Transition and Authentic Self-Expression: Leaving Washington D.C. after 14 years

“Your new place is like a launchpad,” a fellow participant at an Authentic Relating workshop reflected back to me. I had just described my recent and unexpected move to Denver, Colorado after I got laid off twice in 6 months from different offices as a contractor at the State Department. I moved to Denver for a fresh start without knowing anyone. My lease was up in June and my most recent office was eliminated as part of the Department’s reorganization in mid-July. I had lived and worked in Washington D.C. for nearly 14 years, the majority of that time at State. First, I was an intern while in graduate school and then served in various iterations of contractor roles, working on issues of gender equality, racial equity and justice, LGBTQI+ human rights, and social inclusion. My father also passed away in late October 2024 from the effects of COVID-19, Alzheimer's, and Parkinson’s disease. The cumulative effect of three different losses, my father and two jobs, without adequate time to process each individually weighed heavily on me. However, these experiences have also taught me how to step into discomfort and how to become more authentically me.

I never anticipated staying for more than a decade in D.C., and as a child never imagined even working in government. When I was in elementary school in northern Minnesota, my family hosted dinner for refugees from Central America who were fleeing the civil wars in their countries. This was one of the first times I learned about the impact of U.S. foreign policy in a concrete way. My father was also a Vietnam veteran and social justice activist and later served as an independent election observer after the civil war ended in El Salvador. I remember accompanying him to local universities where he shared about his experience which also shaped my view of the world. I soon became passionate about how to create change and social impact globally. However, I felt like the kid that didn’t fit in school. I talked about foreign policy and civil wars and wrote about the killing of Archbishop Oscar Romero from El Salvador, while my peers usually shared about their summer vacations to Cancun, Mexico if anything international came up. I later visited El Salvador several times throughout high school to support the creation of a sister community relationship. I felt a deep connection to the people I met there and also partially mastered making pupusas (stuffed tortillas with beans and cheese).

Fast forward a few decades from that dinner with refugees, and a few twists and turns along the way (including as a 7th grade teacher in Brooklyn), and I was at the State Department. More than anything, I’m grateful for the people I had the opportunity to connect and work with throughout those years. I learned so much from the amazing individuals and organizations from the U.S. and international civil society who raised critical issues with the Department and worked – and continue to work – tirelessly to advance human rights and increase access to opportunities for people around the world. I also feel immense gratitude for my former colleagues, particularly those at the technical level, who were open to creatively exploring how we could make things happen despite many obstacles and never enough resources. I worked tirelessly behind the scenes with teammates to create the first-ever Secretary’s Award for Global Anti-Racism Champions. Through this experience, and many others, I recognized how powerful it was to create initiatives, opportunities for recognition, and spaces for exchange and dialogue on issues that had not been previously discussed in those rooms and at a high level in government. At the same time, the more “quiet wins” also gave me motivation and encouragement to continue the work. Like seeing the picture of an Afghan family who arrived safely in Virginia after over a year in hiding from the Taliban. I had worked for months on paperwork related to their case for significant public benefit parole. Or when I received a call from an NGO leader who thanked me for the letter from an Assistant Secretary that I drafted related to an access to justice issue specifically impacting women. He said that the lawyers were able to include the letter in the case of an imprisoned woman serving a multi-year sentence – he believed that the letter was a key contributor in winning the appeal, resulting in a reduction in her sentence.

While I’m grateful and proud of the work we accomplished together, being in an environment with strict bureaucratic rules for tasking, drafting, and clearing paper, top-down decision-making, and a constant anxious rush to respond to short-fuse requests by leadership over the years took a toll. The work culture reinforced for me old coping mechanisms of niceness (not to be confused with kindness), perfectionism, and people-pleasing. These coping mechanisms developed initially in response to childhood trauma to keep me safe. However, they continued to help me navigate challenging experiences over the years, including as a contractor in a bureaucracy where I was “at will,” could be fired at a moment's notice, and not formally recognized even as an employee in the official statistics.  I noticed this particularly while engaging with authority given the power dynamics. 

In one instance when I did speak up, I called out bullying and abusive behavior towards members of one of my former teams by career leadership over the years. When I initially reported on my own experience of the issue, nothing was done at the time. However, a few years later I scheduled a call with the head of the bureau after I moved to another position elsewhere in the Department. I finally felt safe enough to candidly express to them the history of bullying, belittling, and verbal and tech-related abuse towards members of that team, including myself. I remember the head of the bureau commented on how brave I was to raise the issue and asked me for concrete recommendations on how to address it going forward. I offered two suggestions which I believe they carried out. 

