Introduction

Have you ever found yourself wondering "What can I do to support diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) in the workplace?" I believe that at some time or other, many people ask themselves this question. Just imagine a place that you helped to create where everyone feels included and empowered to thrive in their authenticity. That's the place where everyone wants to be, and that's what we're striving for. Inclusion starts with the letter I-meaning that it starts with you. You begin by being Intentional. There's that I again. Your consistent intentional actions lead to impact or as I like to call it "Impactful Inclusion."

This book is born from my desire to help my many friends and colleagues who have approached me for guidance on how they can be a part of the solution to the inequities taking place not only in the workplace but society as a whole; and I love them for asking. Thank you for sparking this idea and creating this opportunity to share my personal experiences as well as those of family, friends, and colleagues.

There are hundreds of DEI books written for leaders and managers-people with positional authority. However, few books focus solely on the everyday person-the individual contributors who keep businesses humming. No matter their job role, everyone either experiences or perpetuates exclusion in daily interactions. We are often left without the tools or knowledge needed to recognize and address exclusive acts and replace them with acts of inclusion. My goal is to get this book in the hands of 10 million people for the good of all humanity. I believe that when we know better, we can do better. We can build a world where historically excluded people are included and valued.

Regardless of your position within an organization, you can incorporate the activities found here into your day-to-day interactions for better relationships, greater gratification, and profound business outcomes. You can be a catalyst for change. The key to success on your inclusion journey is to pack an open mind, receptivity to change, and willingness to learn. While these activities are simple, they may not always be easy. Inclusive behaviors are a skill, and like any skill, they will improve over time with practice. Lean into the discomfort. You're going to make mistakes. It's okay. It's how you learn. Stay with it. Visit my website, DEIinsider.com, for continued insights and resources. Join others on the journey by engaging in our LinkedIn group "Champions of Inclusion."

The Merriam-Webster dictionary has several definitions of inclusion. I was thrilled to see this one: "the act or practice of including and accommodating people who have historically been excluded (as because of their race, gender, sexuality, or ability)."

I remember a time when inclusion simply meant the act of being included. We've evolved into a society with an increased awareness and sense of responsibility to make the world inclusive for all. Throughout the book, I use the term "we," referring to you the reader, and me the author, as I am working to become more inclusive along with you. Thank you for joining me on this journey.

How to Use This Book

Let me begin by saying that this is not a quick read over the weekend; rather, it should be taken in weekly doses where you make time to acquire a new skill to practice every week until it becomes a habit. Journal about your reflections, what you've discovered about yourself and others. Capture successes and lessons learned. Celebrate wins.

Inclusion is everybody's job that anybody can do. Place this book somewhere where it will stay top of mind. Set weekly reminders to build your inclusion muscle. Each week, work to incorporate the actions into your day-to-day interactions and review the action accelerators to increase your understanding. My hope is that your successes and energy will lead to others joining you. Journeys are always more fun when you share them with others. There are 52 activities. Start with the first one of getting to know yourself. When you get to activity number 52, begin again at 1, and note how much you've evolved. Imagine the impact you'll make year after year.

Commit to actively changing thought processes and behaviors that ultimately create more inclusive work environments. Above all, enjoy the journey!

My Battle with Exclusion

I grew up during a time where societal norms judged and frowned upon divorcées, single motherhood, working mothers, men marrying women with children, and other ridiculous beliefs that in effect stigmatized women like my mother. Society got to decide who was acceptable and unacceptable or worthy of respect. My mother was raised in poverty in the slums of Chicago by a single mother and never met her father. A blend of German, African American, and Cherokee Indian, her green eyes, French vanilla skin, and long sandy brown hair made her stick out like a cherry in a bowl of milk. I recall the dozens of stories she shared, lamenting about the bullying at school, or the summers spent in Minot, North Dakota, with White family members, and the impact of constant reminders of the darkness of her skin. By the age of 25, she had been through two divorces and had two children. I was three years old and the youngest when she and my father went their separate ways. But I have to give it to her: Mom was a strong and determined woman. With the support of her mother and uncle, she attended nursing school while my grandmother cared for me and my brother. Looking back, I can only imagine the scars and the emotional trauma she endured and carried her entire life just trying to fit in. Those experiences definitely informed the way she cared for her children. She was determined to be accepted by society no matter the cost.

My first brush with exclusion happened when I was five. My mom took me and Tonia (not her real name), the five-year-old daughter of her best friend out for shopping and dinner. She dressed me in an outfit that made me feel like an old lady. I'll never forget that hideous blue ruffled front dress with lace-top ankle socks that kept sliding down into the back of my black patent leather Mary Jane shoes. I wore thick cat eyeglasses, and my hair was pulled into a wild, bushy ponytail. I envied Tonia. Her hair was pressed bone straight and cascaded just past her shoulders. She wore the cutest jumper and go-go boots. And my mother? Well, stunning. Her hair swept into a French roll, and she wore a knee-length sheath that not only accentuated her curves, but it was also a shade of green matching her eyes. Everywhere we went, compliments poured about the beauty of her daughter Tonia and how much she looked like her mother. Mom beamed at every flattery while I waited for her to correct them and identify me as her daughter. By the third instance, my eyes welled with tears. I could not understand why I wasn't her daughter that day. I did not realize until I was well into my 40s that it was her desire to fit in with the picture-perfect child that drove her decisions to not correct the mistaken identity.

She remarried when I was seven. Soon after, my brother started living with his paternal grandmother. I was told that he chose to leave us because his grandmother promised him a dog. Mother explained that she wanted no one who desired a dog over her, so she opened the door and allowed him to leave at only 11 years of age. I felt abandoned. How could he leave me as well for a dog? Why couldn't I go too? I don't recall him ever saying goodbye. He just left for a weekend visit with his grandmother and never returned. I now believe that the stigma of a ready-made family led to my brother's quick departure. Alone, I tried hard to be the perfect daughter for my mom and stepdad. Turns out, I was awful at being perfect and was criticized or punished for every spoken and unspoken rule I ever broke. I maintained a relationship over the phone with my brother for a few years as best I could, but eventually that wasn't enough, and we grew apart. Three years into the marriage, my sister was born. Mother blamed me for having to give birth to another child because I could not bring myself to call my stepfather "daddy," something he so desperately wanted. For me, it felt too awkward to say "daddy" to someone with whom I had no emotional connection. I knew my father, and he was daddy to me. My sister was my stepfather's first child and would ultimately become his only child. The excitement from his family members around her birth brought frequent visitors and loads of gifts. Often, these visits relegated me to another room rendering me invisible. Seemingly, no one wanted to engage with the child from the previous marriage. I remember stepping out once to see all the presents, and when I attempted to touch one, I was scolded by one of his relatives. There was one relative who visited for years every weekend bearing gifts, none of which were ever for me, and she made that clear. By the time I was 11 years old, I was made to feel unlovable regardless of how hard I tried. I could not remember the last time I saw or even spoke to my biological father. Attempts to connect with him were forbidden because he never paid child support. The photos of him that I had hidden in a drawer were discovered and destroyed. It's as if my mother wanted to wipe out his existence. Except, there I was, a constant reminder of her past. In the midst of struggles to fit in at home, I still had a privileged life. I attended private schools off and on,...