INTRODUCTION
Internalizing the Revolution 

I GOT PREGNANT with my first child in the summer of 2004. At the time, I was running the online salesand operations groups at Google. I had joined the company three and a half years earlier when it wasan obscure start-up with a few hundred employees in a run-down office building. By my firsttrimester, Google had grown into a company of thousands and moved into a multibuilding campus.

My pregnancy was not easy. The typical morning sickness that often accompanies the first trimesteraffected me every day for nine long months. I gained almost seventy pounds, and my feet swelled twoentire shoe sizes, turning into odd-shaped lumps I could see only when they were propped up on acoffee table. A particularly sensitive Google engineer announced that “Project Whale” was namedafter me.

One day, after a rough morning spent staring at the bottom of the toilet, I had to rush to make animportant client meeting. Google was growing so quickly that parking was an ongoing problem, andthe only spot I could find was quite far away. I sprinted across the parking lot, which in reality meantlumbering a bit more quickly than my absurdly slow pregnancy crawl. This only made my nauseaworse, and I arrived at the meeting praying that a sales pitch was the only thing that would come outof my mouth. That night, I recounted these troubles to my husband, Dave. He pointed out that Yahoo,where he worked at the time, had designated parking for expectant mothers at the front of eachbuilding.

The next day, I marched in—or more like waddled in—to see Google founders Larry Page andSergey Brin in their office, which was really just a large room with toys and gadgets strewn all overthe floor. I found Sergey in a yoga position in the corner and announced that we needed pregnancyparking, preferably sooner rather than later. He looked up at me and agreed immediately, noting thathe had never thought about it before.

To this day, I’m embarrassed that I didn’t realize that pregnant women needed reserved parkinguntil I experienced my own aching feet. As one of Google’s most senior women, didn’t I have aspecial responsibility to think of this? But like Sergey, it had never occurred to me. The other pregnantwomen must have suffered in silence, not wanting to ask for special treatment. Or maybe they lackedthe confidence or seniority to demand that the problem be fixed. Having one pregnant woman at thetop—even one who looked like a whale—made the difference.

Today in the United States and the developed world, women are better off than ever. We stand onthe shoulders of the women who came before us, women who had to fight for the rights that we nowtake for granted. In 1947, Anita Summers, the mother of my longtime mentor Larry Summers, washired as an economist by the Standard Oil Company. When she accepted the job, her new boss said toher, “I am so glad to have you. I figure I am getting the same brains for less money.” Her reaction tothis was to feel flattered. It was a huge compliment to be told that she had the same brains as a man. Itwould have been unthinkable for her to ask for equal compensation.

We feel even more grateful when we compare our lives to those of other women around the world.

There are still countries that deny women basic civil rights. Worldwide, about 4.4 million women andgirls are trapped in the sex trade.

In places like Afghanistan and Sudan, girls receive little or noeducation, wives are treated as the property of their husbands, and women who are raped are routinelycast out of their homes for disgracing their families. Some rape victims are even sent to jail forcommitting a “moral crime.”

We are centuries ahead of the unacceptable treatment of women in thesecountries.

But knowing that things could be worse should not stop us from trying to make them better. Whenthe suffragettes marched in the streets, they envisioned a world where men and women would be trulyequal. A century later, we are still squinting, trying to bring that vision into focus.

The blunt truth is that men still run the world. Of the 195 independent countries in the world, only17 are led by women.

Women hold just 20 percent of seats in parliaments globally.

In the UnitedStates, where we pride ourselves on liberty and justice for all, the gender division of leadership roles isnot much better. Women became 50 percent of the college graduates in the United States in the early1980s.

Since then, women have slowly and steadily advanced, earning more and more of the collegedegrees, taking more of the entry-level jobs, and entering more fields previously dominated by men.

Despite these gains, the percentage of women at the top of corporate America has barely budged overthe past decade.

A meager twenty-one of the Fortune 500 CEOs are women.

Women hold about 14percent of executive officer positions, 17 percent of board seats, and constitute 18 percent of ourelected congressional officials.

The gap is even worse for women of color, who hold just 4 percent oftop corporate jobs, 3 percent of board seats, and 5 percent of congressional seats.

While womencontinue to outpace men in educational achievement, we have ceased making real progress at the topof any industry. This means that when it comes to making the decisions that most affect our world,women’s voices are not heard equally.

Progress remains equally sluggish when it comes to compensation. In 1970, American women werepaid 59 cents for every dollar their male counterparts made. By 2010, women had protested, fought,and worked their butts off to raise that compensation to 77 cents for every dollar men made.

Asactivist Marlo Thomas wryly joked on Equal Pay Day 2011, “Forty years and eighteen cents. A dozeneggs have gone up ten times that amount.”

I have watched these disheartening events from a front-row seat. I graduated from college in 1991and from business school in 1995. In each entry-level job after graduation, my colleagues were abalanced mix of male and female. I saw that the senior leaders were almost entirely male, but Ithought that was due to historical discrimination against women. The proverbial glass ceiling had beencracked in almost every industry, and I believed that it was just a matter of time until my generationtook our fair share of the leadership roles. But with each passing year, fewer and fewer of mycolleagues were women. More and more often, I was the only woman in the room.

Being the sole woman has resulted in some awkward yet revealing situations. Two years after Ijoined Facebook as chief operating officer, our chief financial officer departed suddenly, and I had tostep in to complete a funding round. Since I had spent my career in operations, not finance, theprocess of raising capital was new and a bit scary. My team and I flew to New York for the initialpitch to private equity firms. Our first meeting was held in the kind of corporate office featured inmovies, complete with a sprawling view of Manhattan. I offered an overview of our business andanswered questions. So far so good. Then someone suggested that we break for a few minutes. Iturned to the senior partner and asked where the women’s restroom was. He stared at me blankly. Myquestion had completely stumped him. I asked, “How long have you been in this office?” And he said,“One year.” “Am I the only woman to have pitched a deal here in an entire year?” “I think so,” hesaid, adding, “or maybe you’re the only one who had to use the bathroom.”

It has been more than two decades since I entered the workforce, and so much is still the same. It istime for us to face the fact that our revolution has stalled.

The promise of equality is not the same astrue equality.

A truly equal world would be one where women ran half our countries and companies and men ranhalf our homes. I believe that this would be a better world. The laws of economics and many studiesof diversity tell us that if we tapped the entire pool of human resources and talent, our collectiveperformance would improve. Legendary investor Warren Buffett has stated generously that one of thereasons for his great success was that he was competing with only half of the population. The WarrenBuffetts of my generation are still largely enjoying this advantage. When more people get in the race,more records will be broken. And the achievements will extend beyond those individuals to benefit usall.

The night before Leymah Gbowee won the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize for helping to lead the women’sprotests that toppled Liberia’s dictator, she was at a book party in my home. We were celebrating thepublication of her autobiography, Mighty Be Our Powers, but it was a somber night. A guest asked herhow American women could help those who experienced the horrors and mass rapes of war in placeslike Liberia. Her response was four simple words: “More women in power.” Leymah and I could nothave come from more different backgrounds, and yet we have both arrived at the same conclusion.

Conditions for all women will improve when there are more women in leadership roles giving strongand powerful voice to their needs and concerns.

This brings us to the obvious question—how? How are we going to take down the barriers thatprevent more women from getting to the top? Women face real obstacles in the professional world,including blatant and subtle sexism, discrimination, and sexual harassment. Too few workplaces offerthe flexibility and access to child care and parental leave that are necessary for pursuing a career whileraising children. Men have an easier time finding the mentors and sponsors who are invaluable forcareer progression. Plus, women have to prove themselves to a far greater extent than men do. Andthis is not just in our heads. A 2011 McKinsey report noted that men are promoted based on potential,while women are promoted based on past accomplishments.

In addition to the external barriers erected by society, women are hindered by barriers that existwithin ourselves. We hold ourselves back in ways both big and small, by lacking self-confidence, bynot raising our hands, and by pulling back when we should be leaning in. We internalize the negativemessages we get throughout our lives—the messages that say it’s wrong to be outspoken, aggressive,more powerful than men. We lower our own expectations of what we can achieve. We continue to dothe majority of the housework and child care. We compromise our career goals to make room forpartners and children who may not even exist yet. Compared to our male colleagues, fewer of usaspire to senior positions. This is not a list of things other women have done. I have made everymistake on this list. At times, I still do.

My argument is that getting rid of these internal barriers is critical to gaining power. Others haveargued that women can get to the top only when the institutional barriers are gone. This is the ultimatechicken-and-egg situation. The chicken: Women will tear down the external barriers once we achieveleadership roles. We will march into our bosses’ offices and demand what we need, includingpregnancy parking. Or better yet, we’ll become bosses and make sure all women have what they need.

The egg: We need to eliminate the external barriers to get women into those roles in the first place.

Both sides are right. So rather than engage in philosophical arguments over which comes first, let’sagree to wage battles on both fronts. They are equally important. I am encouraging women to addressthe chicken, but I fully support those who are focusing on the egg.

Internal obstacles are rarely discussed and often underplayed. Throughout my life, I was told overand over about inequalities in the workplace and how hard it would be to have a career and a family. Irarely heard anything, however, about the ways I might hold myself back. These internal obstaclesdeserve a lot more attention, in part because they are under our own control. We can dismantle thehurdles in ourselves today. We can start this very moment.

I never thought I would write a book. I am not a scholar, a journalist, or a sociologist. But I decidedto speak out after talking to hundreds of women, listening to their struggles, sharing my own, andrealizing that the gains we have made are not enough and may even be slipping. The first chapter ofthis book lays out some of the complex challenges women face. Each subsequent chapter focuses onan adjustment or difference that we can make ourselves: increasing our self-confidence (“Sit at theTable”), getting our partners to do more at home (“Make Your Partner a Real Partner”), not holdingourselves to unattainable standards (“The Myth of Doing It All”). I do not pretend to have perfectsolutions to these deep and complicated issues. I rely on hard data, academic research, my ownobservations, and lessons I have learned along the way.

This book is not a memoir, although I have included stories about my life. It is not a self-help book,although I truly hope it helps. It is not a book on career management, although I offer advice in thatarea. It is not a feminist manifesto—okay, it is sort of a feminist manifesto, but one that I hope inspiresmen as much as it inspires women.

Whatever this book is, I am writing it for any woman who wants to increase her chances of makingit to the top of her field or pursue any goal vigorously. This includes women at all stages of their livesand careers, from those who are just starting out to those who are taking a break and may want tojump back in. I am also writing this for any man who wants to understand what a woman—acolleague, wife, mother, or daughter—is up against so that he can do his part to build an equal world.

This book makes the case for leaning in, for being ambitious in any pursuit. And while I believe thatincreasing the number of women in positions of power is a necessary element of true equality, I do notbelieve that there is one definition of success or happiness. Not all women want careers. Not allwomen want children. Not all women want both. I would never advocate that we should all have thesame objectives. Many people are not interested in acquiring power, not because they lack ambition,but because they are living their lives as they desire. Some of the most important contributions to ourworld are made by caring for one person at a time. We each have to chart our own unique course anddefine which goals fit our lives, values, and dreams.

I am also acutely aware that the vast majority of women are struggling to make ends meet and takecare of their families. Parts of this book will be most relevant to women fortunate enough to havechoices about how much and when and where to work; other parts apply to situations that women facein every workplace, within every community, and in every home. If we can succeed in adding morefemale voices at the highest levels, we will expand opportunities and extend fairer treatment to all.

Some, especially other women in business, have cautioned me about speaking out publicly on theseissues. When I have spoken out anyway, several of my comments have upset people of both genders. Iknow some believe that by focusing on what women can change themselves—pressing them to leanin—it seems like I am letting our institutions off the hook. Or even worse, they accuse me of blamingthe victim. Far from blaming the victim, I believe that female leaders are key to the solution. Somecritics will also point out that it is much easier for me to lean in, since my financial resources allow meto afford any help I need. My intention is to offer advice that would have been useful to me longbefore I had heard of Google or Facebook and that will resonate with women in a broad range ofcircumstances.

I have heard these criticisms in the past and I know that I will hear them—and others—in the future.

My hope is that my message will be judged on its merits. We can’t avoid this conversation. This issuetranscends all of us. The time is long overdue to encourage more women to dream the possible dreamand encourage more men to support women in the workforce and in the home.

We can reignite the revolution by internalizing the revolution. The shift to a more equal world willhappen person by person. We move closer to the larger goal of true equality with each woman wholeans in.
Chapter 1 The Leadership Ambition Gap
　　What Would You Do If You Weren’t Afraid?

MY GRANDMOTHER Rosalind Einhorn was born exactly fifty-two years before I was, on August 28, 1917.

Like many poor Jewish families in the boroughs of New York City, hers lived in a small, crowdedapartment close to their relatives. Her parents, aunts, and uncles addressed her male cousins by theirgiven names, but she and her sister were referred to only as “Girlie.”

During the Depression, my grandmother was pulled out of Morris High School to help support thehousehold by sewing fabric flowers onto undergarments that her mother could resell for a tiny profit.

No one in the community would have considered taking a boy out of school. A boy’s education wasthe family’s hope to move up the financial and social ladder. Education for girls, however, was lessimportant both financially, since they were unlikely to contribute to the family’s income, andculturally, since boys were expected to study the Torah while girls were expected to run a “properhome.” Luckily for my grandmother, a local teacher insisted that her parents put her back into school.

She went on not only to finish high school but to graduate from U.C. Berkeley.

After college, “Girlie” worked selling pocketbooks and accessories at David’s Fifth Avenue. Whenshe left her job to marry my grandfather, family legend has it that David’s had to hire four people toreplace her. Years later, when my grandfather’s paint business was struggling, she jumped in and tooksome of the hard steps he was reluctant to take, helping to save the family from financial ruin. Shedisplayed her business acumen again in her forties. After being diagnosed with breast cancer, she beatit and then dedicated herself to raising money for the clinic that treated her by selling knockoffwatches out of the trunk of her car. Girlie ended up with a profit margin that Apple would envy. I havenever met anyone with more energy and determination than my grandmother. When Warren Buffetttalks about competing against only half of the population, I think about her and wonder how differenther life might have been if she had been born half a century later.

When my grandmother had children of her own—my mother and her two brothers—sheemphasized education for all of them. My mother attended the University of Pennsylvania, whereclasses were coed. When she graduated in 1965 with a degree in French literature, she surveyed aworkforce that she believed consisted of two career options for women: teaching or nursing. She choseteaching. She began a Ph.D. program, got married, and then dropped out when she became pregnantwith me. It was thought to be a sign of weakness if a husband needed his wife’s help to support theirfamily, so my mother became a stay-at-home parent and an active volunteer. The centuries-olddivision of labor stood.

Even though I grew up in a traditional home, my parents had the same expectations for me, mysister, and my brother. All three of us were encouraged to excel in school, do equal chores, and engagein extracurricular activities. We were all supposed to be athletic too. My brother and sister joinedsports teams, but I was the kid who got picked last in gym. Despite my athletic shortcomings, I wasraised to believe that girls could do anything boys could do and that all career paths were open to me.

