Hi,

In the early days of my career, I found myself navigating the bustling world of a children and families service in a local authority in West London. Our offices, modest yet vibrant, were nestled on the fringes of a housing estate, housing several teams, each in their own little corner. I was part of a lively group on the ground floor, a dynamic mix of young professionals in our mid-twenties, representing a tapestry of backgrounds—Asian, Black, and White.

Our work was undeniably demanding, yet we thrived in the chaos, buoyed by a shared sense of humour and camaraderie. We often found solace in each other's stories, exchanging snippets of our lives beyond the office walls—our favourite tunes, the intricacies of our social lives, the ups and downs of our relationships. We brought our whole selves to work, weaving our personal experiences into the fabric of our professional lives.

One particular day stands out in my memory, a day when our laughter echoed through the office, vibrant and infectious. We were deep in conversation; the atmosphere charged with energy. But a couple of days later, the mood shifted dramatically when we received a complaint. A white male colleague, a familiar face from my social work training, accused us of being "too noisy," pointing a finger at me as the main instigator. This was someone who had witnessed the fervour with which we, as Black students, had challenged the glaring absence of anti-racist content in our training and had confronted our white peers about their biases.

While I could understand the legitimate need for a quieter workspace, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our voices were being stifled. This experience served as a stark reminder of the struggle to bring my authentic self to work, often cloaked in the heavy fabric of "professionalism," where the expectation loomed that I should remain invisible. The weight of that moment lingered, etching itself into my psyche, and even now, I find myself triggered by situations that demand I temper my true self to fit some unspoken norm.

Here's a poem:

In the heart of West London, where the streets hum low, 

A children and families service, in small offices, we grow. 

On the edge of a housing estate, our lives intertwined, 

A vibrant team of young souls, diverse in every kind. 

Mid-twenties laughter echoed, a melody of shared dreams, 

We spun stories of our lives, stitched together by seams. 

Through the weight of our work, humour danced in the air, 

Music and memories flowed, a bond beyond compare. 

One day, joy erupted, a symphony of delight, 

But shadows crept in quietly, dimming our radiant light. 

A complaint emerged, like a storm in the calm, 

A white male voice rising, claiming we brought harm. 

"You’re too noisy," he said, pointing fingers with disdain, 

Naming me as the culprit, igniting a silent pain. 

He knew of our struggles, the battles we fought, 

Against the absence of truth in the lessons we sought. 

Legitimate needs for quiet, perhaps he had a case, 

But beneath it all, a sting—was it silence I must face? 

This moment, a mirror reflecting my hidden strife, 

The struggle to show my true self, to embrace my own life. 

In the cloak of professionalism, I learned to hide away, 

Invisible expectations, a price I had to pay. 

Carrying this weight, it lingers, it stings, 

A reminder of the norms that clip our vibrant wings.

Now, I tread softly, aware of the silent chains, 

Triggered by the echoes of conformity's refrains. 

Yet deep within me, a fire yearns to rise, 

To shatter these confines, to claim my own skies.

Assisted by AI (I like it…………)

Speak again soon, much love.

Sylv x