With the possible exception of that long break, I was never given to think these illness-related absences (all within the scope of what I was granted by my employment agreement) were a detriment to my professional progress.

That’s not to say I have not experienced difficulties, especially in the way of subtle chauvinism or occasional disrespect in the workspace, be that onsite or off. At times, I have had the courage to confront this head on, to the betterment of the situation. Even being fired by a challenging boss was the one of the better things that happened to me, both personally and professionally. Ageism might now work against me in a job hunt, but I can comfortably say at my current place of employ, this is not an issue. Our staff and executive management engenders a great mix of age and gender, and to a certain extent race (at least relatively speaking).

But to return to the issue of mentorship – I am grateful for what I had, and probably could have asserted myself and asked for more from others along the way. In return, I try to act as a mentor to my junior colleagues. I aspire to be patient and teach them the tools they need to get their job done efficiently and effectively, especially how to think through the issue at hand to solve a problem using the knowledge at their disposal, or knowing when to reach out for more information. I give encouragement when deserved and when not, present the problem for discussion and suggest as how it can be resolved and with my assistance if necessary.

My rewards are deeply satisfying. Gaining respect from my colleagues and watching younger professionals mature and grow, and in turn also like their work, are a few. These relationships are in turn a great source of inspiration and one of the reasons that I enjoy my professional life.

Laura A. Lander has been working as Journals Manager at the Association for Computing Machinery for over the past seven. Her time at ACM has allowed her hands-on management experience in many areas of publishing, not only editorial and peer-review management, but also production, rights and permissions, ethics and plagiarism, IT, finance, membership, and marketing. She has some degree of insight into almost every operation of the organization, as well as the scholarly publishing industry itself.

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Originally published by the Workplace Equity Project.

Phill Jones | January 8, 2019

Just less than a year ago, a group of four scholarly publishing industry colleagues were chatting over drinks in a tiny pub in London after an industry event. We came to the conclusion that something had to be done.

The colleagues were Laura Cox of Ringgold, Nancy Roberts of Umbrella, Alice Ellingham of Editorial Office and me. We’d all just participated in a workshop at the Researcher to Reader conference that explored how to advance the conversation around diversity and inclusion in our industry. (Nikul Patel of OUP, and Dannielle Ormshaw, a colleague of mine at Emerald joined the group a few months later.)

I’ve been asked a few times why I decided to get involved in D&I in this way. Back in March 2018 I wrote a piece for the Scholarly Kitchen on why I think it’s important for those with privilege to play an active role in diversity and inclusion efforts. I argued then that it’s unfair for those of us who aren’t members of underrepresented groups to leave all the work to those who are. That is only half the answer.

Stories of unfairness and inequality have always been upsetting to me, as they are to all right minded people. Frustratingly, the issues have always felt systemic and complex, making them hard to tackle. Something changed for me about two years ago when an academic that I know attended diversity training as part of her job. During a discussion that she later relayed to me, she heard that some members of certain groups, with histories of being discriminated against, will tend to feel unsafe almost by default. It seems a fairly obvious truth in hindsight but the point is that simply not discriminating isn’t good enough. Organizations and people need to actively make people feel welcome.

Armed with this knowledge, she started to engage in small acts of active inclusion, like hanging a rainbow flag in the break room of the lab that she runs, just to signal that all are welcome. The effect was palpable. Within a week, one of her PhD students came to her to tell her how much difference it had made to him personally and asked to stay on as a postdoc in her lab.

As I began talking to people in my industry about this, I heard more and more similar stories from people who feel that they have to hide who they are. I remember on one occasion after a diversity and inclusion panel I had organized, somebody told me that it had taken a while to get comfortable saying the word husband in public. I hope that it was my imagination, but it seemed that even in that conversation, he hesitated, just for a split-second before saying it.

The idea that people, some of whom I may work with, might be assessing each new situation to see if they’re safe, isn’t one I’m prepared to tolerate. The thought that a person might avoid using gendered pronouns when talking about their partner or even pretend to have a different gender identity to the one they have just doesn’t work for me.

So there you have it. That’s the answer. That’s why me, and that’s why now.

Phill Jones is a technologist and scholarly publishing professional and also an occasional blogger and public speaker. He’s worked in product and technology management, Scientometrics, outreach, consultancy and in a former life was a cross-disciplinary research scientist.

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Originally published by the Workplace Equity Project.

Sharon Mattern Büttiker | February 12, 2019

People often make deliberate decisions to influence their career path. For me it was a little different. I’ve always made Life choices, not career ones. Invariably, these decisions impacted all aspects of my existence, career included.

The two biggest choices that influenced my career were the decision to leave the US in 1997 and the decision to become a mother in 2002. The fact that these two events were actual choices calls up in me an immediate sense of gratitude. In a world where over 65 million people are refugees, displaced or asylum seekers and 44,400 are forced to relinquish their homes each day due to persecution or conflict, I am acutely aware of my privilege to choose where I live and how, but I digress.

