Potty Mouth

My earliest memory of profanity was hearing my dad swear at his brother on a family flight to Baltimore. I think I was three or four years old. My parents were hardly censored around their kids. They had four within five and a half years; that many kids, so close in age, wouldn’t you swear, too?

I think that there’s a certain level of irony — and maybe even destiny — in my penchant for prose. I didn’t always have a strong vocabulary; “potty words” came easier to me than anything else. They felt powerful, even when they were very much the opposite. The word “fuck” was an easier space-filler, and commanded the attention I craved from the grown folks around me. Naturally, profanity came with punishment. And yet, I still didn’t learn.

Consequences — some stronger than others — didn’t curb my curse words. In fact, they made it worse. Again, it was a misguided power play.

When a kid swears, the awe-struck audience asks, “well, where did they hear it?”

Like I said, I heard it from my dad. You could say, based on his volatility, swearing was akin to his love language. Great material for therapy, and saying just that says just enough.

I’ve grown, followed a path paved by stronger words, all the while understanding how void of power so-called four-letter words really are.

I went through a phase on social media in my early 20s where I never used profanity. To be fair, I mostly posted quippy one-liners from Curb Your Enthusiasm, but still, out of all of Larry David’s fuck-filled funnies, I kept it clean.

Like the general rules of grammar, I think at a certain point you earn the credibility as an adult to linger in loopholes. So, sometimes you’ll find me swearing online. Even on LinkedIn. In a “grown-up” conversation, or a retelling of a story for broad reflection, I may pepper in some profanity for emphasis or oomph. Sometimes even for comic relief. But in a real exchange, where I’m looking to build credibility, or in an argument where real power is up for grabs, I keep it PG.

With peers and at work, this comes easily. I take more time to communicate with intention. I think, even if on my toes, about the words I’m using and my tone.

At home is where I struggle.

Stepping on a Lego or other infamously easy-to-miss floor toy gets a knee-jerk “dammit!” Spilling freshly-pumped breastmilk when prepping bottles for daycare summons a “shit!” And at home, my audience is one most eager for a power-play: my toddler.

Is a 4 year old even a toddler? A little kid? Who knows.

Alas, I’ve spawned a pre-schooler with a potty mouth. Truly in his parents’ image. We scold him and redirect him, and still, he conjures a curse word with appropriate application — in the most inappropriate settings. Daycare. The doctor’s office. You name it, it’s been defiled by his words.

He chuckles when caught, saying, “Sorry, I know, I know. Bad language.” I can’t tell if he really gets it. I know he’ll grow out of it. Even still, I don’t think you ever really recover from the little loss of innocence when you hear your young child use a “bad word.” Especially when delivered with conviction.

I don’t know that I feel shame; my inner reactions oscillate largely between shock, disbelief, and disappointment. Would it be better if he did it at home, but not in public? No, probably not.

I can say with certainty I’m not angry. Like most questionable toddler behavior, the root cause can be traced back to the parents. I know, I know, it’s so cliche.

My preschooler, with his premature potty mouth, gives me pause as a parent. One day, my own missteps as a parent will be fodder for his therapy sessions (you’re welcome, Harrison!).

Until then, I suppose I’ll look forward to him expanding his horizons with words that command power more appropriately.

On Mondays

My Bubby Cyrille was superstitious, and because most bubbies command a certain level of respect that comes naturally at that stage of life, we never questioned her. This blind belief in all-things-bubby extended to a blanketed mistrust of Mondays.

I’ve never trusted a Monday. In the same way that Richard Lewis claimed to be the mind behind “…from hell” on Curb Your Enthusiasm, I feel like my grandmother was the silent mind behind “Sunday Scaries.” 

The Sunday Scaries have bred things like cases of “The Mondays” and “Manic Mondays” so it’s possible she was on to something. She made Mondays feel like an enigma; it was like the unknown of the school or workweek ahead was waiting for Monday to unravel and wreak havoc.

I’ve never made major decisions on a Monday. I sighed with relief when my kids were born on a Thursday and Tuesday, respectively, and secretly put off signing on anything binding until Tuesday at work.

As I write this, my son is home instead of in camp, and I fully blame Monday mania instead of his thirst for some “mommy and me” time.

I’ve spent so many of my adult years unlearning beliefs and behaviors that are unproductive, but being wary of Mondays just isn’t something I’m willing to relinquish and eschew as a “bubby myth.” To me, it’s more of “bubby legend.” She said it, she lived it, and so it shall always be that Mondays are forever to be met with malaise.

