I never knew the cost of being Black in Corporate America. The price I would pay with my dignity and fundamental rights as a human being just to have a job that wasn't in a low-income sector. A job that had a satisfying career path and gave me and my family a chance to live the American Dream. But if I knew then what I know now, maybe I would've done things differently before taking the job that traumatized and nearly destroyed me.

Maybe I would've bleached my dark skin to make it lighter or removed my long Dookie braids to straighten my hair. Maybe I would've bought blue contacts to hide my brown eyes and got a nose job with a butt reduction, too—you know, do all the things I should’ve, would’ve, could’ve done to look less like me and more like them just to fit into a mold I had no part in creating.

No, I know me. And even if I could go back in time to that fateful day that changed my life in the worst way, I wouldn't change a thing, 'cause I'm the strong, beautiful, Black woman God created me to be—dark skin, Dookie braids, big butt, and all. And although the last five years of my employment were horrific and I suffered in ways most people cannot imagine, that's all behind me now because I proved systemic racism in my workplace, kept my job, and was offered a six-figure settlement, among other things.

And when I return to work after four weeks of paid vacation, I’ll be confident that my career future will be better than my career past and excited that my battles against systemic racism in my workplace have finally come to an end. After all, lightning never strikes the same place twice…or so I thought.