When I arrived at college in the fall of 1987, my classmates of both genders seemed equally focusedon academics. I don’t remember thinking about my future career differently from the male students. Ialso don’t remember any conversations about someday balancing work and children. My friends and Iassumed that we would have both. Men and women competed openly and aggressively with oneanother in classes, activities, and job interviews. Just two generations removed from my grandmother,the playing field seemed to be level.

But more than twenty years after my college graduation, the world has not evolved nearly as muchas I believed it would. Almost all of my male classmates work in professional settings. Some of myfemale classmates work full-time or part-time outside the home, and just as many are stay-at-homemothers and volunteers like my mom. This mirrors the national trend. In comparison to their malecounterparts, highly trained women are scaling back and dropping out of the workforce in highnumbers.

In turn, these diverging percentages teach institutions and mentors to invest more in men,who are statistically more likely to stay.

Judith Rodin, president of the Rockefeller Foundation and the first woman to serve as president ofan Ivy League university, once remarked to an audience of women my age, “My generation fought sohard to give all of you choices. We believe in choices. But choosing to leave the workforce was notthe choice we thought so many of you would make.”

So what happened? My generation was raised in an era of increasing equality, a trend we thoughtwould continue. In retrospect, we were na.ve and idealistic. Integrating professional and personalaspirations proved far more challenging than we had imagined. During the same years that our careersdemanded maximum time investment, our biology demanded that we have children. Our partners didnot share the housework and child rearing, so we found ourselves with two full-time jobs. Theworkplace did not evolve to give us the flexibility we needed to fulfill our responsibilities at home.

We anticipated none of this. We were caught by surprise.

If my generation was too na.ve, the generations that have followed may be too practical. We knewtoo little, and now girls know too much. Girls growing up today are not the first generation to haveequal opportunity, but they are the first to know that all that opportunity does not necessarily translateinto professional achievement. Many of these girls watched their mothers try to “do it all” and thendecide that something had to give. That something was usually their careers.

There’s no doubt that women have the skills to lead in the workplace. Girls are increasinglyoutperforming boys in the classroom, earning about 57 percent of the undergraduate and 60 percent ofthe master’s degrees in the United States.

This gender gap in academic achievement has even causedsome to worry about the “end of men.”

But while compliant, raise-your-hand-and-speak-when-called-on behaviors might be rewarded in school, they are less valued in the workplace.

5Career progressionoften depends upon taking risks and advocating for oneself—traits that girls are discouraged fromexhibiting. This may explain why girls’ academic gains have not yet translated into significantlyhigher numbers of women in top jobs. The pipeline that supplies the educated workforce is chock-fullof women at the entry level, but by the time that same pipeline is filling leadership positions, it isoverwhelmingly stocked with men.

There are so many reasons for this winnowing out, but one important contributor is a leadershipambition gap. Of course, many individual women are as professionally ambitious as any individualman. Yet drilling down, the data clearly indicate that in field after field, more men than women aspireto the most senior jobs. A 2012 McKinsey survey of more than four thousand employees of leadingcompanies found that 36 percent of the men wanted to reach the C-suite, compared to only 18 percentof the women.

When jobs are described as powerful, challenging, and involving high levels ofresponsibility, they appeal to more men than women.

And while the ambition gap is most pronouncedat the highest levels, the underlying dynamic is evident at every step of the career ladder. A survey ofcollege students found that more men than women chose “reaching a managerial level” as a careerpriority in the first three years after graduating.

Even among highly educated professional men andwomen, more men than women describe themselves as “ambitious.”

There is some hope that a shift is starting to occur in the next generation. A 2012 Pew study foundfor the first time that among young people ages eighteen to thirty-four, more young women (66percent) than young men (59 percent) rated “success in a high-paying career or profession” asimportant to their lives.

A recent survey of Millennialsfound that women were just as likely todescribe themselves as ambitious as men. Although this is an improvement, even among thisdemographic, the leadership ambition gap remains. Millennial women are less likely than Millennialmen to agree that the statement “I aspire to a leadership role in whatever field I ultimately work”

describes them very well. Millennial women were also less likely than their male peers to characterizethemselves as “leaders,” “visionaries,” “self-confident,” and “willing to take risks.”

Since more men aim for leadership roles, it is not surprising that they obtain them, especially givenall the other obstacles that women have to overcome. This pattern starts long before they enter theworkforce. Author Samantha Ettus and her husband read their daughter’s kindergarten yearbook,where each child answered the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” They notedthat several of the boys wanted to be president. None of the girls did.

(Current data suggest that whenthese girls become women, they will continue to feel the same way.)In middle school, more boysthan girls aspire to leadership roles in future careers.

At the top fifty colleges, less than a third ofstudent government presidents are women.

Professional ambition is expected of men but is optional—or worse, sometimes even a negative—for women. “She is very ambitious” is not a compliment in our culture. Aggressive and hard-chargingwomen violate unwritten rules about acceptable social conduct. Men are continually applauded forbeing ambitious and powerful and successful, but women who display these same traits often pay asocial penalty. Female accomplishments come at a cost.

And for all the progress, there is still societal pressure for women to keep an eye on marriage from ayoung age. When I went to college, as much as my parents emphasized academic achievement, theyemphasized marriage even more. They told me that the most eligible women marry young to get a“good man” before they are all taken. I followed their advice and throughout college, I vetted everydate as a potential husband (which, trust me, is a sure way to ruin a date at age nineteen).

When I was graduating, my thesis advisor, Larry Summers, suggested that I apply for internationalfellowships. I rejected the idea on the grounds that a foreign country was not a likely place to turn adate into a husband. Instead, I moved to Washington, D.C., which was full of eligible men. It worked.

My first year out of college, I met a man who was not just eligible, but also wonderful, so I marriedhim. I was twenty-four and convinced that marriage was the first—and necessary—step to a happyand productive life.

It didn’t work out that way. I was just not mature enough to have made this lifelong decision, andthe relationship quickly unraveled. By the age of twenty-five, I had managed to get married … andalso divorced. At the time, this felt like a massive personal and public failure. For many years, I feltthat no matter what I accomplished professionally, it paled in comparison to the scarlet letter Dstitched on my chest. (Almost ten years later, I learned that the “good ones” were not all taken, and Iwisely and very happily married Dave Goldberg.)Like me, Gayle Tzemach Lemmon, deputy director of the Council on Foreign Relations’ Womenand Foreign Policy Program, was encouraged to prioritize marriage over career. As she described inThe Atlantic, “When I was 27, I received a posh fellowship to travel to Germany to learn German andwork at the Wall Street Journal.… It was an incredible opportunity for a 20-something by anyobjective standard, and I knew it would help prepare me for graduate school and beyond. Mygirlfriends, however, expressed shock and horror that I would leave my boyfriend at the time to liveabroad for a year. My relatives asked whether I was worried that I’d never get married. And when Iattended a barbecue with my then-beau, his boss took me aside to remind me that ‘there aren’t manyguys like that out there.’ ” The result of these negative reactions, in Gayle’s view, is that many women“still see ambition as a dirty word.”

Many have argued with me that ambition is not the problem. Women are not less ambitious thanmen, they insist, but more enlightened with different and more meaningful goals. I do not dismiss ordispute this argument. There is far more to life than climbing a career ladder, including raisingchildren, seeking personal fulfillment, contributing to society, and improving the lives of others. Andthere are many people who are deeply committed to their jobs but do not—and should not have to—aspire to run their organizations. Leadership roles are not the only way to have profound impact.

I also acknowledge that there are biological differences between men and women. I have breast-fedtwo children and noted, at times with great disappointment, that this was simply not something myhusband was equipped to do. Are there characteristics inherent in sex differences that make womenmore nurturing and men more assertive? Quite possibly. Still, in today’s world, where we no longerhave to hunt in the wild for our food, our desire for leadership is largely a culturally created andreinforced trait. How individuals view what they can and should accomplish is in large part formed byour societal expectations.

From the moment we are born, boys and girls are treated differently.

Parents tend to talk to girlbabies more than boy babies.

Mothers overestimate the crawling ability of their sons andunderestimate the crawling ability of their daughters.

Reflecting the belief that girls need to be helpedmore than boys, mothers often spend more time comforting and hugging infant girls and more timewatching infant boys play by themselves.

Other cultural messages are more blatant. Gymboree once sold onesies proclaiming “Smart likeDaddy” for boys and “Pretty like Mommy” for girls.

The same year, J. C. Penney marketed a T-shirtto teenage girls that bragged, “I’m too pretty to do homework so my brother has to do it for me.”

These things did not happen in 1951. They happened in 2011.

Even worse, the messages sent to girls can move beyond encouraging superficial traits and veer intoexplicitly discouraging leadership. When a girl tries to lead, she is often labeled bossy. Boys areseldom called bossy because a boy taking the role of a boss does not surprise or offend. As someonewho was called this for much of my childhood, I know that it is not a compliment.

The stories of my childhood bossiness are told (and retold) with great amusement. Apparently,when I was in elementary school, I taught my younger siblings, David and Michelle, to follow mearound, listen to my monologues, and scream the word “Right!” when I concluded. I was the eldest ofthe neighborhood children and allegedly spent my time organizing shows that I could direct and clubsthat I could run. People laugh at these accounts, but to this day I always feel slightly ashamed of mybehavior (which is remarkable given that I have now written an entire book about why girls should notbe made to feel this way, or maybe this partially explains my motivation).

Even when we were in our thirties, pointing out this behavior was still the best way for my siblingsto tease me. When Dave and I got married, David and Michelle gave a beautiful, hilarious toast, whichkicked off with this: “Hi! Some of you think we are Sheryl’s younger siblings, but really we wereSheryl’s first employees—employee number one and employee number two. Initially, as a one-year-old and a three-year-old, we were worthless and weak. Disorganized, lazy. We would just as soon spitup on ourselves as read the morning paper. But Sheryl could see that we had potential. For more thanten years, Sheryl took us under her wing and whipped us into shape.” Everyone laughed. My siblingscontinued, “To the best of our knowledge Sheryl never actually played as a child, but really justorganized other children’s play. Sheryl supervised adults as well. When our parents went away onvacation, our grandparents used to babysit. Before our parents left, Sheryl protested, ‘Now I have totake care of David and Michelle and Grandma and Grandpa too. It’s not fair!’ ” Everyone laughedeven louder.

I laughed too, but there is still some part of me that feels it was unseemly for a little girl to bethought of as so … domineering. Cringe.

From a very early age, boys are encouraged to take charge and offer their opinions. Teachersinteract more with boys, call on them more frequently, and ask them more questions. Boys are alsomore likely to call out answers, and when they do, teachers usually listen to them. When girls call out,teachers often scold them for breaking the rules and remind them to raise their hands if they want tospeak.

I was recently reminded that these patterns persist even when we are all grown up. Not long ago, ata small dinner with other business executives, the guest of honor spoke the entire time without takinga breath. This meant that the only way to ask a question or make an observation was to interrupt.

Three or four men jumped in, and the guest politely answered their questions before resuming hislecture. At one point, I tried to add something to the conversation and he barked, “Let me finish! Youpeople are not good at listening!” Eventually, a few more men interjected and he allowed it. Then theonly other female executive at the dinner decided to speak up—and he did it again! He chastised herfor interrupting. After the meal, one of the male CEOs pulled me aside to say that he had noticed thatonly the women had been silenced. He told me he empathized, because as a Hispanic, he has beentreated like this many times.

The danger goes beyond authority figures silencing female voices. Young women internalizesocietal cues about what defines “appropriate” behavior and, in turn, silence themselves. They arerewarded for being “pretty like Mommy” and encouraged to be nurturing like Mommy too. The albumFree to Be … You and Me was released in 1972 and became a staple of my childhood. My favoritesong, “William’s Doll,” is about a five-year-old boy who begs his reluctant father to buy him atraditional girl’s toy. Almost forty years later, the toy industry remains riddled with stereotypes. Rightbefore Christmas 2011, a video featuring a four-year-old girl named Riley went viral. Riley paces in atoy store, upset because companies are trying to “trick the girls into buying the pink stuff instead ofstuff that boys want to buy, right?” Right. As Riley reasons, “Some girls like superheroes, some girlslike princesses. Some boys like superheroes, some boys like princesses. So why do all the girls have tobuy pink stuff and all the boys have to buy different color stuff?”

26It takes a near act of rebellion foreven a four-year-old to break away from society’s expectations. William still has no doll, while Rileyis drowning in a sea of pink. I now play Free to Be … You and Me for my children and hope that ifthey ever play it for their children, its message will seem quaint.

The gender stereotypes introduced in childhood are reinforced throughout our lives and becomeself-fulfilling prophesies. Most leadership positions are held by men, so women don’t expect toachieve them, and that becomes one of the reasons they don’t. The same is true with pay. Mengenerally earn more than women, so people expect women to earn less. And they do.

Compounding the problem is a social-psychological phenomenon called “stereotype threat.” Socialscientists have observed that when members of a group are made aware of a negative stereotype, theyare more likely to perform according to that stereotype. For example, stereotypically, boys are better atmath and science than girls. When girls are reminded of their gender before a math or science test,even by something as simple as checking off an M or F box at the top of the test, they perform worse.

Stereotype threat discourages girls and women from entering technical fields and is one of the keyreasons that so few study computer science.

As a Facebook summer intern once told me, “In myschool’s computer science department, there are more Daves than girls.”

The stereotype of a working woman is rarely attractive. Popular culture has long portrayedsuccessful working women as so consumed by their careers that they have no personal life (thinkSigourney Weaver in Working Girl and Sandra Bullock in The Proposal). If a female character dividesher time between work and family, she is almost always harried and guilt ridden (think Sarah JessicaParker in I Don’t Know How She Does It). And these characterizations have moved beyond fiction. Astudy found that of Millennial men and women who work in an organization with a woman in a seniorrole, only about 20 percent want to emulate her career.

This unappealing stereotype is particularly unfortunate since most women have no choice but toremain in the workforce. About 41 percent of mothers are primary breadwinners and earn the majorityof their family’s earnings. Another 23 percent of mothers are co-breadwinners, contributing at least aquarter of the family’s earnings.

The number of women supporting families on their own isincreasing quickly; between 1973 and 2006, the proportion of families headed by a single mother grewfrom one in ten to one in five.

These numbers are dramatically higher in Hispanic and African-American families. Twenty-seven percent of Latino children and 52 percent of African-Americanchildren are being raised by a single mother.

Our country lags considerably behind others in efforts to help parents take care of their children andstay in the workforce. Of all the industrialized nations in the world, the United States is the only onewithout a paid maternity leave policy.

As Ellen Bravo, director of the Family Values @ Workconsortium, observed, most “women are not thinking about ‘having it all,’ they’re worried aboutlosing it all—their jobs, their children’s health, their families’ financial stability—because of theregular conflicts that arise between being a good employee and a responsible parent.”