Regardless if by choice or by force, moving out of your comfort zone compels you to learn at every bend in the road. What you already know may not be applicable and must be re-learned or re-applied in your new environment. Because I moved away and stayed there, my experiences have enduringly changed my perspective from this new vantage point. Many friends and family have carved out a life and a network without leaving their area code, but that somehow never appeared in the cards for me. Each decision I made in young adulthood seemed to force the radius of my circle into an ellipse that pushed first westward from an epi-center of Chicago and then eastward to New England and on to Europe.

Although I have dual citizenship in the United States and Switzerland, I can’t say that I’m fully at home in either nation. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I feel equally at home and foreign in both places.

With regard to work, the skill set that I brought with me from the US was essentially the same when I arrived in Europe ten hours later, but the tools in my bag suddenly had another utility. My German language skill was no longer just a plus on my resume — it was essential. Flawless German grammar (or lack thereof) made or broke a job application. On the flip side, my English skill became the foot in the door to any interview. How quickly circumstances change.

My first job interview landed me a temporary position in the communications department at the HQ of an international freight forwarder. The Swiss corporation had just begun to regain its strength after a consultancy evaluation and resulting forced exodus of many employees. Rising out of the rubble were a handful of survivors in the communications department charged with the task of rebuilding company morale via archaic communication channels. Everyone was still shaking in their boots when I arrived. Feeling more like Lucille Ball in a chocolate factory than the wonder woman word girl I’ve become, I started the long and ardent process of learning-by-doing in a new country and work culture.

My workdays began with performing the banal task of scanning, a-hmm, make that eyeballing, 15 hard copy newspapers and trade journals – this was 1997 after all — for any industry news on us or our competitors. The plucked news articles were copied and distributed to the CEO and other corporate directors by 9am. The fine and now lost art of newspaper folding was given an added touch of complexity by tossing a giant Xerox copy machine and time pressure into the mix. I also did some very important things given that so few employees were left in the C suite. However, everyone was in survival mode and not much was appreciated. The corporate culture was struggling at the base of Maslow’s hierarchy. I survived everything from dashing out to the pharmacy when the CEO had a headache the size of the euro-cargo division to organizing a company-wide strategic seminar in Zurich which included fixing the English on the main speaker’s presentation the day of the event.

The qualities that helped me succeed and propelled me forward were my optimistic and perhaps naïve attitude to problem solving as well as willingness to help out in any department. (Achtung: this practice is good for gathering broad experience and contacts, but can lead to being doormatted.) I also carried the belief that whatever happens something else is out there and it’ll all be ok in the end. I didn’t worry a single day about being fired or wonder “what if this doesn’t work.” I pressed on with my career-in-the-making, all the while believing that my good intentions and positive approach would lead the way forward. And they did.

Then, for the next 18 years as Web Alliance Manager at Swiss based Karger Publishers and still today, as the Director of Content Management at Reprints Desk, my main motivations are none other than the lofty goals of life fulfillment and a sense of purpose – that mystical red balloon that floats by the shop window and beckons you to chase it through the streets. Yes, I’m that kid who bursts through the door, runs into the street and tries to grab it, catch it, and sometimes give it away after the chase is won. Concrete achievements such as job title, salary and promotions are easier to measure – but red balloons, there’s no kpi for that.

At this point in the piece, you may be asking yourself, “Why am I reading this and where’s the Jerry McGuire reference?” I can see the words on the page, but what is she saying??

In the end, this is the point: Career goals are nice to have. They’re even great for some people, but in the case of an actual real life, people’s paths are paved as they go by many different circumstances beyond their control or prediction. What’s essential is self-awareness. If you know where you are in life, you can manage movement in any direction. The key to success is how to react to the bends in the road and twists in the plot.

In the movie Jerry McGuire (ok, here it is), the main character went out on a limb and shared his business revelations with the industry. In the beginning, it completely backfired and he landed on his bum in No Man’s land. But he continued to follow his red balloon. In the end, it paid off for him. This is also true for me. Despite warnings from well-meaning and omniscient colleagues, I invariably choose a greater sense of purpose in my work and in my life. This approach hasn’t let me down yet. Which brings me to another key point for achieving success: don’t define your success based on another person’s definition of it. Determine what it means to you and make a path to it.

In a future entry (inner-procrastinator permitting), I’ll write about the second game-changing choice in my life – becoming a mother. Watch this space for more Lucille Ball episodes and tea bag wisdom.

With over 20 years of publishing and consulting experience in the US and Europe, Sharon is a natural born networker and self-proclaimed bridge builder in the STM publishing industry. She strives to achieve collaborative, inclusive outcomes that lift all stakeholders in the publishing eco-system.

 

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Originally published by the Workplace Equity Project.