Committing to a culture of diversity, equity and inclusion is what makes us powerful. We welcome people from all backgrounds, cultures, experiences and identities; embracing the individuality that our colleagues bring to their roles at Sparq. We strive for practices and policies that are just, transparent and consistent, and seek to foster an environment that actively welcomes, connects and values all while harming none.
Sparq’s ambition is to have a workforce representative of the cities in which it operates and to have an inclusive workforce where all colleagues feel welcome and valued. These goals led to the formation of our EI&D Council – a group that solicits engagement across the organization, sets the EI&D framework, metrics and goals, and develops initiatives to achieve progress – internally, within local communities, and within the technology industry at-large.
We encourage informal workplace communities where colleagues can come together for open and honest dialogue. We’ve formalized these communities into Colleague Resource Groups (CRGs), with our four initial charters for Women, Black Colleagues, Veterans and the LGBTQ+ community. CRGs offer direct input on local and company-wide EI&D initiatives, such as organizing diverse celebrations, identifying diverse talent management and recruitment platforms, and developing partnerships with nonprofits focused on encouraging more diverse STEM participation.
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from.
Why am I always exhausted after a day of work? No, it’s not because I have an hour commute. It’s not even because I have four daughters at home. Why then? First off, I must say, I’m not bitter. I’m truly better each day; not because I continue to routinely conform, but because I am slowly learning to find my voice, my full self, and bring her to work each day. I would love it if we could stop talking about our anxiety and frustrations regarding race and sex. But right now, as a whole, that’s impossible. But right here and right now, I am trying to be the change I want to see in this world, and hopefully sharing my story will help at least two people – someone to better understand me after reading this and myself, as I take another bold step towards letting down my guard and healing by sharing what it’s like in my world.
So, let’s return to why I am exhausted.
I often spend my days working towards perfection, all the while second-guessing my responses and making sure to tailor those responses for each audience so I don’t give off any stereotypical vibes or make anyone uncomfortable—my comfort, or lack thereof, irrelevant. I am constantly monitoring my surroundings; I tend not to wear t-shirts too many times a month so I appear professional. I debated for months about wearing my natural hair because I know for some people that is a defining characteristic of who I “might” be. I try not to talk too loud or laugh too loud to draw unneeded attention to myself. I don’t like it, but one small choice can be the only impression someone gets of me. And I try my best to make sure it is not one that supports any stereotypical behavior or thoughts. I sometimes feel as if failure is expected only to confirm the preconceived notions about the black community.
It’s exhausting, but I have to keep talking about it.
I call what I do survival mode. Burn-out, code-switching, imposter syndrome are all fairly new terms to explain what I often feel every day of my life, but it’s not often an option, just a requirement for sanity and survival. I try not to show emotions, especially anger or irritation. I never cry because I don’t want to be seen as weak. I am firm in my speech, but I am airy in my words, and most, if not all of my words, are encased in a smile. Because, I cannot be too firm or too harsh, because I can’t bear being called an Angry Black Woman. Like most, I am careful with my words and actions because often my actions and words will reflect on people that look like me, whether or not we have anything in common outside of our gender and race. I am not claiming to be completely selfless. I am saying that I am cautious.
As a black woman, my actions represent an entire community. I am fully aware of the stereotypes, and I try to tear them down one by one by not reinforcing them. All the “extra” work I put in also comes at a huge cost.
I struggle often with a huge amount of self-doubt, and I put more pressure on myself than I could ever imagine sometimes. I still get paranoid and second-guess every word that comes out of my mouth, despite all of the hard work, time and dedication I put in to have this career. I shy away from taking credit for my hard work by believing people will see me as selfish and show-off, instead of a confident team-player. I deflect when someone commends me on doing a great job, usually downplaying and equating it to something that didn’t require any time or thought on my part.
I’m often afraid to ask for anything from anyone because I don’t want to be seen as too difficult or demanding — a stereotype often used when black women assert their needs. I am qualified to do so much more, but I am not vocal enough for the exact same reason—I don’t want to be too difficult or demanding, so I wait patiently to be offered an opportunity. Often dropping subtle hints but never directly asking for more.