For many men, the fundamental assumption is that they can have both a successful professional lifeand a fulfilling personal life. For many women, the assumption is that trying to do both is difficult atbest and impossible at worst. Women are surrounded by headlines and stories warning them that theycannot be committed to both their families and careers. They are told over and over again that theyhave to choose, because if they try to do too much, they’ll be harried and unhappy. Framing the issueas “work-life balance”—as if the two were diametrically opposed—practically ensures work will loseout. Who would ever choose work over life?

The good news is that not only can women have both families and careers, they can thrive whiledoing so. In 2009, Sharon Meers and Joanna Strober published Getting to 50/50, a comprehensivereview of governmental, social science, and original research that led them to conclude that children,parents, and marriages can all flourish when both parents have full careers. The data plainly reveal thatsharing financial and child-care responsibilities leads to less guilty moms, more involved dads, andthriving children.

Professor Rosalind Chait Barnett of Brandeis University did a comprehensivereview of studies on work-life balance and found that women who participate in multiple rolesactually have lower levels of anxiety and higher levels of mental well-being.

Employed women reaprewards including greater financial security, more stable marriages, better health, and, in general,increased life satisfaction.

It may not be as dramatic or funny to make a movie about a woman who loves both her job and herfamily, but that would be a better reflection of reality. We need more portrayals of women ascompetent professionals and happy mothers—or even happy professionals and competent mothers.

The current negative images may make us laugh, but they also make women unnecessarily fearful bypresenting life’s challenges as insurmountable. Our culture remains baffled: I don’t know how shedoes it.

Fear is at the root of so many of the barriers that women face. Fear of not being liked. Fear ofmaking the wrong choice. Fear of drawing negative attention. Fear of overreaching. Fear of beingjudged. Fear of failure. And the holy trinity of fear: the fear of being a bad mother/wife/daughter.

Without fear, women can pursue professional success and personal fulfillment—and freely chooseone, or the other, or both. At Facebook, we work hard to create a culture where people are encouragedto take risks. We have posters all around the office that reinforce this attitude. In bright red letters, onedeclares, “Fortune favors the bold.” Another insists, “Proceed and be bold.” My favorite reads, “Whatwould you do if you weren’t afraid?”

In 2011, Debora Spar, president of Barnard College, an all-women’s liberal arts school in NewYork City, invited me to deliver its commencement address. This speech was the first time I openlydiscussed the leadership ambition gap. Standing on the podium, I felt nervous. I told the members ofthe graduating class that they should be ambitious not just in pursuing their dreams but in aspiring tobecome leaders in their fields. I knew this message could be misinterpreted as my judging women fornot making the same choices that I have. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I believe that choicemeans choice for all of us. But I also believe that we need to do more to encourage women to reach forleadership roles. If we can’t tell women to aim high at a college graduation, when can we?

As I addressed the enthusiastic women, I found myself fighting back tears. I made it through thespeech and concluded with this:

You are the promise for a more equal world. So my hope for everyone here is that after you walkacross this stage, after you get your diploma, after you go out tonight and celebrate hard—youthen will lean way in to your career. You will find something you love doing and you will do itwith gusto. Find the right career for you and go all the way to the top.

As you walk off this stage today, you start your adult life. Start out by aiming high. Try—andtry hard.

Like everyone here, I have great hopes for the members of this graduating class. I hope youfind true meaning, contentment, and passion in your life. I hope you navigate the difficult timesand come out with greater strength and resolve. I hope you find whatever balance you seek withyour eyes wide open. And I hope that you—yes, you—have the ambition to lean in to yourcareer and run the world. Because the world needs you to change it. Women all around the worldare counting on you.

So please ask yourself: What would I do if I weren’t afraid? And then go do it.

As the graduates were called to the stage to collect their diplomas, I shook every hand. Manystopped to give me a hug. One young woman even told me I was “the baddest bitch” (which, havingchecked with someone later, actually did turn out to be a compliment).

I know my speech was meant to motivate them, but they actually motivated me. In the months thatfollowed, I started thinking that I should speak up more often and more publicly about these issues. Ishould urge more women to believe in themselves and aspire to lead. I should urge more men tobecome part of the solution by supporting women in the workforce and at home. And I should not justspeak in front of friendly crowds at Barnard. I should seek out larger, possibly less sympatheticaudiences. I should take my own advice and be ambitious.

Writing this book is not just me encouraging others to lean in. This is me leaning in. Writing thisbook is what I would do if I weren’t afraid.
Chapter 2 Sit at the Table
A FEW YEARS AGO, I hosted a meeting for Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner at Facebook. We invitedfifteen executives from across Silicon Valley for breakfast and a discussion about the economy.

Secretary Geithner arrived with four members of his staff, two senior and two more junior, and we allgathered in our one nice conference room. After the usual milling around, I encouraged the attendeesto help themselves to the buffet and take a seat. Our invited guests, mostly men, grabbed plates andfood and sat down at the large conference table. Secretary Geithner’s team, all women, took their foodlast and sat in chairs off to the side of the room. I motioned for the women to come sit at the table,waving them over so they would feel welcomed. They demurred and remained in their seats.

The four women had every right to be at this meeting, but because of their seating choice, theyseemed like spectators rather than participants. I knew I had to say something. So after the meeting, Ipulled them aside to talk. I pointed out that they should have sat at the table even without aninvitation, but when publicly welcomed, they most certainly should have joined. At first, they seemedsurprised, then they agreed.

It was a watershed moment for me. A moment when I witnessed how an internal barrier can alterwomen’s behavior. A moment when I realized that in addition to facing institutional obstacles, womenface a battle from within.

When I gave a TEDTalk on how women can succeed in the workforce, I told this story to illustratehow women hold themselves back, literally choosing to watch from the sidelines. And yet asdisappointed as I was that these women made that choice, I also deeply understood the insecuritiesthat drew them to the side of the room and kept them glued to those chairs.

My senior year of college, I was inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa honor society. At that time,Harvard and Radcliffe had separate chapters, so my ceremony was for women only. The keynotespeaker, Dr. Peggy McIntosh from the Wellesley Centers for Women, gave a talk called “Feeling Likea Fraud.”

She explained that many people, but especially women, feel fraudulent when they arepraised for their accomplishments. Instead of feeling worthy of recognition, they feel undeserving andguilty, as if a mistake has been made. Despite being high achievers, even experts in their fields,women can’t seem to shake the sense that it is only a matter of time until they are found out for whothey really are—impostors with limited skills or abilities.

I thought it was the best speech I had ever heard. I was leaning forward in my chair, noddingvigorously. Carrie Weber, my brilliant and totally-not-a-fraud roommate, was doing the same. At last,someone was articulating exactly how I felt. Every time I was called on in class, I was sure that I wasabout to embarrass myself. Every time I took a test, I was sure that it had gone badly. And every time Ididn’t embarrass myself—or even excelled—I believed that I had fooled everyone yet again. One daysoon, the jig would be up.

At the joint reception that followed the ceremony—an after-party for nerds, so I fit right in—I toldone of my male classmates about Dr. McIntosh’s fantastic speech explaining how we all feel likefrauds. He looked at me, confused, and asked, “Why would that be interesting?” Carrie and I laterjoked that the speech to the men was probably something like “How to Cope in a World Where NotEveryone Is as Smart as You.”

This phenomenon of capable people being plagued by self-doubt has a name—the impostorsyndrome. Both men and women are susceptible to the impostor syndrome, but women tend toexperience it more intensely and be more limited by it.

Even the wildly successful writer and actressTina Fey has admitted to these feelings. She once explained to a British newspaper, “The beauty of theimpostor syndrome is you vacillate between extreme egomania, and a complete feeling of: ‘I’m afraud! Oh god, they’re on to me! I’m a fraud!’ So you just try to ride the egomania when it comes andenjoy it, and then slide through the idea of fraud. Seriously, I’ve just realized that almost everyone is afraud, so I try not to feel too bad about it.”

For women, feeling like a fraud is a symptom of a greater problem. We consistently underestimateourselves. Multiple studies in multiple industries show that women often judge their own performanceas worse than it actually is, while men judge their own performance as better than it actually is.

Assessments of students in a surgery rotation found that when asked to evaluate themselves, thefemale students gave themselves lower scores than the male students despite faculty evaluations thatshowed the women outperformed the men.

A survey of several thousand potential political candidatesrevealed that despite having comparable credentials, the men were about 60 percent more likely tothink that they were “very qualified” to run for political office.

A study of close to one thousandHarvard law students found that in almost every category of skills relevant to practicing law, womengave themselves lower scores than men.

Even worse, when women evaluate themselves in front ofother people or in stereotypically male domains, their underestimations can become even morepronounced.

Ask a man to explain his success and he will typically credit his own innate qualities and skills. Aska woman the same question and she will attribute her success to external factors, insisting she did wellbecause she “worked really hard,” or “got lucky,” or “had help from others.” Men and women alsodiffer when it comes to explaining failure. When a man fails, he points to factors like “didn’t studyenough” or “not interested in the subject matter.” When a woman fails, she is more likely to believe itis due to an inherent lack of ability.

And in situations where a man and a woman each receivenegative feedback, the woman’s self-confidence and self-esteem drop to a much greater degree.

Theinternalization of failure and the insecurity it breeds hurt future performance, so this pattern hasserious long-term consequences.

And it’s not just women who are tough on themselves. Colleagues and the media are also quick tocredit external factors for a woman’s achievements. When Facebook filed to go public, The New YorkTimes ran an article that kindly reminded me—and everyone else—that I had “been lucky” and “hadpowerful mentors along the way.”

Journalists and bloggers rose up to highlight the double standard,pointing out that The New York Times rarely ascribed men’s success to having been lucky. But theTimes didn’t say anything that I had not already told myself a thousand times. At every stage of mycareer, I have attributed my success to luck, hard work, and help from others.

My insecurity began, as most insecurities do, in high school. I attended a big public school inMiami—think Fast Times at Ridgemont High—that was far more concerned with preventing fights inthe halls and keeping drugs out of the bathrooms than with academics. When I was accepted intoHarvard, many of my high school classmates asked me why I would want to go to a school filled withgeeks. Then they would stop short, remember who they were talking to, and sheepishly walk awaywithout waiting for an answer, realizing they already had it.

Freshman year of college was a huge shock for me. First semester, I took a course called TheConcept of the Hero in Hellenic Civilization, which was nicknamed Heroes for Zeroes. I didn’t have aburning desire to study Greek mythology, but it was the easiest way to fulfill the literaturerequirement. The professor began the first lecture by asking which students had read these booksbefore. I whispered to my friend next to me, “What books?” “The Iliad and The Odyssey, of course,”

she replied. Almost every single hand went up. Not mine. The professor then asked, “And who hasread these books in the original?” “What original?” I asked my friend. “Homeric Greek,” she replied.

A good third of the class kept their hands up. It seemed pretty clear that I was one of the zeroes.

A few weeks later, my professor of political philosophy assigned a five-page paper. I was panicked.

Five whole pages! I had only written one paper of that length in high school, and it was a year-longproject. How could anyone write five pages in just one week? I stayed in every night, plugging away,and based on the time I put in, I should have gotten an A for effort. I got a C. It is virtually impossibleto get a C at Harvard if the assignment is turned in. I am not exaggerating—this was the equivalent ofa failing grade. I went to see my dorm proctor, who worked at the admissions office. She told me thatI had been admitted to Harvard for my personality, not my academic potential. Very comforting.

I buckled down, worked harder, and by the end of the semester, I learned how to write five-pagepapers. But no matter how well I did academically, I always felt like I was about to get caught for notreally knowing anything. It wasn’t until I heard the Phi Beta Kappa speech about self-doubt that itstruck me: the real issue was not that I felt like a fraud, but that I could feel something deeply andprofoundly and be completely wrong.

I should have understood that this kind of self-doubt was more common for females from growingup with my brother. David is two years younger than I am and one of the people in the world whom Irespect and love the most. At home, he splits child care duties with his wife fifty-fifty; at work, he’s apediatric neurosurgeon whose days are filled with heart-wrenching life-and-death decisions. Althoughwe had the same upbringing, David has always been more confident. Once, back in high school, weboth had Saturday night dates who canceled on us in the late afternoon. I spent the rest of the weekendmoping around the house, wondering what was wrong with me. David laughed off the rejection,announcing, “That girl missed out on a great thing,” and went off to play basketball with his friends.

Luckily, I had my younger sister, wise and empathetic way beyond her years, to console me.

A few years later, David joined me at college. When I was a senior and he was a sophomore, wetook a class in European intellectual history together. My roommate, Carrie, also took the class, whichwas a huge help since she was a comparative literature major. Carrie went to all of the lectures andread all ten of the assigned books—in the original languages (and by then, I knew what those were). Iwent to almost all of the lectures and read all of the books—in English. David went to two lectures,read one book, and then marched himself up to our room to get tutored for the final exam. We all sattogether for the test, scribbling furiously for three hours in our little blue books. When we walked out,we asked one another how it went. I was upset. I had forgotten to connect the Freudian id toSchopenhauer’s conception of the will. Carrie, too, was concerned and confessed that she hadn’tadequately explained Kant’s distinction between the sublime and the beautiful. We turned to mybrother. How did he feel about the test? “I got the flat one,” he announced. “The flat one?” we asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “the flat A.”

He was right. He did get the flat one. Actually, we all got flat A’s on the exam. My brother was notoverconfident. Carrie and I were overly insecure.

These experiences taught me that I needed to make both an intellectual and an emotionaladjustment. I learned over time that while it was hard to shake feelings of self-doubt, I couldunderstand that there was a distortion. I would never possess my brother’s effortless confidence, but Icould challenge the notion that I was constantly headed for failure. When I felt like I was not capableof doing something, I’d remind myself that I did not fail all of my exams in college. Or even one. Ilearned to undistort the distortion.

We all know supremely confident people who have no right to feel that way. We also all knowpeople who could do so much more if only they believed in themselves. Like so many things, a lack ofconfidence can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t know how to convince anyone to believedeep down that she is the best person for the job, not even myself. To this day, I joke that I wish Icould spend a few hours feeling as self-confident as my brother. It must feel so, so good—likereceiving a cosmic flat one every day.

When I don’t feel confident, one tactic I’ve learned is that it sometimes helps to fake it. I discoveredthis when I was an aerobics instructor in the 1980s (which meant a silver leotard, leg warmers, and ashiny headband, all of which went perfectly with my big hair). Influenced by the gospel of JaneFonda, aerobics also meant smiling solidly for a full hour. Some days, the smile came naturally. Otherdays, I was in a lousy mood and had to fake it. Yet after an hour of forced smiling, I often feltcheerful.

Many of us have experienced being angry with someone and then having to pretend everything’sgreat in public. My husband, Dave, and I have our moments, and just when we are getting into it, itwill be time to go to a friend’s house for dinner. We put on our “everything’s great” smiles, andamazingly, after a few hours, it often is.

Research backs up this “fake it till you feel it” strategy. One study found that when people assumeda high-power pose (for example, taking up space by spreading their limbs) for just two minutes, theirdominance hormone levels (testosterone) went up and their stress hormone levels (cortisol) wentdown. As a result, they felt more powerful and in charge and showed a greater tolerance for risk. Asimple change in posture led to a significant change in attitude.

