The Worst Best Man

by Mia Sosa

We must never let our emotions get the better of us; doing so is either a sign of weakness, one that diminishes our well-earned respect, or a mark of combativeness, which will cause people to say we’re irrational. And as women—women of color, more specifically—we simply can’t afford to be perceived in those terms.

If the universe liked me, I would fall for someone like Natalia. Someone who’s open and unafraid to say exactly what’s on her mind. But I’m thinking about the woman no longer in the room. Wondering if she’s okay. Wanting to see her reluctant smile again. I don’t know much, but I know this: The universe hates me. Chapter

“this is the last thing, but it’s an important one. I wish you would see the potential in us. I know it’s hard to see me with new eyes, especially given our history, but there’s something here. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s strong enough that I don’t want to shut the door on it. It’s a big ask, I know. And it’s complicated. There are probably a dozen reasons why we shouldn’t even try. And maybe you can’t see yourself being with me. But I want you to know that if there’s any chance for us, I’ll take it.”

You want to know if I cry? If I ever get angry? Of course I do. But I need a safe space to do that, and there aren’t a lot of those around. I’m a woman, Max. Afro-Latinx, too. Being emotional isn’t exactly something I can do freely, not without repercussions.”

“A Black woman isn’t justifiably upset, she’s angry. A Latinx person confronts someone, they’re fiery or feisty. I don’t like raising my voice in public, Max. There’s too much baggage associated with it. A woman gets emotional in the workplace, she’s irrational and not fit for leadership. I was fired for being overly emotional in a male-dominated space.”

I’m a White man, and I’m embarrassed to realize that none of this would have occurred to me if Lina hadn’t forced me to see it. It’s a privilege I take for granted—the ability to be who I want and say what I want no matter the space I’m in. How many times have I watched a male colleague get red in the face because of some perceived slight and stomp around in a conference room because of it? Did I ever look at him with derision? No. But a woman’s tears in that same conference room? Yeah, I have to admit they made me uncomfortable. Is that why my mother insists that Andrew and I forget we’re her sons when we walk into the office? So she’s not viewed as our emotional caretaker? Or as a weak leader? It’s hard to say.

Competing with someone else isn’t going to help you find what you’re searching for. You need to compete with yourself. When you’re looking to improve, refer to the last and best thing you did and go from there.”

There’s room for different kinds of greatness. Even if you cry doing it. Hell, especially if you cry doing it.”

“Live your life, not ours. You’ve been doing a great job of it so far. And if this job is what you want, fight for it.

Build a future that makes sense for you, not anyone else.”

That doesn’t mean I’m failing; it just means I’m living my own life.

I hate the idea of appearing weak under any circumstances, and I cringe at the thought that someone would lose respect for me because of it.