How to Survive Meetings as a Young Woman: One Woman’s Rules (Part 1 of 2)

Human rights should be the last field in which women should have to worry about being taken seriously. It’s not just the eloquent ideals the field is built on, or the fact that we have had great female leaders throughout our history (hello Eleanor Roosevelt, Navi Pillay, and Mary Robinson). We also remain a female-heavy industry, particularly in the lower ranks.

And that’s the rub… we remain female-heavy, but that’s principally in the lower ranks. How do we break a glass ceiling we’re barely able to acknowledge exists in a field where the flat numbers suggest there’s no way it should be a problem?

I was asked this week if I had ever had experience being a young, junior woman in a meeting and not being taken as seriously as her male colleagues. I am relatively certain every woman of my age has lived – and may still live – with that reality, and on more than one occasion.

I don’t have the answers for every woman; I have some answers that have worked for me. I’m writing this post so that we can continue conversations that have happened on Skype, in emails, and at conference after-parties. I hope that more women will share their insights in the comments.

I developed my “meeting rules” a few years ago. In a meeting with several organizations and approximately 20 people, I was biologically and experientially the second youngest, beaten only by my female colleague. There were three women in the room; the oldest one didn’t shake our hands or really acknowledge us before the meeting. When our supervisor introduced us, he received a hug; we received a cursory head nod with no handshake (no, her hands were not full).  

The men seemed to indulge our pre-meeting conversational insights the way I respond to my nephew when he tells me a story about how he saw his dad wrestle a giant last Saturday.

As we began to take our seats, my female colleague and I found ourselves at the end of a large semi-circle. The seats of those sitting on the other side of the table were angled away from us. For them, the semi-circle ended immediately to my left, where my male colleague sat.

I took out my pen, dated the top of my paper and wrote the purpose and title of the meeting. I realized I was preparing to take notes. Why? I know women are relegated the ‘note-taking’ job. I know that when you’re in that position, you don’t talk as much because the conversation moves on while you’re still writing down “JD = good idea.” I also know that when you do it once, and you share your notes with others, they expect you to do it again at each subsequent meeting.

The semi-circle also triggered a law school memory. I was the only female student in a class of 10. At the start of the class, I did not like (and was not liked by) 5.5 of the men in my class (I thought one was nice enough). I always thought they were the living embodiments of fraternity stereotypes. 

I had a rather high-pitched voice, and engaged in what is called “up-speak,” where I ended every sentence like a question. “I think the jury’s role has been unduly supplanted by preliminary judgments?” They didn’t take me seriously at the start of class. It wasn’t that they were actively derisive to me. It was worse. They would ignore me.

I’m not quite sure when it happened, but over the course of the term, I found my voice would drop a bit when I was in that class. It wasn’t an intentional choice; it was being around masculine voices, having conversations about the law in which I already knew that no matter what I said I wouldn’t impress them or please them. Somehow, that context helped me find my voice, slightly lower, no up-speak, and authoritative.

By the end of the term, we ended up as sort-of friends, colleagues who wouldn’t necessarily stay in touch for forever but would have several more good laughs before we graduated.

Two years later, I found myself at the fateful meeting with human rights professionals. I set my pen down and folded my hands. The first question to our group came and my supervisor made an introductory remark and then turned it over to me for the remainder of the substance. Since I wasn’t taking notes, there was no momentary pause while I finished writing. I didn’t need to think about what my answer should be. I just answered.

My voice was lower than it normally is. Not unnaturally low; I wasn’t straining my vocal chords. I just wasn’t trying to be perky. I was being authoritative. 

The chairs at the other end of the table shifted slightly – not enough to actually face me, but enough to acknowledge I was speaking.

The second question came. My supervisor and male colleague each commented and then turned it over to me. I said exactly what I needed to say and stopped talking.

There was the shift again.

The fourth question came. My supervisor just looked at me and said “Tara.”

There it was again – a little more face space.

By the fifth question, the semi-circle now ended after my female colleague.

It was not “Take Your Daughters to Work Day” after all.

Over the next few meetings, I developed meeting rules. These are not the end-all, be-all of rules for women. They are the things that work for me. But, perhaps there is something to them as I am often told that I am an asset to meetings (which is the probably weirdest compliment given to me by anyone other than my nephew, who thinks “you’re a poopy-head” is equivalent to “I love you Aunt Tara”).

It’s worth noting that these are habits that need to take form. It took me a while to develop them, then they became second nature, but occasionally I still slip up or develop a bad habit. When I realize it, I just go back to the drawing board and re-train myself in these rules. It’s also worth noting that Ebba, who has actually read Lean In, tells me that some of these are “very Sheryl Sandberg.” I will take that as both a compliment and a reminder to bump that up my reading list. I suspect some of these rules have been “discovered” by a lot of women who sat in one too many meetings feeling like their voice wasn’t being fully heard. Even though I haven’t yet read the book, I do suspect that at least some of the media discussion around the book has informed my thinking. For that, I apologize if it sounds a little too much like her advice at parts.

Because this is a long post, I’ve divided it into two. This first part will give you my top 3 rules. The next part gives you all the other ones (11 more).

My Top 3:

1.  I don’t take notes for anyone else; I only take notes for myself. I don’t even pick up a pen until we agree I’ll do something, or set a date for something. Occasionally if someone is giving a long presentation, I’ll jot down my questions. Any other time, the pen is on top of my paper.  By not taking notes, I’m engaged in the conversation. I’m not doodling flowers on the top of my paper (seriously 6^th grade Tara, couldn’t you engain some better habit for when you’re bored??); I’m not thinking of what someone else wants or has to say; I’m thinking about the substance of the conversation and am ready to intervene when I think it’s necessary.

2. I sit at the table. If the table looks full, I pull up a chair, even if it makes things a tiny bit uncomfortable. 

3. I will speak on anything I have an informed opinion on. No hesitancy. No second guessing my right to have an opinion. And no apologizing for that opinion. I say “I’m sorry” only if I am sincerely apologizing or being clearly sarcastic. For anything else, an “I’m sorry” gives me one of three consequences: (a) donate to the GOP; (b) donate to an anti-choice organization that will inevitably harm some woman’s health somewhere else; or (c) buy a man in a suit a cup of coffee in a non-hitting-on-him way. The idea of contributing to the efforts of the first two organizations is enough to make my stomach turn. The third option is sort of the opposite of buying a cup of coffee for a homeless person; it makes me physically feel bad for not buying cups of coffee more frequently for homeless people and it feels like a waste of money. That’s not to say it’s always a waste of money to buy a guy in a suit a cup of coffee, but if enacted as a punishment, it makes me feel disgusted with myself.

These are the incentives that work for me. When I was in private practice, I did this to cure myself of an excessive addiction to the word “like.”  I gave $5.00 in cash to someone working for the Ohio GOP and never again said the word “like” at work unless it was in the context of an appropriate use of a simile.

The post continues with some more rules I've developed to survive meetings while a young female.