The Role of Ego at Work

Spoiler alert: there isn't one.

It's easy to get lost in praise. We like and gravitate toward what feels good. So positive feedback and commentary about your work and recognition for the small wins along the way may propel you, but if ego interferes, it may actually prevent you from longer term growth and success.

Confidence is good. Pair confidence with self-awareness? Even better. So then, how could ego possibly be bad?

We need to be more thoughtful about defining "ego" and distinguishing it from confidence. Confidence is fluid, and doesn't depend on "right" vs. "wrong" -- it's a matter of belief and passion. I tend to believe that someone can more quickly recover from a knock to their confidence than they can to a bruising of their ego. Confident people make room for feedback, and are more willing to implement change. Confidence also supports failure. Failure is part of growth and learning. I'd argue that to fail actually takes a tremendous amount of confidence. Graceful failure can rebound into ultimate success.

Ego, on the other hand, operates on a lack of self-esteem and a lack of self-awareness. It's a masquerade of confidence. Someone who operates on ego is focused on form over substance. In business, and especially in leadership, this is a recipe for disaster. Ego breeds isolation. Egos offer insulation from reality while isolating people and eliminating the potential for two critical business tenets: feedback and collaboration. Ego may empower those on a leadership track to believe they're in control of their narrative, but it's a glaring false positive.

I like to joke about ego because it's easy -- it's a low-hanging fruit punchline because it's almost always obvious when ego is clouding someone's judgment. Confidence is another creature altogether. It is fluid because it requires introspection, which is most successful when fueled by feedback from peers. A world without that -- without the willingness to hear and grow, to change and learn -- is a lonely one.

The bulk of my career was spent agency-side. I dedicated the better part of a decade serving at the pleasure of clients with a plethora of personalities and managing tens of direct reports from different specialties. Agency life demands a certain entrepreneurial spirit -- chasing pitch opportunities and choreographing campaigns, because time is money, honey -- and rarely do you ever see an entrepreneurial endeavor succeed with a team of one. Sure, there may be a single brainchild behind the concept, but to go from concept to reality takes manpower in many forms. And ego isn't one of them. Ego is a toxic distraction.

Identifying and reframing experiences to minimize opportunities for ego to interfere is critical. This doesn't mean every organization or team should be "flat" and without hierarchy. I think it's perfectly OK to have reporting structures and layers of authority. I don't think titles are responsible for breeding egos, but I think there needs to be better accountability by employers and hiring leadership to align on the remit of each role and title, so the chase becomes about the potential to contribute as part of a team versus the potential to grow in isolation on your resume.

Leaning Back

I'm not sure that there's a single industry that makes being a woman in business easy. "Me Too" moments aside, women are challenged before they even begin, being faced with unfair archetypes that fuel stigmas that stick. In the agency world and beyond, I've heard women be labeled as the classically offensive and misogynistic "aggressive," "abrasive," "arrogant," "bitchy," "catty," and "emotional."

Annoying, sure, but being dubbed any of the above never irked me as much as one phrase has as of late.

Lean in.

Striking a healthy work-life balance is challenging enough, regardless of gender. Combine that with the responsibilities of being a working mother, and you've just conjured up a harsh reality.

When I heard the phrase "lean in" before my son was born, I found it patronizing and tone deaf at best. Women are constantly reminded of how they're viewed as less-than, despite the facts and stats that show how hard we already inherently work, and, broadly speaking, how well educated and credentialed we continue to be.

As a new mom who found maternity leave to be more isolating and defeating than rewarding and special, returning to work was even harder. You relinquish so much control when you take a leave of absence, and considering the lack of standardized paid leave in the US, returning to work is -- for many, myself included -- a pressing need to stay afloat.

I was lucky. I returned to work and was met by people eager for the return of my expertise, at an organization that values the lives its team members have built outside the office. But I'm the exception to the rule, and that's not OK.

Parent or not (and allow me to go so far as to say pet parents count, too!) when women in business are already damned from the get-go, I suggest we lean back and place more responsibility on the organizations we serve, than lean in when we're already designed to do so.

Leaning back doesn't mean staying silent, but it also doesn't mean that we should have the weight of deep-rooted gender bias (conscious or not) on our shoulders. We were born into it, and the world around us -- in this case the work-world -- enabled it.