What makes this so exhausting?
This isn’t just the pressure from outside sources. Oppression and offense are two-way streets more often than not. I often feel that I am putting more pressure on myself and assuming the outcome than anyone else ever could or feels the need to do.
Self-sabotage is real. It’s sometimes really difficult to differentiate between lack of opportunity and standing in my own way for growth.
Truth is, I’ve become conditioned to defeated thinking, and I am personally responsible for most of my exhaustion. I have to be willing to be my whole self and give people a chance to know me. Not the “me” I’ve decided they need to meet—a me built of fear of what may happen and the hurt of what has happened in the past. I also owe it to myself, and anyone else, to take a chance and get to know them. Remembering that my biases, unconscious, or from past experience, do not apply to everyone with whom I come into contact. I sometimes forget to let people write their own stories with me starting with a blank slate.
The ability to stand out or the wisdom to blend in, you may say that’s growth and evolving. To some extent, I agree, but each time I grow and evolve for the comfort of others, I risk losing more of me. As confident as I truly am, and as confident as others see me as; I still struggle some days to bring my whole self to work.
The best part about it all is knowing I am a work in progress and recognizing and sharing my struggle is half the battle. Oh, and knowing that, without a doubt, this is a battle I am sure I can eventually win.
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from.
Every group has a few bad apples. We know this, inherently. But it’s easy to forget that when we are caught up in strong emotions that compel us to act, oftentimes without thinking. And oftentimes we lash out against people who merely remind of us the party that has wronged us, and not the actual wrongdoers. And amongst the police officers in the United States, there have been many wrongdoers that don’t always receive the punishment that we feel they deserve, which leads to aggressive rioting and violence against ANY officers who stand in our way. But what I wish you knew, what I want people to know, is that not all of those Caucasian officers are bad. Some of them are good. Some of them have a vested interest in Black communities. And at least one of those Caucasian officers was coming home to me, and our adopted African American boys.
I met James Clark in 2008, when he was a mere clerk at the Oklahoma County Jail. Over the course of our courtship and eventual marriage, he earned a Bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice, went to the police academy, and began climbing the ranks of the Oklahoma County Sheriff’s Office, eventually earning the rank of Sergeant. In 2015, after years of paperwork and classes and disappointments, we received a call from the Department of Human Services to foster two Black brothers. Sibling groups of ethnic children are routinely difficult to foster and/or adopt out, but we loved them immediately, and they immediately saw James as a hero. Our sons often speak of wanting to either be police officers or joining the military, and they are heavily influenced by their dad.
James and I have since divorced, but co-parent effectively. But things are not easy for him as a single white dad to two young Black youths. He is often followed and questioned in public because people think he is trying to abduct our children, even though the boys emphatically explain that this is their father. James doesn’t have me there as a racial buffer any longer to help in those situations, and it angers and hurts him to have to deal with this when he is just trying to have a good day out with his sons.
We also have to struggle with perception, because while I want my sons to give police officers the respect they are due, I need them to be understandingly wary of certain situations. I worry that they will fall into a place of dangerous complacency around all officers because their dad and his friends are the good guys. I need them to know that there are bad guys in uniform out there and to use their judgement accordingly. I need them to be careful when approaching officers because they may not always be so informal and welcoming, and my boys need to know how to shift gears and navigate those situations. But, on the other hand, I need them to not treat all officers like monsters, and I don’t want them developing negative feelings towards their father, who is trying to protect them the best he can from a very sheltered, very privileged position. I often remind James that he has to look at the world through our son’s eyes; through Black eyes.
I wrote a poem some years ago about our unique courtship, relationship, adoption process and life, and I’ve included it below. I want people to see that nothing is black and white in this world that so desperately wants everything to be labeled as such. And what I wish people knew, when they are slinging explosives and hateful rhetoric at a white officer, is that he has two Black sons at home who, more than anything, just want him to come home alive.
