Boxed In by Good Intentions

I remember Bill — a friend of my father’s, well into his sixties, and a preacher like my dad. I was in my early twenties, a single mother of two, living at home, and figuring out how to balance survival with ambition. We were sitting at the table one afternoon, talking about life, family, and the economy. I was working at a bank, fresh from a short financial course, and I was starting to think about the kind of future I wanted to build — one rooted in service and creativity.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, Bill looked at me and said, plain as day: “You should be a nurse or a schoolteacher.” Just like that. No questions asked. Not because I had ever expressed interest in either. Not because I showed some talent for the work. Just... because.

I remember feeling something twist in my gut. Not because there’s anything wrong with nursing or teaching — they’re powerful, life-changing professions. But that wasn’t me. I’d been fascinated by technology and drawn to human behavior since junior high. Social work and tech had my heart. So why was the expectation so narrow?

Bill didn’t mean harm. In fact, he probably thought he was offering encouragement. But that’s the thing about bias: it rarely shows up in cruelty. More often, it hides in suggestions. In expectations. In traditions. And for young women like me — single, unmarried, ambitious — those suggestions can be suffocating. They shrink your sense of possibility before it ever has room to breathe.

To be fair, my parents weren’t thrilled about my interest in technology either. They thought it was a passing trend, a risky investment. But I saw it differently. I saw potential. Innovation. Change. And I wanted to be a part of it. That desire — to chase something outside the expected — came with resistance from all sides. But it also taught me something about how identity shapes opportunity.

That conversation with Bill wasn’t the last time I’d be boxed in by assumptions. But it was one of the first times I noticed the box forming around me — and decided I wasn’t going to live inside it.

We talk a lot about DEI as policy and training. But it’s also moments like that — subtle, generational, cultural — where someone else’s view of who you should be threatens to overshadow who you could be.

If you’ve ever been guided toward a path that didn’t feel like your own — not because of skill, but because of someone’s comfort — you’re not alone. Let’s name the boxes, so we can build something better beyond them.

DEI work doesn’t always happen in boardrooms — sometimes it starts at the dinner table. If you’ve ever had to push back on someone’s assumptions of who you’re supposed to be, you’re not alone. Let’s talk about it.