While this is a common phrase, no one had ever said it to me. When my mother said it, it wasn’t encouragement. It was instruction.
There was a time when I was being bullied at work. My boss had become a nightmare, not just to me, but to my coworkers as well. Once the previous target resigned, I became the new center of attention.
The anxiety was constant. From the moment I began my journey to work each morning, I was on edge. I never knew what I was walking into. I was exhausted, barely sleeping, and it began to show’ especially in how I presented myself. Pre-motherhood, I was a serious makeup girlie. A former makeup artist. It was nothing for me to beat my face before going to work. But the stress started breaking that rhythm.
I stopped wearing makeup. I forgot earrings multiple days in a row. Bags under my eyes became unwanted guests. My nervous energy was palpable.
My mom had already been counseling me through the situation, offering wisdom on how to navigate a toxic work environment. But, when she noticed how my stress was beginning to wear me, she checked me.
“You cannot look like what you’re going through,” she said. And she meant it. She didn’t just critique me, she shared her own stories. Times when life was knocking her down and she’d cry the whole way to work. But before stepping into her job, she’d pull out a mirror, wipe her tears, dust on some powder, and put on her red lipstick. She told me, “When you put on red lipstick, no one will know anything is wrong with you.”
I’ve never looked at red lipstick the same since. It became a power color whose soundtrack in my head was the part of Eve’s song thats asked, “Who’s that girl?”
The truth is, my mommy was right. I had been giving my bully too much power. I was showing up in pieces. Withering away. Gaining nothing from wearing my stress on the sleeve.
I’ve learned that in many spaces, it doesn’t always matter how you feel; it matters how you’re perceived. While that truth is heavy, it’s also strategy. I never want to be someone easily rattled. I cannot give the enemy the satisfaction of getting to me.
In other offices, under different pressure, I began to show up fiercer when challenged—not to pretend everything was okay, but to remind myself of who I am. Through this I’ve seen what happens when I show up anchored, even when the storm hasn’t passed.
Now, whether it’s lipstick or presence, my armor may look different, but the lesson remains:
Don’t look like what you’re going through. Because sometimes power starts with how you carry the weight.
My mom said it first. And now I say it to myself.