I would not suggest that anyone move beyond feeling confident into arrogance or boastfulness. Noone likes that in men or women. But feeling confident—or pretending that you feel confident—isnecessary to reach for opportunities. It’s a cliché, but opportunities are rarely offered; they’re seized.

During the six and a half years I worked at Google, I hired a team of four thousand employees. I didnot know all of them personally, but I knew the top hundred or so. What I noticed over the years wasthat for the most part, the men reached for opportunities much more quickly than the women. Whenwe announced the opening of a new office or the launch of a new project, the men were banging downmy door to explain why they should lead the charge. Men were also more likely to chase a growthopportunity even before a new opening was announced. They were impatient about their owndevelopment and believed that they were capable of doing more. And they were often right—just likemy brother. The women, however, were more cautious about changing roles and seeking out newchallenges. I often found myself trying to persuade them to work in new areas. I have had countlessconversations where women responded to this encouragement by saying, “I’m just not sure I’d begood at that.” Or “That sounds exciting, but I’ve never done anything like it before.” Or “I still have alot to learn in my current role.” I rarely, if ever, heard these kinds of comments from men.

Given how fast the world moves today, grabbing opportunities is more important than ever. Fewmanagers have the time to carefully consider all the applicants for a job, much less convince morereticent people to apply. And increasingly, opportunities are not well defined but, instead, come fromsomeone jumping in to do something. That something then becomes his job.

When I first joined Facebook, I was working with a team to answer the critical question of how bestto grow our business. The conversations were getting heated, with many people arguing their ownpositions strongly. We ended the week without consensus. Dan Rose, leader of our deal team, spentthe weekend gathering market data that allowed us to reframe the conversation in analytics. His effortbroke the logjam. I then expanded Dan’s responsibilities to include product marketing. Takinginitiative pays off. It is hard to visualize someone as a leader if she is always waiting to be told what todo.

Padmasree Warrior, Cisco’s chief technology officer, was asked by The Huffington Post, “What’sthe most important lesson you’ve learned from a mistake you’ve made in the past?” She responded, “Isaid no to a lot of opportunities when I was just starting out because I thought, ‘That’s not what mydegree is in’ or ‘I don’t know about that domain.’ In retrospect, at a certain point it’s your ability tolearn quickly and contribute quickly that matters. One of the things I tell people these days is thatthere is no perfect fit when you’re looking for the next big thing to do. You have to take opportunitiesand make an opportunity fit for you, rather than the other way around. The ability to learn is the mostimportant quality a leader can have.”

Virginia Rometty, IBM’s first female CEO, told the audience at the 2011 Fortune Most PowerfulWomen Summit that early in her career, she was offered a “big job.” She worried that she lacked theproper experience and told the recruiter that she needed to think about it. That night, she discussed theoffer with her husband, who pointed out, “Do you think a man would have ever answered thatquestion that way?”

“What it taught me was you have to be very confident,” Ginni said. “Even though you’re so self-critical inside about what it is you may or may not know. And that, to me, leads to taking risks.”

I continue to be alarmed not just at how we as women fail to put ourselves forward, but also at howwe fail to notice and correct for this gap. And that “we” includes me. A few years ago, I gave a talk ongender issues to a few hundred employees at Facebook. After my speech, I took questions for as longas time permitted. Later that afternoon, I came back to my desk, where a young woman was waiting totalk to me. “I learned something today,” she said. “What?” I asked, feeling good, as I figured she wasabout to tell me how my words had touched her. Instead, she said, “I learned to keep my hand up.”

She explained that toward the end of my talk, I had said that I would take only two more questions. Idid so, and then she put her hand down, along with all of the other women. But several men kept theirhands up. And since hands were still waving in the air, I took more questions—only from the men.

Instead of my words touching her, her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Even though I was giving aspeech on gender issues, I had been blind to one myself.

If we want a world with greater equality, we need to acknowledge that women are less likely tokeep their hands up. We need institutions and individuals to notice and correct for this behavior byencouraging, promoting, and championing more women. And women have to learn to keep theirhands up, because when they lower them, even managers with the best intentions might not notice.

When I first started working for Larry Summers, then chief economist at the World Bank, he wasmarried to a tax attorney, Vicki. He was very supportive of Vicki’s career and used to urge her to “billlike a boy.” His view was that the men considered any time they spent thinking about an issue—eventime in the shower—as billable hours. His wife and her female colleagues, however, would decide thatthey were not at their best on a given day and discount hours they spent at their desks to be fair to theclient. Which lawyers were more valuable to that firm? To make his point, Larry told them the story ofa renowned Harvard Law School professor who was asked by a judge to itemize a bill. The professorresponded that he could not because he was so often thinking about two things at once.

Even now, I’m a long way from mastering the art of feeling confident. In August 2011, Forbes putout its annual World’s 100 Most Powerful Women list.

I’m savvy enough to know that the list wasn’tbased on a scientific formula and that magazines love these features because they generate lots of pageviews as readers click through each name. Still, I was shocked—no, horrified—to learn that Forbesranked me as the fifth most powerful woman in the world, right after German chancellor AngelaMerkel, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Brazilian president Dilma Rousseff, and the CEO ofPepsiCo, Indra Nooyi. This put me ahead of First Lady Michelle Obama and Indian politician SoniaGandhi. Absurd. My own mother called to say, “Well, dear, I do think you are very powerful, but I amnot sure you are more powerful than Michelle Obama.” You think?

Far from feeling powerful, I felt embarrassed and exposed. When colleagues at Facebook stoppedme in the halls to say congratulations, I pronounced the list “ridiculous.” When friends posted the linkon Facebook, I asked them to take it down. After a few days, my longtime executive assistant, CamilleHart, summoned me into a conference room and closed the door. This was serious. She told me that Iwas handling the Forbes thing poorly and that I needed to stop subjecting anyone who brought up thelist to a diatribe on its absurdity. I was showing too many people how uncomfortable I felt andrevealing my insecurity. Instead, I needed to simply say, “Thank you.”

We all need colleagues like Camille, who was honest enough to point out my less-than-graciousresponse. She was right. Whether the list was ridiculous or not, I didn’t write it and I didn’t have toreact negatively to it. I doubt a man would have felt so overwhelmed by others’ perception of hispower.

I know that my success comes from hard work, help from others, and being at the right place at theright time. I feel a deep and enduring sense of gratitude to those who have given me opportunities andsupport. I recognize the sheer luck of being born into my family in the United States rather than one ofthe many places in the world where women are denied basic rights. I believe that all of us—men andwomen alike—should acknowledge good fortune and thank the people who have helped us. No oneaccomplishes anything all alone.

But I also know that in order to continue to grow and challenge myself, I have to believe in my ownabilities. I still face situations that I fear are beyond my capabilities. I still have days when I feel like afraud. And I still sometimes find myself spoken over and discounted while men sitting next to me arenot. But now I know how to take a deep breath and keep my hand up. I have learned to sit at the table.
Chapter 3 Success and Likeability
OKAY, so all a woman has to do is ignore society’s expectations, be ambitious, sit at the table, workhard, and then it’s smooth sailing all the way. What could possibly go wrong?

In 2003, Columbia Business School professor Frank Flynn and New York University professorCameron Anderson ran an experiment to test perceptions of men and women in the workplace.

Theystarted with a Harvard Business School case study about a real-life entrepreneur named Heidi Roizen.

The case described how Roizen became a successful venture capitalist by using her “outgoingpersonality … and vast personal and professional network [that] included many of the most powerfulbusiness leaders in the technology sector.”

Flynn and Anderson assigned half of the students to readHeidi’s story and gave the other half the same story with just one difference—they changed the name“Heidi” to “Howard.”

Professors Flynn and Anderson then polled the students about their impressions of Heidi orHoward. The students rated Heidi and Howard as equally competent, which made sense since “their”

accomplishments were completely identical. Yet while students respected both Heidi and Howard,Howard came across as a more appealing colleague. Heidi, on the other hand, was seen as selfish andnot “the type of person you would want to hire or work for.” The same data with a single difference—gender—created vastly different impressions.

This experiment supports what research has already clearly shown: success and likeability arepositively correlated for men and negatively correlated for women.

When a man is successful, he isliked by both men and women. When a woman is successful, people of both genders like her less. Thistruth is both shocking and unsurprising: shocking because no one would ever admit to stereotyping onthe basis of gender and unsurprising because clearly we do.

Decades of social science studies have confirmed what the Heidi/Howard case study so blatantlydemonstrates: we evaluate people based on stereotypes (gender, race, nationality, and age, amongothers).

Our stereotype of men holds that they are providers, decisive, and driven. Our stereotype ofwomen holds that they are caregivers, sensitive, and communal. Because we characterize men andwomen in opposition to each other, professional achievement and all the traits associated with it getplaced in the male column. By focusing on her career and taking a calculated approach to amassingpower, Heidi violated our stereotypical expectations of women. Yet by behaving in the exact samemanner, Howard lived up to our stereotypical expectations of men. The end result? Liked him,disliked her.

I believe this bias is at the very core of why women are held back. It is also at the very core of whywomen hold themselves back. For men, professional success comes with positive reinforcement atevery step of the way. For women, even when they’re recognized for their achievements, they’re oftenregarded unfavorably. Journalist Shankar Vedantam once cataloged the derogatory descriptions ofsome of the first female world leaders. “England’s Margaret Thatcher,” he wrote, “was called ‘Attilathe Hen.’ Golda Meir, Israel’s first female Prime Minister, was ‘the only man in the Cabinet.’

President Richard Nixon called Indira Gandhi, India’s first female Prime Minister, ‘the old witch.’

And Angela Merkel, the current chancellor of Germany, has been dubbed ‘the iron frau.’ ”

I have seen this dynamic play out over and over. When a woman excels at her job, both male andfemale coworkers will remark that she may be accomplishing a lot but is “not as well-liked by herpeers.” She is probably also “too aggressive,” “not a team player,” “a bit political,” “can’t be trusted,”

or “difficult.” At least, those are all things that have been said about me and almost every seniorwoman I know. The world seems to be asking why we can’t be less like Heidi and more like Howard.

Most women have never heard of the Heidi/Howard study. Most of us are never told about thisdownside of achievement. Still, we sense this punishment for success. We’re aware that when awoman acts forcefully or competitively, she’s deviating from expected behavior. If a woman pushes toget the job done, if she’s highly competent, if she focuses on results rather than on pleasing others,she’s acting like a man. And if she acts like a man, people dislike her. In response to this negativereaction, we temper our professional goals. Author Ken Auletta summarized this phenomenon in TheNew Yorker when he observed that for women, “self-doubt becomes a form of self-defense.”

In orderto protect ourselves from being disliked, we question our abilities and downplay our achievements,especially in the presence of others. We put ourselves down before others can.

During the summer between my first and second year in business school, I received a letter in themail congratulating me on becoming a Henry Ford Scholar for having the highest first-year academicrecord. The check was for $714.28, an odd number that immediately signaled that several students hadsplit the prize. When we returned to school for our second year, six men let it be known that they hadwon this award. I multiplied my check by seven and it revealed a nearly round number. Mysterysolved. There were seven of us—six men and me.

Unlike the other six winners, I didn’t let my award status become general knowledge. I told onlymy closest friend, Stephen Paul, and knew he would keep my secret. On the surface, this decisionmight have worked against me, since grades at Harvard Business School are based 50 percent on classparticipation. Professors teach ninety-minute classes and are not allowed to write anything down, sothey have to rely on their memory of class discussion. When a student makes a comment that othersrefer to—“If I can build on what Tom said …”—that helps the professor remember the critical pointsand who made them. Just as in real life, performance is highly dependent upon the reaction peoplehave to one another. The other six Ford Scholars quickly became the most-quoted speakers as theiracademic standing gave them instant credibility. They also received early job offers from prestigiousemployers before the official recruiting period even began. One day in class, one of the exalted sixmade a comment that, to my mind, demonstrated that he had not even read the case being discussed.

Everyone fawned all over him. I wondered if I was making a huge mistake not letting people knowthat I was the seventh student. It would have been nice to float through my second year of businessschool without even reading the material.

But I never really considered going public. I instinctively knew that letting my academicperformance become known was a bad idea. Years later, when I learned about the Heidi/Howard casestudy, I understood the reason why. Being at the top of the class may have made life easier for mymale peers, but it would have made my life harder.

I did not reach this conclusion in a vacuum. All through my life, culturally reinforced signalscautioned me against being branded as too smart or too successful. It starts young. As a girl, you knowthat being smart is good in lots of ways, but it doesn’t make you particularly popular or attractive toboys. In school, I was called the “smartest girl in the class.” I hated that description. Who wants to goto the prom with the smartest girl in the class? Senior year, my class voted me “most likely tosucceed,” along with a boy. I wasn’t going to take any chances with the prom, so I convinced myfriend, who worked on the yearbook, to remove my name. I got a prom date who was fun and lovedsports. In fact, he loved sports so much that two days before the prom, he canceled on me to go to abasketball game, saying, “I know you’ll understand since going to the playoffs is a once-in-a-lifetimeopportunity.” I did not point out that as a high school girl, I thought going to the prom was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Luckily, I found a new date who was less of a sports fan.

I never really thought about why I went to such efforts to mute my achievements from such a youngage. Then, about ten years after I graduated from business school, I was seated at dinner next toDeborah Gruenfeld, a professor of leadership and organizational behavior at Stanford, and our friendlysmall talk quickly turned into an intense discussion. Having studied this issue, Professor Gruenfeldwas able to explain the price women pay for success. “Our entrenched cultural ideas associate menwith leadership qualities and women with nurturing qualities and put women in a double bind,” shesaid. “We believe not only that women are nurturing, but that they should be nurturing above all else.

When a woman does anything that signals she might not be nice first and foremost, it creates anegative impression and makes us uncomfortable.”

If a woman is competent, she does not seem nice enough. If a woman seems really nice, she isconsidered more nice than competent. Since people want to hire and promote those who are bothcompetent and nice, this creates a huge stumbling block for women. Acting in stereotypicallyfeminine ways makes it difficult to reach for the same opportunities as men, but defying expectationsand reaching for those opportunities leads to being judged as undeserving and selfish. Nothing haschanged since high school; intelligence and success are not clear paths to popularity at any age. Thiscomplicates everything, because at the same time that women need to sit at the table and own theirsuccess, doing so causes them to be liked less.

Most people, myself included, really want to be liked—and not just because it feels good. Beingliked is also a key factor in both professional and personal success. A willingness to make anintroduction or advocate for or promote someone depends upon having positive feelings about thatperson. We need to believe in her ability to do the job and get along with everyone while doing it.

That’s why, instinctively, many of us feel pressure to mute our accomplishments.