I know, I know. It's all easier said than done, and it's a deeply flawed system. But while people (men and women!) work to recalibrate the work-world, I suggest we all think twice before we communicate expectations with the directive of "leaning in."

To be fair, I realize that this isn't linear. A text exchange with a friend and industry colleague proved that. It's hard to ignore the movement of empowerment that Sheryl Sandberg has drummed up, and that often times the phrase is used with harmless intentions.

So, I'm curious: what's your take?

Course-Correcting Your Career

It's crazy how time flies in the work world. I remember interviewing for my first job out of college. It was my dream -- or at least my dream starter job. I didn't have tons of confidence in the role, and was almost certain I would ditch the delusion of "big city" living just as quickly as I had embraced it. Eight years later, and that's only half-true.

I love the grit of New York City, but not the grime. So I moved to Westchester, but held onto my dream, or at least the parts that have survived reality.

I'm happy with the career I've built; I sometimes experience a wave of gratitude and pride when I pencil in the time to reflect. But we all have ebbs and flows to career fulfillment and happiness. It's natural. You can love what you do, where you do it, and the team that supports you, and still have moments where you question the very course you've charted. And that's ok. 

Yesterday was a tough day. A full workload and other real-life needs have been competing for my attention. On my commute into the city, I came across an article titled "The Ambition Collision." The title resonated with me, but I didn't have time to give it a read.

It crept up again on my late-night commute home. As if reading my mind, a friend and colleague texted it to me, bringing it above the fold. Somewhere between White Plains and Chappaqua, I confronted my curiosity.

Wildly relatable and so very important, Lisa Miller beautifully pieces apart the segment of working women in their 30s who shelter themselves in what she calls "professional bubbles." She paints a picture of women who have it all, but who still feel short-changed. Her article tries to solve for "why?" with just enough tongue-in-cheek witticisms to keep readers engaged.

The female dissatisfaction chronicled by Betty Friedan in  The Feminine Mystique was prompted by a widespread awakening to the bullshit promises of domestic happiness, manufactured by culture to make female containment look good. Now another bullshit promise has taken its place, and another generation is waking up. The men in charge are still in charge. It is impossible for women to continue to have faith in a vision of their own empowerment, when that empowerment is, in fact, a pose. It is not true that a gleaming kitchen floor is the key to female satisfaction. And “Bow down, bitches” is a lie.

Have millennial women, as Miller writes, "presumed their power?" I'm not so sure. We focus so much on the wage gap - which, as she points out, has not budged in a decade -- but the pause in progress is more troubling than dollars and cents. We're spending more time than ever at work -- even if doing so remotely -- and as Miller points out, we're focusing on the wrong things. She's not suggesting we settle. But she's encouraging us -- the working women who sometimes struggle in balancing work with life -- to press the proverbial "reset" button on perspective and find comfort -- or as Miller puts it "appreciation" -- in the imperfections.

Work can't be your everything. You need a life outside of the office to help you recalibrate. Setting boundaries is just one way to get there -- they shape expectations and curb judgments from people who haven't yet been caught in the collision between career ambition and reality.

Ever the non-athlete, I've somehow lucked into a love for circuit training and pilates. They keep me as zen as I've ever known myself to be. Challenging myself physically has helped me continue to challenge myself professionally. It's also made me more thoughtful as a manager, and more conscious of how I invest my time.

Work might not always be perfect, but if you can get behind the notion that visions change, career paths take detours, and that there's promise in your passion, you'll net out somewhere between myth and reality, and you'll be alright because you were part of the fight.

Being Human

After a tough day at work, or a rough day of deadlines, we tend to placate ourselves with reminders that our work, however important, is neither brain surgery nor rocket science. Ok, so I'm not my brother the radiologist, or my sisters the engineers, but with a job function that shapes how a brand communicates online, my work still tends to follow me after hours. 

The communications industry has, over the years, contributed to a broader culture of people pleasers. As a perfectionist and overachiever, you'd think this would be a natural fit. Disappointing someone, or falling short in any which way, even if only by my own perception, can sometimes feel like getting that one B+ amongst an otherwise suite of straight As. 

The reality is, though, when you're your own worst critic, it's easy to get lost in someone else's reaction, feedback, or otherwise unfavorable opinion. Reading between the lines of an e-mail, a phone call, or worse yet a text, can set off a destructive spiral of self-deprecation. 

