For International Women’s Day: Why I left the arts world (and why I’m back)

To mark International Women’s Day, a personal story about being a woman in the arts sector:

After college, I spent over a decade as an opera singer and music educator. I regularly witnessed the profound power of the arts on myself, my audiences, and my students. I was happiest when making music. But in 2014, everything changed.

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I still remember the anxiety that gripped my stomach when the board chairwoman opened the meeting. I was pregnant with my first child, just out of my first trimester — and it was suddenly very clear that my future employers had not called me in to congratulate me.

Two months earlier, the organization had enthusiastically offered me the a high profile leadership role as Artistic Director. Before my official start date, I’d spent evenings and weekends helping with the transition, updating the website, social media, and preparing for the concert season.

Then, I announced my pregnancy.

I was immediately summoned to a closed-door meeting with the Board and barraged with questions.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner that you were pregnant?”

My face grew warm. It’s common knowledge that mothers are advised not to share their pregnancy news until the risk of miscarriage is lower. Besides, I’d done the work of finding a substitute and preparing a plan that would keep things running smoothly during my brief (unpaid) maternity leave.

And then, “Who will take care of the baby while you work?”

I was speechless. These questions were coming from four women who had juggled careers and families themselves.

“He’ll…be…cared for by a nanny,” I managed.

“We’ll have to think about this and get back to you,” they told me.

When the meeting ended, I exited as gracefully as I could. But later, on my drive home, it seemed as though my plans for the future were suddenly unraveling, and it made my stomach churn with fear.

This job offer was what had prompted my husband and I give notice to our Boston landlord and prepare to start a new chapter: suburban parenthood. Little did I know how easily this plan could collapse — and how rapidly the Board’s enthusiasm could fade — with the words “We’re having a baby.”

A series of increasingly hostile conversations followed. I felt obligated to explain personal decisions and even offered to bow out if this “new development” made the board uncomfortable. I was labeled “anxious” when I asked for a final version of the employment contract. I was told that this transition would cause the organization financial difficulties.

They then added a ‘flexibility clause’ to the contract, essentially requiring me to be available on an unlimited basis—because it was “impossible to identify all elements and time requirements of the position.”

I asked the board to define the boundaries of the role more clearly, but the chairwoman balked, accused me of being difficult, and became even more hostile.

It became obvious that they no longer wanted me on their team—but they stopped short of blatantly reneging their offer.

My husband and I were surrounded by moving boxes. I was seven months pregnant. And now my soon-to-be employer had become abusive. My anxiety and stress levels were at an all-time high. Could this stress be harming my unborn baby?

When I got off the call, I did what I had to do for my own mental health and the health of my baby: I sent an email politely backing out. And that was that. There were no protests; no attempts to win me back.

The Board subsequently hired a man.

If I had realized at the time that I was experiencing illegal harassment (which a lawyer confirmed years later) I would have responded differently. If I had known how long it would take for me to replace that job, I would have fought back.

But all I knew at the time was “I have to escape this abusive environment.”

The repercussions of being forced out were significant and reached much further into the future than I could ever have anticipated. It proved impossible to find a new job so late into my pregnancy—at the very moment our financial needs were increasing.

I cobbled together part-time jobs and, out of necessity, headed back to work just five weeks after giving birth. My search for a new job took several months. And our finances took a major hit—from which we are still recovering eight years later.

Sadly, this is all too common. Despite the Pregnancy Discrimination Act, 20% of pregnant workers are still experiencing pregnancy discrimination in the workplace. And, according to A Better Balance, pregnant workers who are pushed out or terminated often experience dire economic consequences:

“Those who are pushed onto leave often must use up saved paid or unpaid leave they had hoped to reserve to recover from childbirth, and then, unable to afford more time without a paycheck, must return to the workforce much earlier than planned or medically advisable.

Prospects of promotion, advancement, and retirement savings also disappear, especially as it becomes more difficult to reenter the workforce after becoming a mother.”

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Eager to put that painful experience behind me, I turned away from the arts sector. I took an administrative role at a nonprofit research organization that seemed to be doing interesting work.

My experience had left me not only disillusioned with that specific arts organization, but also questioning the broader systems at play in the arts sector. As I reflected on how easily my pregnancy became a liability, I began to see that I wasn’t alone. Women in the arts, especially those juggling family responsibilities, often face subtle (and not-so-subtle) biases that make it difficult to thrive in leadership roles. These inequities seemed to be woven into the fabric of the sector, leaving women, particularly mothers, at a disadvantage.

It wasn’t just about my experience; it was about a system that wasn’t designed to accommodate the diverse needs of its workforce. And that realization weighed heavily on me as I left the arts world, unsure of what would come next.

As I worked alongside the president at the Clayton Christensen Institute for Disruptive Innovation, I began to absorb the business frameworks that had made Harvard Business School’s Clayton Christensen the world’s foremost business thinker—and something clicked.

“If these ideas can help companies attract new customers and build long term growth,” I realized, “there are powerful implications here for rebuilding arts audiences.”

The arts world wasn’t done with me yet.

If the arts are such a great solution for so many needs in our society, why are increasingly fewer consumers choosing to “hire” the arts as a solution in their lives?

This was the question that drove me to build Culture for Hire. This was the question that brought me back to the arts world, sparking an ongoing passion for leveraging the power of business theory to help consumers rediscover the profound power of the arts.

It’s been a tough road, but I’m grateful for where I’ve landed. And I recognize that there are so many others that have had even more difficult journeys in this sector.

As Dominic Moore-Dunson wrote recently, “We first must be transformed before trying to bring transformation.”

If we want the arts to be truly transformative for our communities, we must continue to shine the light on the injustices and inequities that persist within our sector—and continue calling for healthy and equitable systems that prioritize anti-racism, equity, diversity, and inclusion at all levels.