In October 2011, Jocelyn Goldfein, one of the engineering directors at Facebook, held a meetingwith our female engineers where she encouraged them to share the progress they had made on theproducts they were building. Silence. No one wanted to toot her own horn. Who would want to speakup when self-promoting women are disliked? Jocelyn switched her approach. Instead of asking thewomen to talk about themselves, she asked them to tell one another’s stories. The exercise becamecommunal, which put everyone at ease.

Owning one’s success is key to achieving more success. Professional advancement depends uponpeople believing that an employee is contributing to good results. Men can comfortably claim creditfor what they do as long as they don’t veer into arrogance. For women, taking credit comes at a realsocial and professional cost. In fact, a woman who explains why she is qualified or mentions previoussuccesses in a job interview can lower her chances of getting hired.

As if this double bind were not enough to navigate, gendered stereotypes can also lead to womenhaving to do additional work without additional reward. When a man helps a colleague, the recipientfeels indebted to him and is highly likely to return the favor. But when a woman helps out, the feelingof indebtedness is weaker. She’s communal, right? She wants to help others. Professor Flynn calls thisthe “gender discount” problem, and it means that women are paying a professional penalty for theirpresumed desire to be communal.

10On the other hand, when a man helps a coworker, it’s consideredan imposition and he is compensated with more favorable performance evaluations and rewards likesalary increases and bonuses. Even more frustrating, when a woman declines to help a colleague, sheoften receives less favorable reviews and fewer rewards. But a man who declines to help? He pays nopenalty.

Because of these unfair expectations, women find themselves in “damned if they do” and “doomedif they don’t” situations.

This is especially true when it comes to negotiations concerningcompensation, benefits, titles, and other perks. By and large, men negotiate more than women.

Astudy that looked at the starting salaries of students graduating with a master’s degree from CarnegieMellon University found that 57 percent of the male students, but only 7 percent of the femalestudents, tried to negotiate for a higher offer.

But instead of blaming women for not negotiatingmore, we need to recognize that women often have good cause to be reluctant to advocate for theirown interests because doing so can easily backfire.

There is little downside when men negotiate for themselves. People expect men to advocate on theirown behalf, point out their contributions, and be recognized and rewarded for them. For men, there istruly no harm in asking. But since women are expected to be concerned with others, when theyadvocate for themselves or point to their own value, both men and women react unfavorably.

Interestingly, women can negotiate as well as or even more successfully than men when negotiatingfor others (such as their company or a colleague), because in these cases, their advocacy does notmake them appear self-serving.

However, when a woman negotiates on her own behalf, she violatesthe perceived gender norm. Both male and female colleagues often resist working with a woman whohas negotiated for a higher salary because she’s seen as more demanding than a woman who refrainedfrom negotiating.

Even when a woman negotiates successfully for herself, she can pay a longer-termcost in goodwill and future advancement.

Regrettably, all women are Heidi. Try as we might, we justcan’t be Howard.

When I was negotiating with Facebook’s founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg for my compensation,he made me an offer that I thought was fair. We had been having dinner several nights a week formore than a month and a half, discussing Facebook’s mission and his vision for the future. I was readyto accept the job. No, I was dying to accept the job. My husband, Dave, kept telling me to negotiate,but I was afraid of doing anything that might botch the deal. I could play hardball, but then maybeMark would not want to work with me. Was it worth it when I knew that ultimately I was going toaccept the offer? I concluded it was not. But right before I was about to say yes, my exasperatedbrother-in-law, Marc Bodnick, blurted out, “Damn it, Sheryl! Why are you going to make less thanany man would make to do the same job?”

My brother-in-law didn’t know the details of my deal. His point was simply that no man at my levelwould consider taking the first offer. This was motivating. I went back to Mark and said that I couldn’taccept, but I prefaced it by telling him, “Of course you realize that you’re hiring me to run your dealteams, so you want me to be a good negotiator. This is the only time you and I will ever be onopposite sides of the table.” Then I negotiated hard, followed by a nervous night wondering if I hadblown it. But Mark called me the next day. He resolved the gap by improving my offer, extending theterms of my contract from four to five years and allowing me to buy into the company as well. Hiscreative solution not only closed the deal, but also set us up for a longer-term alignment of interests.

The goal of a successful negotiation is to achieve our objectives and continue to have people like us.

Professor Hannah Riley Bowles, who studies gender and negotiations at Harvard’s Kennedy School ofGovernment, believes that women can increase their chances of achieving a desired outcome by doingtwo things in combination.

First, women must come across as being nice, concerned about others,and “appropriately” female. When women take a more instrumental approach (“This is what I wantand deserve”), people react far more negatively.

There is a saying, “Think globally, act locally.” When negotiating, “Think personally, actcommunally.” I have advised many women to preface negotiations by explaining that they know thatwomen often get paid less than men so they are going to negotiate rather than accept the original offer.

By doing so, women position themselves as connected to a group and not just out for themselves; ineffect, they are negotiating for all women. And as silly as it sounds, pronouns matter. Wheneverpossible, women should substitute “we” for “I.” A woman’s request will be better received if sheasserts, “We had a great year,” as opposed to “I had a great year.”

But a communal approach is not enough. According to Professor Bowles, the second thing womenmust do is provide a legitimate explanation for the negotiation.

Men don’t have to legitimize theirnegotiations; they are expected to look out for themselves. Women, however, have to justify theirrequests. One way of doing this is to suggest that someone more senior encouraged the negotiation(“My manager suggested I talk with you about my compensation”) or to cite industry standards (“Myunderstanding is that jobs that involve this level of responsibility are compensated in this range”).

Still, every negotiation is unique, so women must adjust their approach accordingly.

Telling a current employer about an offer from another company is a common tactic but works formen more easily than for women. Men are allowed to be focused on their own achievements, whileloyalty is expected from women. Also, just being nice is not a winning strategy. Nice sends a messagethat the woman is willing to sacrifice pay to be liked by others. This is why a woman needs tocombine niceness with insistence, a style that Mary Sue Coleman, president of the University ofMichigan, calls “relentlessly pleasant.”

This method requires smiling frequently, expressingappreciation and concern, invoking common interests, emphasizing larger goals, and approaching thenegotiation as solving a problem as opposed to taking a critical stance.

Most negotiations involvedrawn-out, successive moves, so women need to stay focused … and smile.

No wonder women don’t negotiate as much as men. It’s like trying to cross a minefield backward inhigh heels. So what should we do? Should we play by the rules that others created? Should we figureout a way to put on a friendly expression while not being too nice, displaying the right levels ofloyalty and using “we” language? I understand the paradox of advising women to change the world byadhering to biased rules and expectations. I know it is not a perfect answer but a means to a desirableend. It is also true, as any good negotiator knows, that having a better understanding of the other sideleads to a superior outcome. So at the very least, women can enter these negotiations with theknowledge that showing concern for the common good, even as they negotiate for themselves, willstrengthen their position.

In addition, there are huge benefits to communal effort in and of itself. By definition, allorganizations consist of people working together. Focusing on the team leads to better results for thesimple reason that well-functioning groups are stronger than individuals. Teams that work togetherwell outperform those that don’t. And success feels better when it’s shared with others. So perhapsone positive result of having more women at the top is that our leaders will have been trained to caremore about the well-being of others. My hope, of course, is that we won’t have to play by thesearchaic rules forever and that eventually we can all just be ourselves.

We still have a long way to go. In November 2011, San Francisco magazine ran a story on femaleentrepreneurs in Silicon Valley and illustrated it by superimposing the featured women’s heads ontomale bodies.

The only body type they could imagine for successful entrepreneurship was wearing atie or a hoodie. Our culture needs to find a robust image of female success that is first, not male, andsecond, not a white woman on the phone, holding a crying baby. In fact, these “bad mother with abriefcase” images are so prevalent that writer Jessica Valenti collected them in a funny and poignantblog post called “Sad White Babies with Mean Feminist Mommies.”

Until we can get there, I fear that women will continue to sacrifice being liked for being successful.

When I first arrived at Facebook, a local blog devoted some serious pixels to trashing me. They posteda picture of me and superimposed a gun into my hand. They wrote “liar” in big red letters across myface. Anonymous sources labeled me “two-faced” and “about to ruin Facebook forever.” I cried. I lostsome sleep. I worried that my career was over. Then I told myself it didn’t matter. Then everyone elsetold me it didn’t matter—which only reminded me that they were reading these awful comments too. Ifantasized about all sorts of rejoinders, but in the end, my best response was to ignore the attacks anddo my job.

Arianna Huffington, founder of The Huffington Post, believes that learning to withstand criticism isa necessity for women. Early in her career, Arianna realized that the cost of speaking her mind wasthat she would inevitably offend someone. She does not believe it is realistic or even desirable to tellwomen not to care when we are attacked. Her advice is that we should let ourselves react emotionallyand feel whatever anger or sadness being criticized evokes for us. And then we should quickly moveon. She points to children as her role model. A child can cry one moment and run off to play the next.

For me, this has been good advice. I wish I were strong enough to ignore what others say, butexperience tells me I often can’t. Allowing myself to feel upset, even really upset, and then move on—that’s something I can do.

It also helps to lean on one another. We can comfort ourselves with the knowledge that the attacksare not personal. We can joke, as Marlo Thomas did, that “a man has to be Joe McCarthy in order tobe called ruthless. All a woman needs to do is put you on hold.” Real change will come whenpowerful women are less of an exception. It is easy to dislike senior women because there are so few.

If women held 50 percent of the top jobs, it would just not be possible to dislike that many people.

Sharon Meers was motivated to write Getting to 50/50 after observing this kind of tipping pointfirsthand. In the late 1990s, Amy Goodfriend was chosen to lead Goldman Sachs’s U.S. derivativesteam (and later became the first female partner in the Equities Division). It was a seismic event andcaused four senior men to quit the group. Amy faced a lot of skepticism and criticism. Before Sharonjoined the team, a male friend told her, “Amy’s a bitch, but an honest bitch.” Sharon found that Amywas a great boss, and over the next few years, the derivatives group was transformed under herleadership. Once there were more than five female managing directors in the division—a criticalmass—the negativity and grumbling began to die down. It became normal to have female leaders, andby 2000, the stigma seemed to have dissipated. Sadly, when those senior women later left and thecritical mass shrank, the faith that women could be as successful as their male peers shrank with it.

Everyone needs to get more comfortable with female leaders—including female leaders themselves.

Since 1999, editor Pattie Sellers of Fortune magazine has overseen an annual conference that she callsthe Most Powerful Women Summit. On my first night there in 2005, I was in the lounge with twoclose friends, Diana Farrell, then head of the McKinsey Global Institute, and Sue Decker, then CFO ofYahoo. We were talking about the name of the conference, and I mentioned that when I saw the titleon Google’s corporate calendar, I ran to find Camille to ask her to change the name to “FortuneWomen’s Conference.” Diana and Sue laughed and said that they had done the exact same thing.

Later, Pattie explained that she and her colleagues chose this name on purpose to force women toconfront their own power and feel more comfortable with that word. I still struggle with this. I am fineapplying the word “powerful” to other women—the more the better—but I still shake my head indenial when it is applied to me. The nagging voice in the back of my head reminds me, as it did inbusiness school, “Don’t flaunt your success, or even let people know about your success. If you do,people won’t like you.”

Less than six months after I started at Facebook, Mark and I sat down for my first formal review.

One of the things he told me was that my desire to be liked by everyone would hold me back. He saidthat when you want to change things, you can’t please everyone. If you do please everyone, you aren’tmaking enough progress. Mark was right.
Chapter 4 It’s a Jungle Gym,Not a Ladder
ABOUT A MONTH AFTER I joined Facebook, I got a call from Lori Goler, a highly regarded senior director ofmarketing at eBay. I knew Lori a bit socially, but she made it clear this was a business call and cut tothe chase. “I want to apply to work with you at Facebook,” she said. “So I thought about calling youand telling you all of the things I’m good at and all of the things I like to do. Then I figured thateveryone was doing that. So instead, I want to ask you: What is your biggest problem, and how can Isolve it?”

My jaw hit the floor. I had hired thousands of people over the previous decade and no one had eversaid anything remotely like that. People usually focus on finding the right role for themselves, with theimplication that their skills will help the company. Lori put Facebook’s needs front and center. It wasa killer approach. I responded, “Recruiting is my biggest problem. And, yes, you can solve it.”

Lori never dreamed she would work in recruiting, but she jumped in. She even agreed to drop downa level, since this was a new field for her and she was willing to trade seniority for acquiring newskills. Lori did a great job running recruiting and within months was promoted to her current job,leading People@Facebook. When I asked her recently if she wanted to go back to marketing someday,she responded that she believes human resources allows her to have a greater overall impact.

The most common metaphor for careers is a ladder, but this concept no longer applies to mostworkers. As of 2010, the average American had eleven jobs from the ages of eighteen to forty-sixalone.

This means that the days of joining an organization or corporation and staying there to climbthat one ladder are long gone. Lori often quotes Pattie Sellers, who conceived a much better metaphor:

“Careers are a jungle gym, not a ladder.”

As Lori describes it, ladders are limiting—people can move up or down, on or off. Jungle gymsoffer more creative exploration. There’s only one way to get to the top of a ladder, but there are manyways to get to the top of a jungle gym. The jungle gym model benefits everyone, but especiallywomen who might be starting careers, switching careers, getting blocked by external barriers, orreentering the workforce after taking time off. The ability to forge a unique path with occasional dips,detours, and even dead ends presents a better chance for fulfillment. Plus, a jungle gym provides greatviews for many people, not just those at the top. On a ladder, most climbers are stuck staring at thebutt of the person above.

A jungle gym scramble is the best description of my career. Younger colleagues and studentsfrequently ask me how I planned my path. When I tell them that I didn’t, they usually react withsurprise followed by relief. They seem encouraged to know that careers do not need to be mapped outfrom the start. This is especially comforting in a tough market where job seekers often have to acceptwhat is available and hope that it points in a desirable direction. We all want a job or role that trulyexcites and engages us. This search requires both focus and flexibility, so I recommend adopting twoconcurrent goals: a long-term dream and an eighteen-month plan.

I could never have connected the dots from where I started to where I am today. For one thing,Mark Zuckerberg was only seven years old when I graduated from college. Also, back then,technology and I did not exactly have a great relationship. I used Harvard’s computer system onlyonce as an undergraduate, to run regressions for my senior thesis on the economics of spousal abuse.

The data was stored on large, heavy magnetic tapes that I had to lug in big boxes across campus,cursing the entire way and arriving in a sweaty mess at the sole computer center, which was populatedexclusively with male students. I then had to stay up all night spinning the tapes to input the data.

When I tried to execute my final calculations, I took down the entire system. That’s right. Yearsbefore Mark famously crashed that same Harvard system, I beat him to it.

When I graduated from college, I had only the vaguest notion of where I was headed. Thisconfusion was in deep contrast to my father’s clear conviction of what he wanted to do from a youngage. When my dad was sixteen, he felt a sharp abdominal pain during a basketball practice. Mygrandmother—good Jewish mother that she was—assumed it was hunger and fed him a big dinner.

