Authenticity at Work
Pride is about more than corporate logos and rainbows. For queer professionals, it’s about the exhausting math we have to do just to show up to work.
Years ago, as a second-year law student, I was interviewing for an articling position. I had been told that the particular market I was interviewing in was self-conscious about their proximity to Toronto and how that market was often a second choice or backup plan rather than somewhere new lawyers actually wanted to spend their career. Why hire young associates who would work for two years and then inevitably flee to Toronto for better pay?
I wasn't originally from that city. My only anchor to the community was my then-husband.
So, during the interview, I made a conscious, strategic decision. I mentioned my husband in passing. It served two purposes:
It proved I had a legitimate, long-term reason to stay in the city.
It was a culture check. I wanted to see if I would be welcomed as my full self.
The reaction was immediate. The interviewer—a middle-aged woman—essentially stopped the interview. She looked at me and asked why I had just outed myself. She told me, "You should never bring your personal life to work."
Here is the double standard: If a straight candidate had mentioned their wife in that exact context, it wouldn’t have been viewed as a political statement or bringing their personal life to work. It would have been viewed as a sign of stability. It would have been a checkmark in the "will stay long-term" column.
But because I was a gay man, sharing the exact same human context was treated as a professional liability.
(And for the record? We eventually broke up, and I did exactly what they were afraid of—I moved to Toronto and later built my own firm.)
When I talk about running a trauma-informed employment law practice, this is where it comes from. I don't just know the Employment Standards Act; I know what it feels like to have your identity evaluated as a risk factor. I know the anxiety of wondering if you can be honest about who you are at the water cooler (or in an interview), or if a subtle shift in your boss's demeanour is tied to who you love.
When clients come to my firm, they don't have to translate their lives or filter their experiences. Part of my motivation in starting my own practice was and is to do law differently. If you can’t be open and honest with your lawyer, and feel welcome to share your full self without judgment, their advice won’t actually reflect the reality of your situation. I have built my practice to be different; it’s based on my own experiences that go beyond just knowledge of the law.
Let’s keep building workplaces where no one is told to leave their humanity at the door.
Happy Pride!
