Trust the duchess

“Y’all thought y’all had packed me? It ain’t over just yet, baby.” — Alyssa Edwards (and Meghan Markle, I hope)

From Meghan’s since-deleted Instagram.

On January 8, I was not yet concerned about death tolls or race wars or economic meltdowns or shortages of tests and toilet paper. Every day I went to an open-plan office and wore oppressive clothing, like jeans and bras. I puff-puff-passed. My friends and I held hands and hugged tightly enough to crack ribs. I took my time ambling down grocery store aisles and after grabbing an item to read the label up close, I did not think I guess I need this now and buy it out of terror. Back then, before mourning Kobe Bryant and praising Michael Jordan and processing the complicated reality of those things, I was working at my job of nearly 10 years, a job that I considered a part of me and struggled to imagine my life without. But cracks and true colors had started to show, and problematic choices were made at my expense. You could say people stopped being polite and started getting real. While I knew in my gut that I needed to stand up for myself and the few colleagues who looked like me, I was debilitated by thoughts of what it would mean for my reputation, or if it would mean anything at all. I wasn’t worried about complete and utter chaos in the world just yet, but I was already living in Uncertain Times — and so was my fave, Meghan Markle.

That morning, she and Prince Harry announced their plans to take a “step back” as senior members of the British royal family, after about three years of constant attacks from the British press and little to no support from relatives. They were going to gather Archie’s things and sashay away from the UK, then seek financial independence and “carve out a progressive new role” within the centuries-old institution that Harry was born into and Meghan was not quite all the way allowed to be a part of. In her I saw a woman who was excited about her new job and life, eager to roll up her sleeves and effect some change, then deemed aggressive and calculating for it. A woman judged for everything she did and didn’t do — touching one’s pregnant belly and closing one’s car door and eating one’s avocado toast became akin to strangling one’s grandmother — in poorly written think pieces that are “not about race” but somehow always pretty racist. Despite her intrinsic proximity to whiteness, Meghan was still too Black to win.

I happen to be an It’s a sign type of bitch, so when the peace-out epistle arrived via Instagram on a Wednesday, the most sinister day of the week, something in me clicked. Not like I’m on Meghan’s level or have her type of problems or influence or glossy hair or anything. I’m definitely not a duchess; I’m barely a lady. But her and Harry’s historic move galvanized me into reflecting on my ideals and the lengths I would go to defend them, at work and beyond. It doesn’t surprise me that a celebrity motivated me to do this, rather than, like, a trusted friend or licensed therapist. Questionable parenting choices mean I grew up with a TV in my bedroom (her street was Sesame, her neighborhood Mister Rogers’), and my entire life has been influenced by pop culture. I’m sure it’s the source of some psychological damage I’ve been ignoring, but it has also led to my carrying several pub trivia teams to victory and getting paid to obsess over things like ‘90s sitcoms and Beyoncé album drops and Meghan Markle leaving the royal family. Naturally, it wasn’t until the star of acclaimed Hallmark Channel romantic comedy Dater’s Handbook shook the table and said “this ain’t it” that it resonated. Oh, yeah. We can do that. 

Buoyed by Meghan’s audacity, I wrote one of those emails to higher-ups that you agonize over and send to a more professional friend first, to confirm you sound as respectful as possible while raising your hell. For the first time in a long time, I was not worried about looking like the Angry Black Woman. In that moment I literally was that girl, and it felt silly not to let her out, with no anxiety or shame attached. Time to lean in, I guess! I made my discomfort clear, along with my boundaries, and threw in some fast facts about my contributions to the company. But it didn’t really matter — more disappointing decisions were made, so more tough conversations were had. I knew things weren’t working anymore and were unlikely to change; I’d had it, officially, and it was time to make a Sussexesque move. Two months after Meghan’s announcement, I stepped back as a senior member from the job that I loved and brought it all to for nearly a decade. I gave up the team I was so proud of growing, and the title and salary I worked twice as hard to secure. I understood that moving on would make me a different person, which felt scarily liberating, like the day I took out my belly button ring. I wasn’t as sad about leaving as I was the reason why. I now understand that things had to happen that way for me to fully realize my own worth — that is to say, my charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent. 

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And it do take nerve. Meghan walking away from her royal role, and deciding to speak out about some of the challenges she faced within it, means something to those who have had to keep a stiff upper lip to avoid being branded as difficult, or even worse, ungrateful. We’ve begun to hear even more brave stories from BIPOC across industries, here and abroad, detailing their experiences with workplace racism more explicitly than ever. The amount of Black women who have been driven out of dream jobs is particularly alarming, with each account so laughably similar to the last that it feels like we’re playing Discrimination Bingo. One day I got high and was thinking about how many of us have been mistaken for a coworker and like, what if we’re actually all each other?! Imagine having to go down that kind of rabbit hole, in the bath, on a Tuesday afternoon. Truly, racism is so exhausting! I’m convinced that Black women are born with sangfroid that allows us to mentally survive in spaces we’re made to feel lucky to be in — we can use that poise to assert ourselves, but agency often comes at a cost. In a published excerpt from Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand’s upcoming book Finding Freedom, the royal reporters write that Meghan and Harry had a growing difficulty in “understanding why so few inside the palace were looking out for their interests,” especially given their global popularity. According to sources, the couple tried to air frustrations for months, but conversations stalled and their impatience resulted in an “explosive reaction” that blew back the wigs of every bitch in Buckingham Palace. “If other members of the family and those working with the households had taken their requests more seriously,” they wrote, “It wouldn’t have reached that point.”

Meghan gave a speech at Girl Up’s digital Leadership Summit in July, beamed in from a corridor in Tyler Perry’s house that I suspect is bigger than my apartment. Looking stunning in blue, she spoke words of inspiration with a soupçon of shade and urged young global leaders to keep pushing for change and reading these dusty lawmakers and executives for filth. “The status quo is easy to excuse and it’s hard to break. But it will pull tightest right before snapping.” She continued with a telling reminder.

“Don’t be afraid to do what you know is right, even when it’s not popular, even when it’s never been done before, even if it scares people, and even if it scares you.”

On January 8, I had not braced myself for knees on necks or mouths under masks. I didn’t yet realize how many apologies I was owed or the trauma I would relive by accepting them. I surely wasn’t expecting to lose friends, or for Drag Race to crown a Black winner, Miss Congeniality, and All Star in one calendar year. My chief concerns were the whereabouts of Rihanna’s album and whether or not I should sacrifice my livelihood for my values. My progressive new role has yet to be carved out, and for right now, I'm at peace with that. I’ve gained an overwhelming sense of freedom and a fresh set of priorities that are currently crashing up against the limitations of These Uncertain Times, and trying to figure out the rest of my life right now seems like an extreme waste of energy. It is exciting and unmooring and some days are better than others, but I try to push through my fear of the near future and keep letting my intuition show me the way like a Roxxxy Andrews wig reveal.

“Your gut will tell you what’s right and what’s wrong, what’s fair and what’s unfair,” Meghan told a virtual audience of pre-adolescent girls plus myself. “The hardest part — and this was the hardest part for me — is to chase your convictions with action.” Siiisss. I snapped at the screen in agreement and wondered (aloud, to no one) if she feels proud of herself; if she knows in her bones that she did the right thing by leaving her own life in the dust. And here we are, starting from scratch, building new foundations to grow from. How wild it is that taking a step back can be such a dramatic step forward. 

Trust the duchess. . . it ain’t over just yet, baby.