I sometimes wonder if the solution is really about work-life balance more than anything. If we powered down, would we think a little more about what we say, how we say it? Would we be more enthusiastic if we unplugged after hours? Setting boundaries is definitely part of it -- how people should speak to you, when they can reach you, what you're actually able to do and responsible for -- all of these elements contribute to a transparent -- and most importantly respectful -- working relationship.  

Instead of devaluing the work that we do, it's important that we remember to instead find ways to move on and move forward. After all, we're all human, right? 

The Feedback Funnel

Giving bad -- or even "clumsy" -- feedback reflects just as poorly on a manager as responding to feedback defensively does on a direct report. Feedback is crucial to career growth, and at its core is a very good thing. Receiving feedback shows that your work is being recognized and acknowledged, and that someone in a leadership position is invested in your success. 

Part of making feedback feel natural is making positive and negative (stings just as much when we dress it up as "constructive criticism") feedback more routine. 

• Schedule Regular 1:1 Meetings: Feedback shouldn't be saved for a performance review, and isn't always appropriate to share during team meetings. Block off time on your calendar for your team members to regularly engage with you, and use this time to address any issues that might require more attention. 

• Be Direct: Speaking directly to the source -- the person for whom the feedback is intended -- is a sign of respect. Trafficking feedback up to a senior leader without having shared it directly with the employee shows a lack of commitment to your working relationship, and signals that you're not interested in fixing the problem. Reserve the red flag for repeat issues. 

• Celebrate the Small Wins: I'll never stop championing the idea of small win recognition. I don't necessarily believe that negative feedback should always be couched in a positivity sandwich so to speak, but regular positive feedback helps foster productivity and pride, as well as trust and respect between a manager and direct report.

• Focus on the Future: Feedback is often hard to stomach because it's related to one particular issue versus being communicated as part of a bigger picture for improvement. When giving feedback, or even when processing it from the receiving end, consider the role it plays in the broader context of your work so that you can demonstrate ongoing improvement.

• Foster Two-Way Communication: Giving feedback means you have to be willing and open to receiving it. Soliciting feedback from your direct report(s) or even from lateral colleagues will make you a better manager.

• Be Available: It's easy to settle into a closed-door comfort zone, but it's critical to over-communicate your availability to your team so that they know you're there when the desire for feedback or guidance may be more abrupt and off-the-cuff.

The Power Pose

I lead a busy - albeit boring - life. As an under-30 Vice President in the agency world, I've spent a lot of time on my personal brand, and creating a career of confidence. But I'll let you in on something not-so-secret: I don't really believe in the "power pose."

Non-verbal behavior, as social psychologist Amy Cuddy dubs it, can be telling, sure. But does it tell all? That's where I'm not so sure.

In relationships -- both business and personal -- we read into body language -- a limp handshake, stiff posture, blank stare -- to assess a person's character.

My goal isn't to discredit, or even to offer a head-on challenge to the highly credentialed work that Cuddy has done. I do believe, though, that we don't focus enough on the verbal communication of power in business.

Communication skills are age-agnostic. Some of the most seasoned business people I know have vocal quirks that, if I didn't know them as well as I do, might spark skepticism about their abilities. Filling sentences with "you know" or "um," awkward inflection or vocal breaks, and reciting facts as questions -- these are mostly breakable habits that can impact a professional impression.

So perhaps it's not about achieving the perfect power pose, but instead, finding the pose and other nonverbal cues that best complement, enhance or correct your verbal communication skills.

Are You Listening?

People like me are everywhere. Young, ambitious, digitally-savvy professionals who churn out strong, creative work that yields impressive results. But are people really listening to us?

I often describe myself as driven; my career is always top-of-mind, wedged somewhere between my health, my dog, and my husband. A self-starter and leader by nature, I’m also no stranger to collaboration. In fact, I thrive off of it. I’m also among those who call out companies that create collaborative, creative facades by way of a measly open workspace.

Collaboration is among a long list of jargon to describe how people work, but what does it really mean? When I collaborate with a team, it means that I respect each person, their ideas and the physical time they’re investing in our work. From an agency perspective, time is truly money — hours are classified as either billable or non-billable, and without respect for time, and by extension, respect for process/protocol, the system can easily fall out of sorts.

In the same way that I won’t ever apologize for my success, I also won’t apologize for my thirst for order. I’m not a textbook “creative” — a term I have to put in quotes because I oh so seriously resent it. If you never establish a process, the collaborative energy is broken from the start; expectations aren’t set, people aren’t held accountable, and there’s no room for anyone to develop and earn a sense of ownership of their work.