That made it worse. He ended up in the hospital, where he was diagnosed with acute appendicitis, butbecause he had eaten, they couldn’t operate for twelve excruciating hours. The next morning, asurgeon removed his appendix and, along with it, the pain. My father chose his career that day,deciding that he would become a physician so he could help ease other people’s suffering.

My mother shared my father’s desire to help others. She was only eleven when she heard her rabbigive a sermon on the importance of civil rights and tikkun olam, a Hebrew phrase that means“repairing the world.” She responded to the call, grabbing a tin can and knocking on doors to supportcivil rights workers in the South. She has remained a passionate volunteer and human rights activistever since. I grew up watching my mother work tirelessly on behalf of persecuted Jews in the Sovietunion. She and her friend Margery Sanford would write heartfelt appeals calling for the release ofpolitical prisoners. In the evenings, my dad would join them. Thanks to the collective efforts ofconcerned people all over the world, many lives were saved.

Throughout my childhood, my parents emphasized the importance of pursuing a meaningful life.

Dinner discussions often centered on social injustice and those fighting to make the world a betterplace. As a child, I never thought about what I wanted to be, but I thought a lot about what I wanted todo. As sappy as it sounds, I hoped to change the world. My sister and brother both became doctors,and I always believed I would work at a nonprofit or in government. That was my dream. And while Idon’t believe in mapping out each step of a career, I do believe it helps to have a long-term dream orgoal.

A long-term dream does not have to be realistic or even specific. It may reflect the desire to work ina particular field or to travel throughout the world. Maybe the dream is to have professional autonomyor a certain amount of free time. Maybe it’s to create something lasting or win a coveted prize. Somegoals require more traditional paths; anyone who aspires to become a Supreme Court justice shouldprobably start by attending law school. But even a vague goal can provide direction, a far-offguidepost to move toward.

With an eye on my childhood dream, the first job I took out of college was at the World Bank asresearch assistant to Larry Summers, who was serving a term as chief economist. Based inWashington, D.C., the Bank’s mission is to reduce global poverty. I spent my first nine months in thestacks of the Bank library on the corner of Nineteenth and Pennsylvania, looking up facts and figuresfor Larry’s papers and speeches. Larry then generously arranged for me to join an India health fieldmission to get a closer look at what the Bank actually did.

Flying to India took me into an entirely different world. The team was working to eradicate leprosy,which was endemic in India’s most remote and poorest regions. The conditions were appalling. Due tothe stigma of the disease, patients were often exiled from their villages and ended up lying on dirtfloors in awful places that passed for clinics. Facts and figures could never have prepared me for thisreality. I have the deepest respect for people who provide hands-on help to those in crises. It is themost difficult work in the world.

I returned to D.C. with a plan to attend law school, but Lant Pritchett, an economist in Larry’s officewho has devoted his life to the study of poverty, persuaded me that business school would be a betteralternative. I headed back to Cambridge. I tried to stay socially conscious by joining the highlyunpopular Nonprofit Club. I also spent my second year studying social marketing—how marketingcan be used to solve social problems—with Professor Kash Rangan. One of the cases we worked onconcerned the shortage of organ donations, which results in eighteen deaths each day in the UnitedStates alone. I never forgot this case, and seventeen years later, Facebook worked with organ registriesaround the world to launch a tool to encourage donor registration.

After business school, I took a job as a consultant at McKinsey & Company in Los Angeles. Thework never entirely suited me, so I stayed for only a year and then moved back to D.C. to join Larry,who was now deputy secretary of the Treasury Department. At first, I served as his special assistant.

Then, when he was named secretary, I became his chief of staff. My job consisted of helping Larrymanage the operations of the department and its $14 billion budget. It gave me the opportunity toparticipate in economic policy at both a national and an international level. I also ran point on somesmaller projects, including the administration’s proposal to promote the development of vaccines forinfectious diseases.

During my four years at Treasury, I witnessed the first technology boom from a distance. Its impactwas obvious and appealing even beyond being able to wear jeans to work. Technology wastransforming communication and changing lives not just in the United States and developed countries,but everywhere. My long-term dream instinct kicked in. When President Clinton’s administrationended, I was out of a job and decided to move to Silicon Valley. In retrospect, this seems like ashrewd move, but in 2001, it was questionable at best. The tech bubble had burst, and the industry wasstill reeling from the aftershocks. I gave myself four months to find a job but hoped it would takefewer. It took almost a year.

My Silicon Valley job search had some highs, like getting to meet my business crush, eBay CEOMeg Whitman. It also had some lows, like meeting with a high-level executive who started myinterview by stating that her company would never even consider hiring someone like me becausegovernment experience could not possibly prepare anyone to work in the tech industry. It would havebeen so cool to have thanked her for being honest and walked out of her office. But alas, I was nevercool. I sat there hemming and hawing until every last molecule of oxygen had been sucked from theroom. True to her word, she never even considered hiring me.

Fortunately, not everyone shared her view. Eric Schmidt and I had met several times during myTreasury years, and I went to see him just after he became CEO of the then relatively unknownGoogle. After several rounds of interviews with Google’s founders, they offered me a job. My bankaccount was diminishing quickly, so it was time to get back to paid employment, and fast. In typical—and yes, annoying—MBA fashion, I made a spreadsheet and listed my various opportunities in therows and my selection criteria in the columns. I compared the roles, the level of responsibility, and soon. My heart wanted to join Google in its mission to provide the world with access to information, butin the spreadsheet game, the Google job fared the worst by far.

I went back to Eric and explained my dilemma. The other companies were recruiting me for realjobs with teams to run and goals to hit. At Google, I would be the first “business unit generalmanager,” which sounded great except for the glaring fact that Google had no business units andtherefore nothing to actually manage. Not only was the role lower in level than my other options, but itwas entirely unclear what the job was in the first place.

Eric responded with perhaps the best piece of career advice that I have ever heard. He covered myspreadsheet with his hand and told me not to be an idiot (also a great piece of advice). Then heexplained that only one criterion mattered when picking a job—fast growth. When companies growquickly, there are more things to do than there are people to do them. When companies grow moreslowly or stop growing, there is less to do and too many people to not be doing them. Politics andstagnation set in, and everyone falters. He told me, “If you’re offered a seat on a rocket ship, you don’task what seat. You just get on.” I made up my mind that instant. Google was tiny and disorganized,but it was a rocket ship. And even more important to me, it was a rocket ship with a mission I believedin deeply.

Over the years, I have repeated Eric’s advice to countless people, encouraging them to reduce theircareer spreadsheets to one column: potential for growth. Of course, not everyone has the opportunityor the desire to work in an industry like high tech. But within any field, there are jobs that have morepotential for growth than others. Those in more established industries can look for the rocket shipswithin their companies—divisions or teams that are expanding. And in careers like teaching ormedicine, the corollary is to seek out positions where there is high demand for those skills. Forexample, in my brother’s field of pediatric neurosurgery, there are some cities with too manyphysicians, while others have too few. My brother has always elected to work where his expertisewould be in demand so he can have the greatest impact.

Just as I believe everyone should have a long-term dream, I also believe everyone should have aneighteen-month plan. (I say eighteen months because two years seems too long and one year seemstoo short, but it does not have to be any exact amount of time.) Typically, my eighteen-month plansets goals on two fronts. First and most important, I set targets for what my team can accomplish.

Employees who concentrate on results and impact are the most valuable—like Lori, who wiselyfocused on solving Facebook’s recruiting problem before focusing on herself. This is not just thinkingcommunally—the expected and often smart choice for a woman—but simply good business.

Second, I try to set more personal goals for learning new skills in the next eighteen months. It’soften painful, but I ask myself, “How can I improve?” If I am afraid to do something, it is usuallybecause I am not good at it or perhaps am too scared even to try. After working at Google for morethan four years, managing well over half of the company’s revenues, I was embarrassed to admit that Ihad never negotiated a business deal. Not one. So I gathered my courage and came clean to my boss,Omid Kordestani, then head of sales and business development. Omid was willing to give me a chanceto run a small deal team. In the very first deal I attempted, I almost botched the whole thing by makingan offer to our potential partner before fully understanding their business. Fortunately, my teamincluded a talented negotiator, Shailesh Rao, who stepped in to teach me the obvious: letting the otherside make the first offer is often crucial to achieving favorable terms.

Everyone has room to improve. Most people have a style in the workplace that overshoots in onedirection—too aggressive or too passive, too talkative or too shy. In that first deal, I said too much.

This was not a shock to anyone who knows me. Once I identified this weakness, I sought help tocorrect it. I turned to Maureen Taylor, a communications coach, who gave me an assignment. She toldme that for one week I couldn’t give my opinion unless asked. It was one of the longest weeks of mylife. If I had bitten my tongue each time I started to express my opinion, I would have had no tongueleft.

Trying to overcorrect is a great way to find middle ground. In order for me to speak the rightamount in a meeting, I have to feel as if I am saying very little. People who are shy will have to feellike they are saying way too much. I know a woman who naturally talks softly and forces herself to“shout” in business meetings just to speak at an average volume. Overriding our natural tendencies isvery difficult. In all the years I’ve been trying, I can only think of a few times when someone said tome, “Sheryl, I wish you had spoken up more in that meeting.” Omid did it once and I hugged him.

Eric turned out to be absolutely right about Google, and I will always be grateful to him and toLarry Page and Sergey Brin for taking a chance on me. My eighteen-month plan at the companyextended into six and a half years, and I learned more than I ever could have hoped while workingwith true visionaries. But eventually I felt that it was time to make a move on the jungle gym.

In my personal life, I am not someone who embraces uncertainty. I like things to be in order. I filedocuments in colored folders (yes, still) and my enthusiasm for reorganizing my closet continuallybaffles Dave. But in my professional life, I have learned to accept uncertainty and even embrace it.

Risk—and a great deal of luck—landed me at Google. That worked out so well that I decided toembrace risk again, which led me to Facebook. At the time, other companies were willing to hire meas CEO, but I joined Facebook as COO. At first, people questioned why I would take a “lower level”

job working for a twenty-three-year-old. No one asks me that anymore. As I did when I joinedGoogle, I prioritized potential for fast growth and the mission of the company above title.

I have seen both men and women miss out on great opportunities by focusing too much on careerlevels. A friend of mine had been working as a lawyer for four years when she realized that instead ofshooting for partner, she’d rather join a company in a sales or marketing role. One of her clients waswilling to hire her in this new capacity but wanted her to start at the ground level. Since she couldafford the temporary pay cut, I urged her to make the jump, but she decided against taking a job thatput her “back four years.” I understood how painful it was for her to lose hard-earned ground. Still,my argument was that if she was going to work for the next thirty years, what difference does going“back” four years really make? If the other path made her happier and offered her a chance to learnnew skills, that meant she was actually moving forward.

In many cases, women need to be more open to taking risks in their careers.

When I left Google tojoin Facebook, as a percentage of my team, fewer women tried to follow me. As they had been allalong, the men were more interested in new and, as we say in tech, higher beta opportunities—wherethe risks were great but the potential rewards even greater. Many of the women on my team eventuallyshowed interest in joining Facebook, but not until a few years later, when the company was moreestablished. The cost of stability is often diminished opportunities for growth.

Of course, there are times in life when being risk averse is a good thing; adolescent and adult malesdrown in much greater numbers than adolescent and adult females.

But in business, being risk aversecan result in stagnation. An analysis of senior corporate management appointments found that womenare significantly more likely than men to continue to perform the same function even when they takeon new duties. And when female managers move up, they are more likely to do so internally instead ofswitching to a different company.

At times, staying in the same functional area and in the sameorganization creates inertia and limits opportunity to expand. Seeking out diverse experiences is usefulpreparation for leadership.

I understand the external pressures that force women to play it safe and stay put. Gender stereotypescan make it hard to move into positions traditionally held by men. Women are also more likely toaccommodate a partner’s career than the other way around.

A job change that includes moving toanother city may be a nonstarter for a woman in a relationship. The result is the unfortunate tautologythat the tendency to stay put leads to staying put.

Being risk averse in the workplace can also cause women to be more reluctant to take onchallenging tasks. In my experience, more men look for stretch assignments and take on high-visibilityprojects, while more women hang back. Research suggests that this is particularly true for women inenvironments that emphasize individual performance or when women are working closely with men.

One reason women avoid stretch assignments and new challenges is that they worry too much aboutwhether they currently have the skills they need for a new role. This can become a self-fulfillingprophecy, since so many abilities are acquired on the job. An internal report at Hewlett-Packardrevealed that women only apply for open jobs if they think they meet 100 percent of the criteria listed.

Men apply if they think they meet 60 percent of the requirements.

This difference has a huge rippleeffect. Women need to shift from thinking “I’m not ready to do that” to thinking “I want to do that—and I’ll learn by doing it.”

My first day at work at the World Bank, Larry Summers asked me to perform some calculations. Iwas at a loss on how to proceed, so I turned to Lant Pritchett for help. “Just put it into Lotus 1-2-3,” headvised. I told him that I didn’t know how to do that. “Wow,” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’vegotten this far, or even how you can understand basic economics, without knowing how to use Lotus.”

I went home convinced that I was going to get fired. The next day, Lant sat me down. My heart waspounding. But instead of firing me, he taught me how to use the program. That’s a great boss.

Women are also more reluctant to apply for promotions even when deserved, often believing thatgood job performance will naturally lead to rewards.

Carol Frohlinger and Deborah Kolb, founders ofNegotiating Women, Inc., describe this as the “Tiara Syndrome,” where women “expect that if theykeep doing their job well someone will notice them and place a tiara on their head.”

In a perfectmeritocracy, tiaras would be doled out to the deserving, but I have yet to see one floating around anoffice. Hard work and results should be recognized by others, but when they aren’t, advocating foroneself becomes necessary. As discussed earlier, this must be done with great care. But it must bedone.

Taking risks, choosing growth, challenging ourselves, and asking for promotions (with smiles onour faces, of course) are all important elements of managing a career. One of my favorite quotescomes from author Alice Walker, who observed, “The most common way people give up their poweris by thinking they don’t have any.”

Do not wait for power to be offered. Like that tiara, it might never materialize. And anyway, whowears a tiara on a jungle gym?
Chapter 5 Are You My Mentor?
　　WHEN I WAS a child, one of my favorite books was Are You My Mother?, the story of a baby bird thatemerges from its shell to discover an empty nest. The hatchling heads off in search of its missingmother, asking a kitten, a hen, a dog, and a cow the burning question: “Are you my mother?” Eachanimal responds, “No.” The hatchling grows more desperate, eventually shouting, “Are you mymother?” at a car, a boat, a plane, and even a steam shovel, which can only respond with a loud“Snort!” Stuck in the shovel’s jaws, the hatchling appears doomed until, miraculously, the shovel liftsthe bird back to its nest. The mother returns and the hatchling announces, “You are a bird, and you aremy mother.”

This children’s book poignantly mirrors the professional question “Are you my mentor?” Ifsomeone has to ask the question, the answer is probably no. When someone finds the right mentor, itis obvious. The question becomes a statement. Chasing or forcing that connection rarely works, andyet I see women attempt this all the time. When I give speeches or attend meetings, a startling numberof women introduce themselves and, in the same breath, ask me to be their mentor. I cannot recall asingle man asking me to do the same (although men have asked me to mentor their wives orgirlfriends).

