How many more Black women do we have to lose before people wake up and truly start paying close attention? When I initially learned of the suicide of Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey, a former professor and vice president of student affairs at Lincoln University of Missouri, I was saddened but not shocked. Though her death has spotlighted and sparked some harsh realities and much-needed conversations surrounding the mistreatment of Black women in academia, as a Black woman myself and former employee who previously worked in higher education, I can resonate with her experiences and much of what she was likely going through during her time as an employee, and especially, as a Black woman.
When I was an academic advisor working in higher education, I experienced incredible amounts of racism, sexism, harassment, and workplace bullying. My time as an employee lasted about three years and by the time I resigned, I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my broken spirit. Before my start, I’d initially been warned by different people I knew not to work where I was employed, but I really wanted a fresh start after college, so I applied for the position anyway.
At the time I was hired, I was excited to land what seemed like a great opportunity – especially since I’d just finished my undergraduate program. However, I noticed some troubling things about a week into training for my new role that made me uneasy. First, the job description during my interview didn’t truly align with what I was hired for. Technically, I’d still be advising students, but wasn’t informed that advisors would mostly be handling phone calls in a call center setting, along with expectations to meet metric numbers by enrolling new students while trying to retain current ones. During my training, I didn’t pass one of the phone tests, and the trainer reported me to his managers, who waited until the end of the workday to speak with me alone about whether the position would be a good fit. This was a Christian university, so one of the managers told me, “We’d like you to pray about whether you should continue here,” even though I expressed that I wanted to be there and would do my best to be better while moving through the training.
When I was hired, I was informed there would be intensive training but was never informed that I could lose my job if I didn’t pass each test after accepting the position.
So, another test came up that I didn’t score 100% on, and the same trainer reported me again. When I was pulled aside to speak with the same managers, they berated me about how I signed a contract when I accepted the position and that they were looking into terminating me (even though I’d only been employed for about two weeks at this time). I’ll never forget how I felt at that moment, and I immediately burst into tears. And those “Christian” managers just sat there and stared.
When I left work that day and talked with my mom about what happened, she got teary-eyed and said, “You don’t need to work there.”
But since I wasn’t a quitter, I went right back the next day. I was able to retest and complete my training, and begin advising, however, just when I thought things would ease, they only grew worse.
One of the things I immediately noticed was the lack of diversity and the way Black employees (and women in particular) were treated. There weren’t many Black women and men working there, and I knew of a few who were sitting on few college degrees and credentials, plus years of credible higher education experience, who were repeatedly overlooked for advancement and promotions. I also often felt I needed to assimilate in this space – specifically when it came to how I styled and wore my hair.
During my interview and about my first month into my role, I had box braids. When I took them out and wore my natural hair in a mini afro, I felt so uncomfortable and unwelcomed. I was later encouraged by someone I knew at the time to straighten my hair and maybe I’d be received better at work.
Well, I straightened my hair. Got box braids again. Then a handful of sew-in weaves… and still… not a lot changed.
After I changed my hair, I was reprimanded one day about a tasteful sundress I wore. Shortly after, my colleagues and I were presented with a new dress code policy that was being enforced. What I later learned was that all that matters is what you think of how you look and feel. You can change everything about yourself, and some people will still be hateful and judgmental no matter what. The thing that was so strange about the sundress incident was that the white female manager who harped on me about my dress started wearing dresses very similar to the one I wore. She claimed my dress was “too short in the back.”
Months after being dress coded, I was called into the same manager’s office who wanted to terminate me during training. He wanted to speak with me about a professor who believed my email request to him was “improper.” I'd merely sent the professor an email on behalf of a student too afraid to advocate for herself about a late assignment she had due. The student had technical issues with her computer and couldn’t complete her work. I reached out to the student’s professor to see if she could have a possible extension due to her situation. Though my intent wasn’t meant to be “improper,” my manager told me I’d need to draft an apology to the professor.
I wondered, why? I hadn’t done anything wrong. But, because I didn’t want to get in any trouble, I drafted an apology anyway.
As time went on and the challenges eased for a brief season, I reached out to a Black female professor on campus who did a training with our department on race and microaggressions. We met for dinner one evening and when I felt she was a safe person to talk to, I opened up to her about what my experiences had been like and wondered if I could continue working in higher education.
As she listened, she shared her own stories and said something that’s stayed with me to this day, “Be careful… this place breaks people.”
When my role as an advisor began taking a toll on my mental health, I decided to seek professional counseling. When the counselor who met with me saw where I worked, she let out a brief sigh, looked me in the eyes, and communicated that she wasn’t surprised to see me. I also learned she was a former employee herself and she told me, “You need to leave. You’re about to turn 30. Seek opportunities where there’s more diversity.”
During one of our sessions, I opened up to her about how one of my male managers at the time didn’t like the way I sent emails. More specifically my tone. No one else we worked with was ever addressed about their tone in emails… except me. The Black woman. Even though I was intentional about being professional and careful (especially when communicating in emails). So when I inquired about directives regarding my tone in emails, he asked to speak with me alone and immediately went in on me about questioning what he wanted. I screenshot my emails to another manager to make sure my tone wasn’t offensive and received the following response: Your emails are fine. They’re completely objective and fact based.
According to the CDC, “Black and other women of color tend to be evaluated more harshly than men and white women as they navigate harmful stereotypes at work.”
The fact that my tone was addressed was interesting. I wonder if the same thing would have been addressed with a man or another non-Black employee.
Afterwards, my manager met with his boss and informed me that he’d be sitting in my cubicle with me to review every email I’d typed that couldn’t be sent off without his approval first. I couldn’t believe it.
This went on for about a few weeks.
My anxiety and stress levels were through the roof. So much so, that I began making some mistakes out of fear of not trying to mess up at all. I also wasn’t sleeping well.
On another occasion, my manager sent an email my way one morning after I’d arrived at work and greeted my surrounding cubicle mates. His email stated that I needed to keep my “chatter” to a minimum, that I was talking too long, and gave the impression that work wasn’t being completed. None of my other colleagues got an email. Just me. The Black woman.
Some of my colleagues encouraged me to not sweat those incidents, but it really felt like they kept coming and coming. At almost every turn, I felt like my work wasn’t enough and that I wasn’t either. While all of this was happening, I started applying for other career opportunities, but nothing was opening up.
As I started getting written up for different incidents (stemming from work performance errors) and began watching different colleagues get let go over the most minor things, I wanted to get out before things got unbearable. The biggest thing for me was being able to walk away on my terms, not theirs.
That workplace didn’t break me, but it broke my spirit during that season. I can recall one week where I cried every single day for an entire week because of what I was going through and because of how I was treated. But when you’re the Black woman struggling with something like this, what do you do and where do you go?
Counseling helped.
Crying out to God and praying helped. A colleague who didn’t even know my name and who worked in another department saw me coming into work one morning and stopped me to let me know she’d been praying for me – to this day, she has no idea what that meant to me.
And of course, writing helped too.
When I think about Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey’s emails detailing what her work experience was like and the workplace performance evaluation she received, I know she deserved better. Perhaps her death could have been preventable if she had been treated better, listened to, and respected.
My experience as a Black woman in higher education and what happened to Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey is a call for accountability. Yes, mental health awareness and workplace safety and fairness are things all of us deserve, but holding our managers, leaders, and HR departments responsible matters too.
I do believe justice will come someday; it just takes time.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicide, you're not alone and help is available. Resources are linked and available here.