The precarity of my work as a contractor made any sort of pushback a gamble and liability for my employment. I was part of the most vulnerable group of the workforce, and, at the same time, I was tasked with advancing human rights and equity for members of marginalized communities in our foreign policy. I felt the irony and hypocrisy of how I was treated and my portfolio in my bones. While I was anonymously voted “MVP” by one of my teams, I was invisible to the institution. I didn’t technically exist beyond a task order. This was considered “normal,” but was it really? My body clearly didn’t think so. Grinding teeth at night and a clenched jaw during the day conveyed a deep misalignment. This brings to mind what James Baldwin wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.” In this case, the institution didn’t want to face or acknowledge the irony.

While there were many moments when I did speak up and pushed the envelope on issues, there were also times when these protective parts of me showed up. Like the time I took three work trips just days apart to staff a principal and became ill for nearly a week after it was all over. While I ensured the principal was well prepared with remarks, background paper, and that logistics were taken care of in the first city, I was also preparing for the next two trips as well as moving forward another global initiative. The overachiever, perfectionist, and people-pleasing parts of me didn’t want to say no. So I said yes. Even though I deeply cared about the work, I realized later that I was also being nice.

My coach Dr. Aziz Gazipura in his book Not Nice describes how, “being nice does not come out of goodness or high morals. It comes out of a fear of displeasing others and receiving their disapproval. It’s driven by fear, not virtue. In fact, I discovered that being nice can make us secretly less loving and more burnt out over time as we stray further and further from our authentic selves.” For me, I noticed my body trying to say “no” through its aches and pains or becoming ill more often during times when I held back what I really thought and felt. I resisted due to fear and anticipation of the response from authority. When I went in for root canal treatment because I cracked a tooth in the middle of the night due to stress, my endodontist commented anecdotally on the high number of root canals he had treated in D.C. for this reason, which was unlike the city he had worked in previously. In When the Body Says No, Dr. Gabor Maté raises the questions: “What is not in balance? What have I ignored? What is my body saying no to? Without these questions, the stresses responsible for our lack of balance will remain hidden.” I recognized that authentic self-expression was one key component for me, and I was out of balance.

Noticing I was out of alignment inspired me to get more truthful about who I wanted to become and how I wanted to live. I knew I loved deep connection and conversations, valued authenticity, wanted to make a social impact, and was creative and entrepreneurial. Initially I became certified as a personal trainer before COVID-19 but realized that wasn’t quite it. When I discovered coaching, I began to feel much more aligned. Becoming a certified life coach last year and, this year, training to become a somatic coach by incorporating a body-oriented mindfulness approach, helped me reconnect with my authentic self and get clarity on my next steps as I experienced the multiple losses. The experiential training components also supported me immensely in regulating my own nervous system. 

When a former teammate encouraged me to move out west – something I had always wanted to do – after my lease was up in June and on the verge of my second job loss, I felt the inner wisdom in my body that the moment was right. I had the clarity needed to go for it. The loss of my father was also a wake up call about how precious and short life really is. Then the two subsequent job losses were a clear sign that the next step in my journey was outside of government. With two small suitcases and my cat Leo, I moved to Denver ready for a fresh start and an energy shift in a new place. I’m now preparing to launch my new somatic coaching business within the next few weeks. Since moving here, I’ve also started taking contemporary dance and painting classes. I sense my creativity and authentic self-expression beginning to emerge, including artistically. The physical aches and pains have lessened as I become more aligned and in balance. My reliance on niceness, perfectionism, and people-pleasing has decreased, though those parts of me will likely always be there in some way. I’m my own boss now. 

When I go up to the rooftop of my apartment building and look out at the Rocky Mountains, I feel confident in my decision to be here and supported by the mountains’ enduring strength and beauty. Indeed it is a launchpad. I’m reminded of what Dr. Brené Brown shared:  “When I see people stand fully in their truth, or when I see someone fall down, get back up, and say, ‘Damn. That really hurt, but this is important to me and I’m going in again’—my gut reaction is, ‘What a badass.’” As I continue to evolve in my transition post-Washington D.C., I want to strive to be that badass. 

Originally posted on Substack: Transition and Authentic Self-Expression: Leaving Washington D.C. after 14 years