The question is a total mood killer—the equivalent of turning to a pensive date and asking, “Whatare you thinking?” Every senior woman I have talked to about this is deluged with the same request.

Their reaction is unanimous: “Oh, I never know what to say when people I don’t know ask me to betheir mentor.” The interaction is flattering, but awkward. Even media mogul Oprah Winfrey, who hastaught so much to an entire generation, admits that she feels uncomfortable when someone asks her tobe a mentor. She once explained, “I mentor when I see something and say, ‘I want to see that grow.’ ”

In part, we’ve brought this on ourselves. For the past decade, talk of mentorship and sponsorshiphas been topic number one at any women’s career seminar. It is the focus of blogs, newspaper articles,and research reports. Many of these young women are responding to the often repeated advice that ifthey want to scale the corporate ladder, they need to find mentors (people who will advise them) aswell as sponsors (people who will use their influence to advocate for them).

The emphasis on finding a mentor became especially clear to me when I went back to speak atHarvard Business School in the spring of 2011. I was invited by Dean Nitin Nohria, who joined meonstage and conducted the interview. His first questions centered on Facebook and what it was like towork for Mark. I told him that I loved it, except on days when coworkers said things like, “Sheryl, canyou look at this? We need to know what old people will think of this feature.” We discussed the ArabSpring and a slew of other timely topics. Dean Nohria then asked me a question about women in theworkforce. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I turned to look at the audience, paused, and answeredwith brutal honesty. “If current trends continue, fifteen years from today, about one-third of thewomen in this audience will be working full-time and almost all of you will be working for the guyyou are sitting next to.”

Dead silence in the large auditorium. I continued, “I’m sorry if this sounds harsh or surprisesanyone, but this is where we are. If you want the outcome to be different, you will have to dosomething about it.”

On that strained note, Dean Nohria ended the interview and turned to the audience for a Q&A. Anumber of men leapt to the microphone and posed thoughtful, big-picture questions like “What didyou learn at Google that you are applying at Facebook?” and “How do you run a platform companyand ensure stability for your developers?” Then two women rose to the microphone. The first asked,“Do you think it’s okay to work for a company that competes with the company you worked forbefore business school?” The second asked, “How can I get a mentor?” My heart sank.

The men were focusing on how to manage a business and the women were focusing on how tomanage a career. The men wanted answers and the women wanted permission and help. I realized thatsearching for a mentor has become the professional equivalent of waiting for Prince Charming. We allgrew up on the fairy tale “Sleeping Beauty,” which instructs young women that if they just wait fortheir prince to arrive, they will be kissed and whisked away on a white horse to live happily ever after.

Now young women are told that if they can just find the right mentor, they will be pushed up theladder and whisked away to the corner office to live happily ever after. Once again, we are teachingwomen to be too dependent on others.

To be clear, the issue is not whether mentorship is important. It is. Mentorship and sponsorship arecrucial for career progression. Both men and women with sponsors are more likely to ask for stretchassignments and pay raises than their peers of the same gender without sponsors.

Unfortunately forwomen, men often have an easier time acquiring and maintaining these relationships.

One recentstudy shows that men are significantly more likely than women to be sponsored and that those withsponsors are more satisfied with their rates of advancement.

Because it is harder for young women to find mentors and sponsors, they are taking a more activerole in seeking them out. And while normally I applaud assertive behavior, this energy is sometimesmisdirected. No matter how crucial these connections are, they probably won’t develop from asking avirtual stranger, “Will you be my mentor?” The strongest relationships spring out of a real and oftenearned connection felt by both sides.

I’ve been lucky to have strong mentors and sponsors over the course of my career. Theacknowledgments in this book include a long list of people who have been generous enough to guideand advise me. During my junior year of college, I took Larry Summers’s public sector economicsclass. He offered to supervise my senior thesis—something very few Harvard professors volunteer todo for undergraduates. Larry has been a major part of my life ever since. I met Don Graham, chairmanof the Washington Post Company, more than fifteen years ago when I was working in D.C., and hehas helped me navigate some of my most challenging professional situations. If it hadn’t been forPaley Center CEO Pat Mitchell’s encouragement and support, I might never have spoken publiclyabout women in the workplace. These three, among so many others, have encouraged me, madeintroductions, and taught me by example. Their wisdom helped me avoid mistakes—and clean up theones I wasn’t smart enough to avoid.

In turn, I have tried to mentor others, including friends of friends, and as I get older, children offriends. I get so much joy out of watching the career of Emily White, who started working with meright out of college and now runs mobile partnerships for Facebook. When I first met Bryan Schreier,he had never worked in a tech company or traveled abroad, but he displayed unusually strongleadership and analytical skills. I hired him to help build Google’s global operations, and he exceededevery expectation. Years later, when he wanted to pursue a new career as an investor, I introduced himto his current partners at Sequoia Capital. He is now a highly successful early stage venture capitalist,and I can see the impact he has on the companies he advises. I am fortunate to have Emily and Bryanand so many other talented people in my life.

Studies show that mentors select protégés based on performance and potential.

Intuitively, peopleinvest in those who stand out for their talent or who can really benefit from help. Mentors continue toinvest when mentees use their time well and are truly open to feedback. It may turn into a friendship,but the foundation is a professional relationship. Given this, I believe we have sent the wrong messageto young women. We need to stop telling them, “Get a mentor and you will excel.” Instead, we needto tell them, “Excel and you will get a mentor.”

Clara Shih is a superb example. I met Clara about five years ago at a conference and wasimmediately impressed by her ideas about social media. She went on to write a thoughtful book on thesubject and founded Hearsay Social, a software company that helps businesses manage their socialmedia presence. Every so often, Clara would contact me, always with an interesting point or athoughtful question. She never asked to get together to “catch up.” She never asked a question that shecould have found the answer to on her own. When I was leaving the Starbucks board of directors in2012, I gave them a few names of social media experts who might join in my place and includedClara. She was only twenty-nine years old at the time, but she was invited to join the board.

While asking a stranger to be a mentor rarely, if ever, works, approaching a stranger with a pointed,well-thought-out inquiry can yield results. Garrett Neiman stopped me after I gave a speech atStanford to explain that he had founded CollegeSpring, a nonprofit that provides SAT tutoring andcollege counseling to low-income students. He wanted to meet with me and made it clear that he onlyneeded a few minutes of my time to ask for introductions to some people who could help expand hisorganization. He had done his homework and knew that I care deeply about education. In our firstmeeting and in every interaction we’ve had since, Garrett has been respectful of my time. He is crisp,focused, and gracious. And he always follows up to let me know the results of our discussion.

Capturing someone’s attention or imagination in a minute can be done, but only when planned andtailored to that individual. Leading with a vague question such as, “What is Facebook’s culture like?”

shows more ignorance than interest in the company, since there are hundreds of articles that providethis answer. Preparation is especially important when looking for a job. When I left the TreasuryDepartment, former chief of staff Josh Steiner gave me great advice about asking for advice. He toldme to figure out what I wanted to do before I went to see the people who had the ability to hire me.

That way I would not waste my one shot seeking general guidance, but would be able to discussspecific opportunities that they could offer.

Mentorship is often a more reciprocal relationship than it may appear, especially in situations wherepeople are already working at the same company. The mentee may receive more direct assistance, butthe mentor receives benefits too, including useful information, greater commitment from colleagues,and a sense of fulfillment and pride. Sociologists and psychologists have long observed our deepdesire to participate in reciprocal behavior. The fact that humans feel obligated to return favors hasbeen documented in virtually all societies and underpins all kinds of social relationships.

Thementor/mentee relationship is no exception. When done right, everybody flourishes.

Erin Burnett, now a well-known CNN journalist, credits Willow Bay, a veteran TV correspondentand editor, for mentoring her when she first started out. Willow was a brand-new anchor of Moneylinebut did not have deep financial experience. Erin had worked at Goldman Sachs, which made her anideal person for Willow to hire as an assistant. Erin impressed Willow with her ambition, work ethic,and talent. Meanwhile, Erin got to watch a savvy, established journalist up close and personal. Eachbenefited from the other’s expertise.

Justin Osofsky caught my attention at Facebook years ago when we were getting ready for our firstsenior-level meeting with the Walt Disney Company. Each of our teams, including sales, businessdevelopment, and marketing, had submitted ideas for the partnership, but no one was coordinating,which left our presentation disjointed and unwieldy. Rather than just submitting his section, Justintook the initiative to pull the group together and integrate all the ideas. I have been “mentoring” himever since, which in his case means that I often turn to Justin to solve problems. This helps thecompany and creates ongoing opportunities for him.

Getting the attention of a senior person with a virtuoso performance works, but it’s not the only wayto get a mentor. I have seen lower-level employees nimbly grab a moment after a meeting or in thehall to ask advice from a respected and busy senior person. The exchange is casual and quick. Aftertaking that advice, the would-be mentee follows up to offer thanks and then uses that opportunity toask for more guidance. Without even realizing it, the senior person becomes involved and invested inthe junior person’s career. The word “mentor” never needs to be uttered. The relationship is moreimportant than the label.

The label itself is open to interpretation. For years, I kept an eye on an enormously talented youngwoman on my team at Google and advised her each time she had a major decision to make. I neverused the word “mentor,” but I invested a lot of time in her development. So I was surprised one daywhen she stated flatly that she had “never had a mentor or anyone really looking out” for her. I askedwhat a mentor meant to her. She explained that it would be someone she spoke to for at least an hourevery week. I smiled, thinking, That’s not a mentor—that’s a therapist.

Few mentors have time for excessive hand-holding. Most are dealing with their own high-stressjobs. A mentee who is positive and prepared can be a bright spot in a day. For this same reason,mentees should avoid complaining excessively to a mentor. Using a mentor’s time to validate feelingsmay help psychologically, but it’s better to focus on specific problems with real solutions. Mostpeople in the position to mentor are quite adept at problem solving. Give them a problem to solve.

Sometimes high-potential women have a difficult time asking for help because they don’t want toappear stumped. Being unsure about how to proceed is the most natural feeling in the world. I feel thatway all the time. Asking for input is not a sign of weakness but often the first step to finding a pathforward.

Mentoring and sponsoring relationships often form between individuals who have common interestsor when the junior members remind the more senior members of themselves.

This means that menwill often gravitate toward sponsoring younger men, with whom they connect more naturally. Sincethere are so many more men at the top of every industry, the proverbial old-boy network continues toflourish. And since there are already a reduced number of women in leadership roles, it is not possiblefor the junior women to get enough support unless senior men jump in too. We need to make maleleaders aware of this shortage and encourage them to widen their circle.

It’s wonderful when senior men mentor women. It’s even better when they champion and sponsorthem. Any male leader who is serious about moving toward a more equal world can make this apriority and be part of the solution. It should be a badge of honor for men to sponsor women. Andsince we know that different perspectives improve performance, companies should foster and rewardthis behavior.

Of course, there are some tricky issues to be solved here, including the perceived sexual context ofmale-female relationships. Once during my Treasury years, Larry Summers and I traveled together toSouth Africa, where we holed up in the living room of his hotel suite to work on his speech on fiscalpolicy for the next day. Jet-lagged and oblivious to the time change, we suddenly noticed it was 3:00a.m. We both knew it would look awful if anyone saw me leaving his hotel suite at that time. Wediscussed the options. Maybe he should check to see if anyone was in the hall? Then we realized wewere stuck because there is no difference between trying not to be seen leaving someone’s hotel roomlate at night and actually leaving someone’s hotel room late at night. I strode into the (luckily) emptyhall and made it to my room undetected.

Junior women and senior men often avoid engaging in mentoring or sponsoring relationships out offear of what others might think. A study published by the Center for Work-Life Policy and theHarvard Business Review reported that 64 percent of men at the level of vice president and above arehesitant to have a one-on-one meeting with a more junior woman. For their part, half of the juniorwomen avoided close contact with senior men.

This evasiveness must end. Personal connections leadto assignments and promotions, so it needs to be okay for men and women to spend informal timetogether the same way men can. A senior man and junior man at a bar is seen as mentoring. A seniorman and a junior woman at a bar can also be mentoring … but it looks like dating. This interpretationholds women back and creates a double bind. If women try to cultivate a close relationship with amale sponsor, they risk being the target of workplace gossip. If women try to get to the top without asponsor’s help, their careers will often stall. We cannot assume that interactions between men andwomen have a sexual component. And everyone involved has to make sure to behave professionallyso women—and men—feel safe in all settings.

At Goldman Sachs in the late 1990s, management committee partner Bob Steel recognized thisperception problem and came up with an admirable solution. The father of three daughters, Steel told atraining class that he had a “breakfast or lunch only policy” with employees because he feltuncomfortable going out to dinner with female employees and wanted to make access equal. SharonMeers worked at Goldman at the time and said Steel’s decision caused a bit of a stir, but she thoughthis candor was heroic. Anything that evens out the opportunities for men and women is the rightpractice. Some will get there by adopting a no-dinner policy; others may adopt a dinner-with-anyonepolicy. In either case, we need practices that can be applied evenly.

Many companies are starting to move from informal mentoring that relies on individual initiative tomore formal programs. When taken seriously, these formal mentorship/sponsorship programs can beremarkably successful. Structured programs also take the pressure off junior women from having toask the difficult “Are you my mentor?” question. One study showed that women who found mentorsthrough formal programs were 50 percent more likely to be promoted than women who found mentorson their own.

The most effective formal programs help educate men about the need to mentor womenand establish guidelines for appropriate behavior. These programs can be a great way to helpnormalize the senior man/junior woman model.

Official mentorship programs are not sufficient by themselves and work best when combined withother kinds of development and training. Deloitte’s Leading to WIN Women’s Initiative is a goodexample. Deloitte had already established a program to support female employees, who still remainedunderrepresented at the highest levels of the company. This prompted Chet Wood, CEO of DeloitteTax, to ask, “Where are all the women?” In response, Deloitte launched a leadership developmentprogram in 2008. The program targeted senior women in the tax division who were close topromotion. The women were assigned sponsors, received executive coaching, shadowed members ofthe executive committee, and took on global assignments. Of the twenty-one members of the inauguralgroup, eighteen have since been promoted.

As helpful as these formal programs can be, they are not always offered, and in some situations,senior people are not available to give guidance. The good news is that guidance can come from alllevels. When I first joined Facebook, one of my biggest challenges was setting up the necessarybusiness processes without harming the freewheeling culture. The company operated by movingquickly and tolerating mistakes, and lots of people were nervous that I would not just ruin the party,but squash innovation. Naomi Gleit had joined Facebook right out of college several years earlier. Asone of Facebook’s earliest employees, she had a deep understanding of how the company worked.

Naomi and I became close. I bet most people, including Naomi herself, probably assumed that I wasmentoring her. But the truth is she mentored me. She helped me implement the changes that needed tobe made and jumped in to stop me from getting things wrong. Naomi always told me the truth, even ifshe thought it would be hard for me to hear. She still does this for me today.