Establishing a bit of structure isn’t a bad thing, but it does require sincere effort and commitment. It’s critical to stop before you even start to ensure that you’re listening to each team member so that they feel empowered to take on their brunt of the work with clear direction and a strong support system.

Vanilla Ice may be a failed rapper, but his “stop, collaborate and listen” lyric is a call to action that is often overlooked. Oh, and I should clarify, Ice is not back with a brand new invention.

About My Generation

While I’m sometimes guilty of using industry jargon (a practice which has inspired physical jargon bells in my office), I really cannot stand buzzwords.

Public relations may have deep roots, but as far as industries go, social media is a relatively new speciality area, and when it emerged, so too, did a smattering of descriptors for its target demographic.

Calling me a “millennial” — and worse yet, an “older millennial” — will summon the most cold-stone serious of stink-eye stares from my otherwise shayna punim.

The phrase millennial casts a wide net — it technically accounts for some 75 million people born between 1980 and 2000. Farhad Manjoo put it best when he said:

Although millennials are now the largest demographic group in the country (sorry, boomers), and though they are more racially diverse than any other generation in American history, they are often depicted on TV, in movies and music, and in the news (including The New York Times) as a collectively homogeneous cliché.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in corporate America, especially in the technology industry, which has long been obsessed with the dubious idea that young people are in the cultural vanguard.

Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m pretty fabulous, but I would never dub myself a cultural vanguard. Not even close.

I wince at the thought of being part of a generalized cultural clump that discounts the diversity of my generation. And, as Manjoo goes on to explain, “there’s a glaring problem with these and other efforts to go after the younger among us: Millennials aren’t real.”

I couldn’t agree more. My passionate disdain isn’t just in reaction to a perceived misnomer, but more so because of my larger beef (or tofu) with the closed-mindedness of generational marketing.

I lead a team of social strategists, and while the clue may be in their title, everything they (really “we”) do is rooted in strategy — a practice that’s very foundation is dependent on understanding the target audience.

Caging an entire segment within the confines of broad generational rhetoric is lazy, and it’s high-time to un-teach it. We live in an age where mapping out a sophisticated set of personas — or personality types that your content should speak to — is conveniently at our fingertips, just a few taps away. Alongside the rise of the social strategist has been the role of digital analyst, a function that every digital team should have. These are the people that offer credibility to what would otherwise be healthy hunches with strong strategic intent.

With the data available, it’s downright irresponsible to rely on generational marketing to guide any sort of smart thinking and most importantly: authentic, relatable stories.

I guess my problem is that I expect more — from myself, my industry and even consumers. I expect us to think of ourselves as deeper than “boomers” or “millennials.” I’ve been called a lot of things — and yet somehow, millennial irks me most. I’m a communicator, a wife, a dog-owner, a pescetarian, a Michigander and more; my age doesn’t define me, and yet because I’m young and grew up in tandem with the booming tech industry, I get stripped of what makes me standout.

Title Fatigue

I'm not a social media guru. I'm also not a ninja or Jedi. These not-so-creative liberties attached to my area of expertise are not cute. In fact, I find them patronizing and offensive. 

My industry has been going through an identity crisis since its inception. There's little consistency across agencies and clients on how to best describe the depth of each social channel, let alone how we title the people who manage them. 

Social media will always be evolving -- much like how the universe is expanding. My experience is rooted in the agency world, and in under a decade, my title has morphed from PR hierarchical nomenclature to newer, looser titles with overt ties to digital. 

My current title reads something like, "Vice President, Social Strategy and Content Marketing," and the clarification after the formal title was my attempt at claiming stake to the area of social media about which I'm most passionate. I see social strategy as level agnostic. Even as a Vice President, I wouldn't scoff at being referred to more generally as a social media strategist to someone who doesn't know or care about agency hierarchy (read: most people). 

At my core, I identify as a writer, and over time, that identity has expanded. Aligning myself with the strategist moniker embraces and encompasses my passion for writing, while also compensating for my consumer curiosity, analytical drive, and overall thirst to communicate creatively. 

I could easily whittle off a top-10 list of qualities that negate a person's claims to social media czardom (a phrase that truly makes me wince whenever I see it), but I'd rather make the case that we shift how we think about job titles. Roles should be shaped by an agile vision of how a person or particular area can grow --- no limits to inflate impact or truncate potential. Digital teams should be built to flourish in tandem with an always-changing industry.