Black eyes
A love grows deeper
For a much lighter hue.
Questions loom above us
About who I think I am
To you
And why don’t my pupils
Match the skies
As they look at me
With their Black eyes.
And now that the wedding is gone
And now that school is through
And now that we’ve stopped expecting
The shipment that’s half me and half you.
And now that the paperwork is done
And now that our signatures are dry
Will I have to wonder if
They’ll look at them
Through Black eyes?
I watch you watch them
As they walk
Aisle to aisle
And I wonder if you’ll meet their gaze
And meet it with a smile
Or will you meet their gaze
With the gun that taps your thigh
Because you met their gaze and
Your Black eyes met
Their black eyes?
“Why do you act like you’re white”,
They sneer
And think I think I’m better
And that I put on airs
Of aristocracy
An Uncle Tom on the rise
Dear God,
Why won’t they look at me
With their Black eyes.
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from.
I, like so many women of various beautiful shades of color have allowed society’s view to dictate the appearance of my hair and conformed to what was the socially acceptable norm. Of course I wanted to fit into corporate America because I wanted to reach the heights of my career. In the beginning changing my hair to “fit in” wasn’t so bad, right?
After years of punishing myself with long and costly hair appointments in an effort to blend in with the crowd, and limiting my activities to ensure my hair was still in tack, I decided I had enough. It was time I embraced my diversity. A leopard cannot remove his spots despite wanting to look like a lion. By not embracing our diversity, we support an inaccurate perspective of our identity and in many cases our heritage. In many cultures we embraced the ideology that hair needs to be tamed, smooth, and silky straight, when in fact we aren’t all born this way. So why does our society view us as odd, different, or attention grabbers when all we desire is to be our natural selves.
Six years ago I began to acknowledge that I am different, I am unique, and I am an individual, just like everyone else, and we are all uniquely different. So here I am, in corporate America, embracing my natural hair and no longer holding a desire to fit in to a ‘bone straight’ hair society. While there are still some who engage in the natural hair bias, I have found that as the years pass my hair has become less of an issue. It is quite interesting to find that many people are enamored with my curls and the number of hairstyles I tend to rock in any given work week. This sudden fascination tends to draw individuals to reach out and grab or even pull my hair as they are beguiled rather than disgusted. While compliments are always met with a humble response of “thank you”, it is never okay to just invade a person’s space. It is definitely not okay to touch or grab their hair whether it is straight, kinky, or curly without permission. The petting zoo is closed.
I think it is important for people of color to feel as comfortable as their counterparts in their work environments. It is equally as important for upper management positions to enforce policies that ensure universal comfortability and understanding of diversity within the office, board room, conferences, and anywhere else business and training may be conducted. Although we wear it as a crown, an innate part of us, hair does not define all that we are or all that we’re capable of. It is up to us to change society’s perception of the acceptable norm, to be the voice for individuals whose voice may be too small to be heard, or lack the courage to stand alone. Choose to see beyond curls, see beyond hairstyles, and see the ethics and determination that make up the hard working person underneath a crown of braids, locs, and afros. To be seen, in a professional setting, as the diverse individuals we are makes for a stronger team and healthier work environment.
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from.
What I Wish You Knew: The Masks We Wear
We all wear masks at work to hide aspects of ourselves. I wear a mask to work that projects a different, warped version of myself.
I grew up watching my mother work two jobs throughout my childhood. I only got to see her awake between shifts. She tried to make it to all of my school activities, but would often seem tired or sleepy. Sometimes, we would go to bed hungry or cold because the money could not cover everything. Despite how busy she was, mother felt strongly about supplementing my public school education and taught me about social justice and economic justice from a young age.
When I went away to college, I got to see a class stratification that I only had the barest idea existed in grade school. The costs to attend UCLA (a public school) were fair (around $4K/year), but the housing costs were outrageous. The dorms were around 10-15K/ year and only included 3 quarters. The division between the haves and have nots was extremely noticeable.
