Allyship is a Verb: Your Guide to Making a Real Difference at Work

 

Hey there, Inspirers. Let's talk about something that’s been on my mind a lot lately, something I’ve been trying to get right, and something I think we all need to be talking about more openly.

Let's talk about allyship.

I know, I know. The word "ally" gets thrown around a lot these days. It’s on corporate websites, in email signatures, and all over our LinkedIn feeds. But what does it really mean? Is it just about adding a rainbow flag to your profile during Pride Month? Is it about simply not being overtly discriminatory?

I used to think it was something along those lines. For a long time, my philosophy at work was pretty simple: be a decent human. Don’t be a jerk. Treat everyone with a baseline level of respect. I thought that was enough.

I was wrong.

My journey to understanding what true allyship looks like has been, well, a journey. It’s been awkward, uncomfortable, and humbling. I've made my fair share of mistakes. But it's also been one of the most rewarding and important learning experiences of my professional life.

This isn't going to be a preachy, finger-wagging lecture. Think of this more as a conversation, a sharing of stories and lessons learned from someone who's still figuring it all out.

The Wake-Up Call I Didn't Know I Needed

A few years back, a new designer, let's call her Priya, joined our creative team. Priya was a force of nature. Her portfolio was stellar, and she brought an energy and a perspective that was so fresh and so needed. She was also the only woman of color on our team of about a dozen people.

I watched as Priya, in her first few weeks, would present these incredible, innovative ideas in our brainstorming sessions. And I watched as they were met with… a lukewarm response. A polite nod. A quick "that's interesting, Priya," before the conversation moved on.

Then, inevitably, a week or two later, a male colleague would present a watered-down version of Priya's original concept, and suddenly, it was the best thing since sliced bread. The room would buzz with excitement. "Brilliant!" "Game-changer!"

And me? I sat there in silence. I saw it happen. I felt that pit in my stomach, that little voice saying, this isn't right. But I didn't say anything. I didn't want to rock the boat. I didn't want to make things awkward.

My silence wasn't neutral. My silence was a choice. It was a choice to let my colleague down, to let an unfair system perpetuate itself.

It was a quiet conversation in the kitchen one afternoon that finally shattered my complacency. Priya, while making tea, mentioned how exhausted she was. Not just from the workload, but from the constant need to prove herself, the feeling of being invisible.

"It's like I'm shouting into a void," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

That single sentence was a gut punch. My "be a decent human" approach wasn't cutting it. It was passive. And in the face of inequity, passivity is complicity. I realized then that allyship isn't a noun, a label you can give yourself. It's a verb. It's about doing.

So, What Does "Doing" Allyship Actually Look Like?

It's not about grand, performative gestures. It's not about being a savior. It's about consistent, intentional action. It's about using your power and privilege, no matter how big or small you perceive it to be, to uplift others.

The First Step? Shut Up and Listen.

Seriously. This is where it all begins. And it's harder than it sounds. We're so conditioned to want to fix things, to offer our own opinions, to relate it back to our own experiences. But when a colleague from an underrepresented group shares their experience, that's not what's needed.

What's needed is for you to hold space for them. To listen with the intent to understand, not to respond.

As diversity and inclusion expert Lily Zheng says, "Allyship is not an identity—it is a practice." And the foundational practice of allyship is deep, empathetic listening.

After my conversation with Priya, I started making a conscious effort to listen differently. I'd ask her about her weekend, about the projects she was excited about. And I would just listen. I wouldn't interrupt. I wouldn't offer unsolicited advice. I just gave her the space to be heard.

It was a small change, but it made a big difference. It built a bridge of trust between us.

Do Your Own Homework

It is not the job of your marginalized colleagues to educate you about their lived experiences, about systemic oppression, or about the history of their community. That's on you. We have the entire internet at our fingertips. There are books, podcasts, documentaries, and articles galore.

I started by reading. I read "So You Want to Talk About Race" by Ijeoma Oluo. I read "Invisible Women" by Caroline Criado Perez. I started following activists and educators on social media.

The more I learned, the more I realized how much I didn't know. It was humbling, to say the least. I began to understand concepts like unconscious bias and microaggressions in a much deeper way. I started to see how my own privilege as a white man in a predominantly white industry shaped my reality and insulated me from the challenges that others faced every single day.

This self-education is a crucial and ongoing part of being an ally. It gives you the context and the language to understand the world from a different perspective.

Pass the Mic

Once you've started listening and learning, you can begin to use your voice. But this is a delicate dance. It's not about speaking for someone. It's about amplifying their voice. It's about passing the mic.

In those team meetings, when I saw Priya’s ideas being glossed over, I started to speak up. I'd say things like, "I want to go back to what Priya said. I think that’s a really strong concept, and I’d love to hear more about it."

I would make a point to publicly credit her for her work. In emails to senior leadership, I'd be specific: "The visual direction for this campaign was led by Priya, and her innovative approach was key to its success."

This isn't about being a hero. It's about correcting a power imbalance. It's about ensuring that credit is given where it's due.

As activist and writer Brittany Packnett Cunningham so eloquently puts it, "The first step in allyship is not to be a voice for the voiceless, but to pass the mic."

Embrace the Awkward. Be Prepared to Mess Up.

This is a big one. On this journey, you are going to make mistakes. You will say the wrong thing. You will use outdated terminology. You will put your foot in your mouth.

I've been there. I remember a time when I tried to "compliment" a Black colleague on how articulate she was. I genuinely meant it as a compliment, but she gently explained to me that the word "articulate" is often used as a microaggression against Black people, implying that their eloquence is an exception to the rule.

My face burned with shame. My first instinct was to get defensive, to explain my good intentions. But I took a breath, swallowed my pride, and said, "Thank you for telling me that. I'm sorry. I won't use that word in that context again."

Being an ally means prioritizing the impact of your words and actions over your intent. It means being open to feedback, even when it's hard to hear. It means being willing to apologize, learn, and do better.

As the incredible Brené Brown says, "I'm not here to be right, I'm here to get it right." That has become my mantra.

The Ripple Effect of Real Allyship

When you commit to being an active ally, something amazing happens. It creates a ripple effect. Others see your example and start to follow suit. The culture of a team, of a whole organization, can begin to shift.

Slowly but surely, the dynamics on our team changed. People started to listen more. Ideas were judged on their merit, not on who they came from. Priya began to flourish. She became more confident, more vocal. She was eventually promoted to lead our entire design department, and she is one of the most inspiring and inclusive leaders I have ever had the privilege of working with.

Being an ally isn't a destination. It's a continuous practice. It's a commitment to showing up, day after day, for your colleagues. It's about choosing courage over comfort.

It's about creating a workplace where everyone feels safe, seen, and valued. A place where everyone can bring their whole, authentic selves to work.

And that's a workplace I want to be a part of. I think it’s a workplace we all deserve. So, let's get to "doing." Our colleagues, our workplaces, and our world will be better for it.