For International Women’s Day: Why I left the arts world (and why I’m back)

To mark International Women’s Day, a personal story about being a woman in the arts sector:

After college, I spent over a decade as an opera singer and music educator. I regularly witnessed the profound power of the arts on myself, my audiences, and my students. I was happiest when making music. But in 2014, everything changed. Here’s what happened:

I still remember the swift anxiety that gripped my stomach when the board chairwoman opened the meeting. I was pregnant with my first child, just out of my first trimester — and it was suddenly very clear that my future employers had not called me in to congratulate me.

Two months earlier, this organization had offered me a high profile leadership position, the role of Artistic Director. They had displayed great enthusiasm about bringing me on, and the feeling was mutual. In advance of the official start date, I’d donated evenings and weekends assisting with the transition, updating website and social media pages, and preparing materials for the upcoming concert season. Then, I announced my pregnancy.

I was immediately summoned to a closed-door meeting with the Board and barraged with questions.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner that you were pregnant?”

My face grew warm. It’s common knowledge that mothers are advised not to share their pregnancy news until the risk of miscarriage is lower. Besides, I’d done the work of finding a substitute and preparing a plan that would keep things running smoothly during my brief (unpaid) maternity leave.

And then, “Who will take care of the baby while you work?”

I was speechless. These questions were coming from four women who had juggled careers and families themselves.

“He’ll…be…cared for by a nanny,” I managed.

“We’ll have to think about this and get back to you,” they told me.

I exited as gracefully as I could, and hurried down the hall to a previously-scheduled meeting with other members of the team. But later, on my drive home, it seemed as though my plans for the future were suddenly unraveling, and it made my stomach churn with fear.

This job offer was what had prompted my husband and I give notice to our Boston landlord and prepare to start a new chapter: suburban parenthood. Little did I know how easily this plan could collapse — and how rapidly the Board’s enthusiasm could fade — with the words “We’re having a baby.”

What followed was a dizzying series of conversations, with increasingly hostile tones. I found myself feeling obligated to explain personal decisions and offering to bow out if this “new development” made the board uncomfortable. I was dubbed “anxious” when I asked for a final version of the employment contract. I was told that this transition would cause the organization financial difficulties.

Then I was informed that it was necessary to add a “flexibility clause” to the contract, because it was “impossible to identify all elements and time requirements of the position.”

I asked the board to define the boundaries of the role more clearly, explaining that I couldn’t agree to a clause that essentially required me to be available on an unlimited basis (this was not a full-time role). But the chairwoman balked, accused me of being difficult, and became even more hostile. It became obvious that the board no longer wanted me on their team—but they stopped short of blatantly reneging their offer.

My husband and I were surrounded by moving boxes. I was seven months pregnant. And now my soon-to-be employer had become abusive. My anxiety and stress levels were at an all-time high. Could this stress be harming my unborn baby?

When I got off the call, I did what I had to do for my own mental health and the health of my baby: I sent an email politely backing out. And that was that. No protests; no attempts to win me back.

The Board subsequently hired a man.

If I had known at the time that I was experiencing illegal harassment (which a lawyer confirmed years later)—if I had known how long it would take for me to replace that job—I might have responded differently. All I knew at the time was “I have to escape this abusive environment.”

The repercussions of being forced out of that golden-ticket job were significant and reached much further into the future than I could ever have anticipated. It proved impossible to find a replacement for that expected income so late into my pregnancy‚ and post-partum depression hampered my job search for several months. Our finances took a major hit and, subsequently, our health and our relationship suffered.

Eager to put that painful experience behind me, I turned away from the arts sector, taking an administrative role at a nonprofit research organization.

As I worked alongside the president at the Clayton Christensen Institute for Disruptive Innovation, I began to absorb the business frameworks that had made Harvard Business School’s Clayton Christensen one of the world’s top business thinkers—and something clicked.

“If these ideas can help companies attract new customers and build long term growth,” I realized, “there are powerful implications here for rebuilding arts audiences.”

The arts world wasn’t done with me yet.

If the arts are such a great solution for so many needs in our society, why are increasingly fewer consumers choosing to “hire” the arts as a solution in their lives?

This was the question that drove me to build Culture for Hire. This was the question that brought me back to the arts world, sparking an ongoing passion for leveraging the power of business theory to help consumers rediscover the profound power of the arts.

It’s been a tough road, but I’m grateful for where I’ve landed. And I recognize that there are so many others that have had even more difficult journeys in this sector.

As Dominic Moore-Dunson wrote recently, “We first must be transformed before trying to bring transformation.” If we want the arts to be truly transformative for our communities, we must continue to shine the light on the injustices and inequities that persist within our sector—and continue calling for healthy and equitable systems that prioritize anti-racism, equity, diversity, and inclusion at all levels.