I worked two part time jobs to supplement my loans and scholarships. One was a “work study” job and the other was a coffee shop job. For those of you that don’t know, “work study” programs were created as a way to help poor kids pay for college because they source jobs around campus at a much higher wage than you would normally get paid. I worked first as a security guard, then as a receptionist in the LGBT resource center for around $11.50/hr. The disrespect I would get from other students I would encounter on the job would surprise me every time. These students knew I was their peer, but they also knew I was “poor” because I had to work. Between full time school, 40 hours/ week of working and marching band, I averaged around 4 hours of sleep a night.
By my junior year, I needed to find a new place to live that fit into my budget. Much of the loans I had taken out were to pay for housing. I looked into the UCHA Coop for housing and it changed my life. Where I was paying around $650 rent for 1/2 a room in an apartment, the coop offered full room and board all utilities paid for $400/month. It was a student run facility meaning that everyone had a work shift that you could not buy your way out of. Students cooked the food, made repairs, did the gardening, self managed and even handled the accounting. I stayed at the Coop until I graduated.
The Coop not only gave me an affordable place to live, it showed me that a group of people can get together and using the principles of teamwork and equality, make great things happen. I wouldn’t say that The Coop radicalized me to be more left leaning, but it definitely showed me that the socialist principles that my mother taught me are possible when you put them into action. The Coop showed me that it is possible to create an oasis of affordable housing in a supremely expensive space. It is a tiny microcosm of how things could be if we worked together.
It’s important to note that The Coop is set up the way it is because of racial inequality. When the founders wanted to buy the property, they didn’t want to exclude membership based on race. California local law would not allow Black and white folks to live together in a building unless the Black person was a servant. To bypass that legal loophole, every Cooper had to sign a contract stating that they were servants! At the coop everyone serves each other, regardless or race, wealth or ability.
Even though I have experienced economic anxiety for most of my life, I will never be a conservative. No matter how much money I make, it won’t change my views. No matter how negative society’s assigned connotation for the word “socialist” becomes, I will always claim it. No matter how many times we try to uncouple Dr. King’s socialist message, or the Black Panther’s socalist works, I won’t forget. We all wear masks at work, mine is the mask of a capitalist.
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from.
Hello, my name is Max, and my pronouns are they/them/theirs.
I am a transgender nonbinary person. I want to start by defining some terms before I tell you my story.
Transgender: (adjective) denoting that a person does not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth, can be shortened to trans
Cisgender: (adjective) denoting that a person does identify with the gender they were assigned at birth, can be shortened to cis
Nonbinary: a catch all term for gender identities that are not exclusively man or woman (can also be used as a gender identity in and of itself)
My final year of school, I was at a career fair and I was introducing myself with my pronouns to the recruiters. One thing that was important to me was to find a place to work where I would feel safe to be myself. None of the recruiters knew what I was talking about, I got weird looks, and by the end of it I was incredibly discouraged about working in any STEM industry. I felt so ostracized that I ended up leaving the field of STEM completely when I graduated.
After multiple years of being misgendered by people who knew my pronouns, alongside fear and anxiety about what if my professors found out, I decided to pursue other interests. I left STEM because I knew that there would not be many people like me in the field. I knew that if I stayed, I would have to do the work of educating future coworkers and employers about my gender. I would probably often be misgendered, rejected or in the worst case, outright fired.
But it’s not like that anymore, right? Things are better now, you can’t be fired for being gay. Not-so-fun fact, there are no federal legal non-discrimination protections for gender identity or sexual orientation. In 28 states a person could be fired because they are gay. In 30 states a person could be fired because they are trans. Arkansas, Alabama, Georgia, Indiana, and Oklahoma are among those 30 states that have no explicit legal protections. The only reason I am out is because I work at the Albuquerque office, and New Mexico does have nondiscrimination policies that protect gender identity and sexual orientation.
Is being misgendered really that bad? Short answer: Yes. Long answer: Every person’s experience is different. For me it depends on who it is. Does it really bother me if a waiter, or a cashier uses he/him or she/her? Not really. I purposefully dress androgynously most of the time because I prefer to be perceived as androgenous. Sometimes I present more feminine, and I’m not surprised when strangers use she/her.
What really hurts is when someone who knows me refuses (whether consciously or not) to learn this part of me. I try to correct people as much as I have the energy, but it gets discouraging when it’s every single time I talk to them, or they always wax poetic about how they are trying, it’ll just take some time but it has been years without progress.
When I am misgendered by those who know me, I don’t feel seen. It creates a doubt in my mind that everytime my correct pronouns were used, that person was just ‘playing along.’ When I am misgendered it says ‘…but we all know you’re really a… and that is how I’m going to treat you’ because people want to put you in a box. Society teaches you how to treat men, and how to treat women, but not how to treat someone who isn’t either.
Sometimes people make mistakes, I understand that. So what should you do if you do misgender someone? Here are three trusted steps: 1. Apologize, a simple sorry is enough. 2. Correct yourself, say the same thing you just said but using the correct pronouns. 3. Move on, by making a big deal about it or an extended apology just puts more focus on the fact that I was misgendered. I don’t really want to dwell on that and over-the-top apologies puts social pressure on me to brush it off and assure you that it’s not that bad. The less drama the better.
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from. When Nina first approached me about telling my story with mental illness, I was hesitant to say the least. After all, how often do you have someone interested in hearing about the hard parts of your life? Needless to say, something pushed me to share my story so here we go.
For the past year, I’ve been struggling with severe OCD, anxiety, and depression. For those who know me, know that I have always had some form of anxiety since I was a child. The earliest I can see OCD in my life was in high school. I was very involved in campus ministry, loved Jesus, and loved others. However, near the end of my junior year of high school, I started having intrusive thoughts like “God is not real.” And “You don’t believe in God.” Unfortunately, I had no clue that these thoughts and the anxiety I experienced from them were an obvious sign my OCD journey was beginning. I would spend hours praying, reading my Bible, and seeking reassurance that these thoughts weren’t true and that I did in fact believe in God. It wasn’t until the beginning of college that my OCD shifted, taking an even darker stance than before. I would have deep, violent thoughts that led me to believe that surely I was incapable of being a normal human being and would send me into a panic. At the same time, I was terrified to touch doorknobs, use public restrooms, and even step near a doctor’s office for fear I would catch a disease and die. I sought help at the university’s counseling services and was officially diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and specifically Pure-O. For those who don’t know, OCD is defined as “an anxiety disorder in which people have recurring, unwanted thoughts, ideas or sensations (obsessions) that make them feel driven to do something repetitively (compulsions).” For Pure O patients, most compulsions are mental such as praying, reassurance, and positive thinking. If I had to guess, most of you think of order, cleanliness and hand washing when you think of OCD. In some ways, you are correct because individuals do experience this form of OCD. However, the vast majority of people who are plagued with the monster of OCD, experience horrible intrusive thoughts repeatedly. When I first told my father about these thoughts and fears, he responded with “This doesn’t even sound like you Maegan.” And that’s the very truth of what OCD is. IT ISN’T ME. OCD has attacked what I value most: my relationships, my self-esteem, my spirituality, and my joy of life. At its worse, OCD has nearly convinced me that I would harm myself and that I truly wanted to die so much so that I was scared to drive, scared to be alone, and scared to be near anything that might bring me harm. If you think about that, I WASN’T LIVING.
So why am I sharing this? God has placed a desire in my heart to share this story because I am in the midst of big change. I am still battling OCD, Depression, and Anxiety. Some days I feel like I’ll never come out of it and that this feeling is all I’ll ever know. BUT, I remind myself to have faith and hope for what doing hard things can bring. I know that my story will encourage others to open up about their experience with mental illness and give people more perspective on what OCD truly is. I am not posting this for sympathy, but to remind you that you never know what people are going through. Love on those around you, be a light for people when you can. I’ll end it with a statement that has gotten me through over the last year: “You CAN do hard things!”
“What I Wish You Knew” is a series of essays written by Sparq colleagues. Each heartfelt narrative delves into an aspect of their personal journey that they’d like their fellow colleagues to learn from.
My story more or less revolves around religion. Organized religion is to blame for a LOT of pain in the world today, but it’s also a part of my history, so I hope you can forgive me for being involved!
I was raised in a very strict, sheltered, Protestant bubble. If the church doors were open, we were there. I only wore skirts and when I knelt, they had to at least touch the ground. We grew up without TV, movies, makeup or jewelry. Books were my world — and they had to pass parental approval. Yep, I really was one of “those”.
My town was very small — 3,000 people that all knew each other. You can imagine the demographics — and you’d be correct. However, one perk of the small community was that ALL the Protestant churches clung together. None of them were large enough to really do things on any scale, so we did them together. (So unlike my husband, I didn’t grow up thinking my church was the ONLY “true” Christian church.)
When I was 14, I went to Jamaica with “Teen Missions Inc”. We spent 6 weeks building a dorm for a Christian school. It was shocking. We saw extreme poverty… and I met folks with completely different backgrounds. It really helped change my world view, but our building was on a mountain top, so I was still sheltered from a lot of it.
Then, my family moved to Boston (Quincy for those that know the area). The world was completely different. Forget my small town and everyone watching out for everyone. I was a “Protestant” and to my Catholic classmates, that was a dirty word. I lost friends as soon as they found out my religion. It was bewildering. I felt what it meant to be marginalized for no reason. Granted, I could change my religion, but it was at least a taste of prejudice. I’m still sad about some of the friends I lost — and proud for the ones that chose to be my friend against their parents’ wishes.
After high school, I ran back into my religious bubble. I am not proud of it, but I chose to stay there, ignoring what I knew of the world, for many years. I put my blinders on and enjoyed my religious family. I was generous and charitable — to those that were ALSO in my world. Others were shunned — without my even noticing.
But then we had a substitute preacher that worked with the homeless in Dallas, Larry James. (https://www.citysquare.org/larry-james/) He preached about compassion and the responsibility that Christians have to take care of others. As the light of the world, it was our job to be the vanguard caring for the unloved. Matthew 25:40b NIV: “whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
We finished the service one Sunday and closed out with a song. I was on the praise team, so I ended up on stage. Some of my fellow praise team members were talking: “What a great sermon. Of course we need to vet the homeless before we help them. They may or may not be deserving.” “And those illegals — they don’t need our help, they need to go home.” “And the gays… they really deserve everything they are getting. We should only help them if they agree to change.” “And druggies and alcoholics, they can’t be helped. We shouldn’t waste our resources on them.”
I stood there dumbfounded. We had JUST prayed for the homeless and those less fortunate and had been entreated to care. These were my friends — and they were giving excuses for why THEY didn’t have to care for ALL people, or really ANY people that weren’t already going to our church. They only cared for those like them.
That was the beginning of my journey away from “Evangelical Christianity”. My journey isn’t at ALL complete. I lost my church home. I lost a LOT of friends and most of my family. I know they are baffled at my change.
I choose to remain in the “other” camp. I ache for anyone considered marginalized. I don’t care WHY you are “other”: race, sexuality, gender, legal status, addiction, economic issues, whatever. You are deserving of love and I will do my best to show it to you. I still follow Jesus, I just don’t follow “the Church”.
It’s a painful road and VERY thin threads brought me to it. I watch my loved ones who are still mired in anger. I hope they can see their way past the rhetoric, but I know I cannot walk the road for them. They have to find their way to love on their own.
My motto: When in doubt, show love. Look at the two sides of any issue. Feel what “the other” side is feeling. If they are feeling hurt, you need to do what you can to assuage that pain. If they are feeling loved and cared for, then you are doing God’s work (in my opinion).