Peers can also mentor and sponsor one another. There is a saying that “all advice isautobiographical.” Friends at the same stage of their careers may actually provide more current anduseful counsel. Several of my older mentors advised me against taking a job at Google in 2001. Yetalmost all my peers understood the potential of Silicon Valley. Peers are also in the trenches and mayunderstand problems that superiors do not, especially when those problems are generated by superiorsin the first place.

As an associate at McKinsey & Company, my first assignment was on a team that consisted of amale senior engagement manager (SEM) and two other male associates, Abe Wu and Derek Holley.

When the SEM wanted to talk to Abe or Derek, he would walk over to their desks. When he wanted totalk to me, he would sit at his desk and shout, “Sandberg, get over here!” with the tone one might useto call a child or, even worse, a dog. It made me cringe every time. I never said anything, but one dayAbe and Derek started calling each other “Sandberg” in that same loud voice. The self-absorbed SEMnever seemed to notice. They kept it up. When having too many Sandbergs got confusing, theydecided we needed to differentiate. Abe started calling himself “Asian Sandberg,” Derek dubbedhimself “good-looking Sandberg,” and I became “Sandberg Sandberg.” My colleagues turned anawful situation into one where I felt protected. They stood up for me and made me laugh. They werethe best mentors I could have had.

Since when it rains, it pours, on that same project, the senior client leader wanted to fix me up withhis son. He declared this intention in front of his team over and over. I knew he meant it as acompliment, but it undermined my professional authority. How could I get my clients to take meseriously if their boss was constantly reminding everyone that I was his son’s age—oh, and that Ishould date him? One day, I gathered my courage and asked to speak to him in private. I told him(nicely) that I did not think it was appropriate for him to keep bringing up his son. He laughed it offand kept doing it.

Having tried to deal with the situation myself, I went to my manager—the same “Sandberg”-shouting SEM. He listened to my complaint and then told me that I should think about what I was“doing to send these signals.” Yup, it was my fault. I told the two other Sandbergs, who wereoutraged. They encouraged me to go over the SEM’s head and talk to the senior partner, RobertTaylor. Robert understood my discomfort immediately. He explained that sometimes those of us whoare different (he is African American) need to remind people to treat us appropriately. He said he wasglad I told the client no on my own and that the client should have listened. He then talked to the clientand explained that his behavior had to stop. He also spoke with my SEM about his insensitiveresponse. I could not have been more grateful for Robert’s protection. I knew exactly how that babybird felt when he finally found his mother.
Chapter 6 Seek and Speak Your Truth
MY FRIEND Betsy Cohen was pregnant with her second child when her toddler, Sam, became curiousabout where the baby was in her body. “Mommy,” he asked, “are the baby’s arms in your arms?” “No,the baby is in my tummy,” she replied. “Are the baby’s legs in your legs?” “No, the whole baby is inmy tummy.” “Really, the whole baby is in your tummy? Are you sure?” “Yes, the whole baby is in mytummy.” “Then, Mommy, what’s growing in your butt?”

This kind of honesty is common from children and virtually unheard of from adults. As kids growup, we teach them to be polite, watch what they say, not hurt others’ feelings. This is not a bad thing.

As a former pregnant “whale,” I’m glad that most people keep some observations to themselves. Butas we learn to speak appropriately, we lose something in authenticity.

Authentic communication is not always easy, but it is the basis for successful relationships at homeand real effectiveness at work. Yet people constantly back away from honesty to protect themselvesand others. This reticence causes and perpetuates all kinds of problems: uncomfortable issues thatnever get addressed, resentment that builds, unfit managers who get promoted rather than fired, and onand on. Often these situations don’t improve because no one tells anyone what is really happening. Weare so rarely brave enough to tell the truth.

Being honest in the workplace is especially difficult. All organizations have some form ofhierarchy, which means that someone’s performance is assessed by someone else’s perception. Thismakes people even less likely to tell the truth. Every organization faces this challenge, no matter howflat it tries to be. At Facebook, we work hard to be nonhierarchical. Everyone sits at open desks in bigopen spaces—no offices, cubes, or partitions for any of us. We hold a company-wide Q&A everyFriday where anyone can ask a question or make a comment. When people disagree with decisions,they post to the company-wide Facebook group. Still, I would be an idiot, or not telling myself thetruth, if I thought that my coworkers always felt free to criticize me, Mark, or even their peers.

When psychologists study power dynamics, they find that people in low-power positions are morehesitant to share their views and often hedge their statements when they do.

This helps explain whyfor many women, speaking honestly in a professional environment carries an additional set of fears:

Fear of not being considered a team player. Fear of seeming negative or nagging. Fear thatconstructive criticism will come across as just plain old criticism. Fear that by speaking up, we willcall attention to ourselves, which might open us up to attack (a fear brought to us by that same voice inthe back of our heads that urges us not to sit at the table).

Communication works best when we combine appropriateness with authenticity, finding that sweetspot where opinions are not brutally honest but delicately honest. Speaking truthfully without hurtingfeelings comes naturally to some and is an acquired skill for others. I definitely needed help in thisarea. Fortunately, I found it.

When Dave was at Yahoo, he attended a management training program taught by Fred Kofman, aformer MIT professor and author of Conscious Business. Dave hates training of any kind, and thehuman resources team at Yahoo had to force him to attend the two-day session. When he came homeafter the first day, he surprised me by describing the training as “not too bad.” By the end of thesecond day, he started quoting Fred and making observations about our communication. I was inshock; this guy must be good. So I called Fred, introduced myself, and said, “I don’t know what youdo, but I want you to do it for my team at Google.”

Fred showed up at Google, and his teachings changed my career and my life. He is one of the mostextraordinary thinkers on leadership and management I have ever encountered. Many of the conceptsdiscussed in this chapter originated with him and reflect his belief that great leadership is “conscious”

leadership.

I learned from Fred that effective communication starts with the understanding that there is mypoint of view (my truth) and someone else’s point of view (his truth). Rarely is there one absolutetruth, so people who believe that they speak the truth are very silencing of others. When we recognizethat we can see things only from our own perspective, we can share our views in a nonthreateningway. Statements of opinion are always more constructive in the first person “I” form. Compare thesetwo statements: “You never take my suggestions seriously” and “I feel frustrated that you have notresponded to my last four e-mails, which leads me to believe that my suggestions are not thatimportant to you. Is that so?” The former can elicit a quick and defensive “That’s not true!” The latteris much harder to deny. One triggers a disagreement; the other sparks a discussion. I wish I couldalways maintain this perspective in all my communications. I don’t—but I continue to try.

Truth is also better served by using simple language. Office-speak often contains nuances andparentheticals that can bury not just the lead but the entire point. Comedies like Office Space ring truefor a reason. People fear insulting others, especially the boss, so they hedge. Rather than stating, “Idisagree with our expansion strategy,” they say, “While I think there are many good reasons why weare opening this new line of business and I feel confident that the management team has done athorough ROI analysis, I am not sure we have completely thought through all of the downstreameffects of taking this step forward at this time.” Huh? With all of these caveats, it’s hard to decipherwhat the speaker actually thinks.

When communicating hard truths, less is often more. A few years ago, Mark Zuckerberg decided tolearn Chinese. To practice, he spent time with a group of Facebook employees who were nativespeakers. One might think that Mark’s limited language skills would have kept these conversationsfrom being substantively useful. Instead, they gave him greater insight into what was going on in thecompany. For example, one of the women was trying to tell Mark something about her manager. Markdidn’t understand so he said, “Simpler, please.” Then she spoke again, but he still didn’t understand,so he had to ask her to simplify further. This happened a few more times. Eventually, she gotfrustrated and just blurted out, “My manager is bad!” She was still speaking Chinese, but simplyenough that Mark understood. If more people were this clear, the performance of many organizationswould improve dramatically.

The ability to listen is as important as the ability to speak. From the time my siblings and I werevery young, whenever we had arguments, our mother taught us—or more like forced us—to mirroreach other, which means restating the other person’s point before responding to it. For example, oneday my sister and I were fighting over a lollipop. “Sheryl ate the last lollipop!” Michelle screamed.

“But she had a lollipop yesterday and I didn’t!” I screamed back, making an excellent point. Mymother sat us down facing each other. I was not allowed to explain how gravely inequitable thelollipop allocation was until I acknowledged my sister’s feelings. “Michelle, I understand that you areupset because I ate the last lollipop and you wanted it.” As painful as this was at the time, reflectingsomeone’s viewpoint clarifies the disagreement and becomes a starting point for resolution. We allwant to be heard, and when we focus on showing others that we are listening, we actually becomebetter listeners. I now do this with my children. And while they probably dislike the process as muchas I did when I was their age, I love hearing my son explain to my daughter, “I’m sorry you’re upsetbecause you lost at Monopoly, but I’m older than you so I should win.” Not bad for a seven-year-old.

(Although Fred would caution my son to take out the “but” and everything after, since it tends to denythe preceding statement. Imagine someone saying, “I really like you, but …”)Being aware of a problem is the first step to correcting it. It is nearly impossible to know how ouractions are perceived by others. We can try to guess what they’re thinking, but asking directly is farmore effective. With real knowledge, we can adjust our actions and avoid getting tripped up. Still,people rarely seek enough input. A few years ago, Tom Brokaw interviewed me for a piece onFacebook. Tom is a magnificent interviewer, and I felt that I stumbled through some of my answers.

After we wrapped, I asked him how I could have done better. He seemed surprised by my question, soI asked him again. He then told me that in his entire career, I was only the second person to ask himfor feedback.

The strategy of soliciting input broadly was first demonstrated for me by Robert Rubin, secretary ofthe Treasury when I joined the department in 1996. During my first week there, I was invited to ameeting on restructuring the IRS. About ten senior staffers were sitting at the table when we entered.

Since I knew nothing about the topic, I took a seat in the back corner of the room (yup, not even closeto the table). Toward the end of the meeting, Secretary Rubin suddenly turned and asked, “Sheryl,what do you think?” I was stunned silent—my mouth opened but nothing came out. When he saw howshocked I was, Secretary Rubin explained why he had put me on the spot: “Because you’re new andnot fully up to speed on how we do things, I thought you might see something we were missing.”

Apparently not in my case. But Secretary Rubin sent a powerful message to all of us about the valueof soliciting ideas from every corner (literally).

Secretary Rubin was also aware of the dangers of blindly following leaders, or in his case, beingblindly followed. Before becoming Treasury secretary, Rubin served as co-chairman of the board ofGoldman Sachs. At the end of his first week as co-chairman, he noticed that Goldman was heavilyinvested in gold. He asked someone why the firm had taken such a big position. The startled employeeanswered, “That was you, sir.” “Me?” Rubin replied. Apparently, the day before he had been takinghis initial tour of the trading floor and commented, “Gold looks interesting.” This got repeated as“Rubin likes gold,” and someone spent millions of dollars to please the new boss.

More than a decade later, I experienced my own “Rubin likes gold” moment. When I joinedFacebook, I faced a dilemma: I needed to bolster the business side of the company while respecting itsunconventional culture. Most corporations love PowerPoint presentations, so I encouraged people notto prepare them for meetings with me, but instead to come with a simple list of topics. I repeated thisfrequently, but every meeting seemed to include a detailed PowerPoint presentation anyway. Aftermore than two years of frustration, I announced that although I hated making rules, I was making one:

no more PowerPoint in my meetings.

A few weeks later, as I was getting ready to speak to our global sales team, Kirsten Nevill-Manning,a skilled human resources leader at Facebook, came to find me. Kirsten thought I should know thateveryone in Europe was upset with me. Really? I angered an entire continent? She explained thatclient meetings were very difficult without PowerPoint and asked why I would make such a stupidrule. I explained that I had intended the rule to apply only to presentations to me. But just as theGoldman team heard “Gold = good,” the Facebook team heard “PowerPoint = bad.” I got onstage infront of our entire sales team and apologized for the misunderstanding. I also let them know that ifthey hear a bad idea, even one they believe is coming from me or Mark, they should either fight it orignore it.

As hard as it is to have an honest dialogue about business decisions, it is even harder to giveindividuals honest feedback. This is true for entry-level employees, senior leaders, and everyone inbetween. One thing that helps is to remember that feedback, like truth, is not absolute. Feedback is anopinion, grounded in observations and experiences, which allows us to know what impression wemake on others. The information is revealing and potentially uncomfortable, which is why all of uswould rather offer feedback to those who welcome it. If I make an observation or recommendationand someone reacts badly—or even just visibly tenses up—I quickly learn to save my comments forthings that really matter. This is why I so admire Molly Graham’s approach. Molly joined Facebook in2008 and held a number of jobs throughout the company in communications, human resources, andmobile products. She performed extraordinarily well in all of these very different roles, not justbecause she is uniquely talented but because she is always learning. One day, she and I hosted a trickyclient meeting. She navigated the discussion effectively, and after the clients left, I praised her effort.

She paused and said, “Thanks, but you must have ideas for me on what more I could have done.”

“How can I do better?” “What am I doing that I don’t know?” “What am I not doing that I don’tsee?” These questions can lead to many benefits. And believe me, the truth hurts. Even when I havesolicited feedback, any judgment can feel harsh. But the upside of painful knowledge is so muchgreater than the downside of blissful ignorance.

Requesting advice can also help build relationships. At Facebook, I knew that the most importantdeterminant of my success would be my relationship with Mark. When I joined, I asked Mark for acommitment that he would give me feedback every week so that anything that bothered him would beaired and discussed quickly. Mark not only said yes but immediately added that he wanted it to bereciprocal. For the first few years, we stuck to this routine and voiced concerns big and small everyFriday afternoon. As the years went by, sharing honest reactions became part of our ongoingrelationship. Now we do so in real time rather than waiting for the end of the week. I wouldn’t suggestthat all relationships need this much feedback—there is such a thing as asking for too much—but forus, it has been critically important.

I have also learned the hard way that being open to hearing the truth means taking responsibility formistakes. In my first week as chief of staff at Treasury, I had the chance to work directly with theheads of the department bureaus. There is a right and a wrong way to start a working relationship. Ichose the wrong way. My first call was to Ray Kelly, who was then commissioner of the U.S.

Customs Service and now serves as New York City’s police commissioner. Instead of reaching out tooffer assistance, I called Commissioner Kelly with a request from the secretary. The impression Imade was that my job was to demand and his job was to listen. It was a mistake. Ray’s response wasquick and clear. “[Expletive], Sheryl,” he explained. “Just because I’m not in Larry Summers’s[expletive] thirty-year-old brain trust doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I’m doing! If SecretarySummers wants something from me, tell him to [expletive] call me himself!” Then he hung up thephone. I thought, This is not going well. My first week on the job and I’d angered a man who knows athing or two about firearms.

After I stopped shaking, I realized that Commissioner Kelly had done me a huge favor. His“feedback” was extremely helpful and delivered in a way that I would never forget. I reassessed myoutreach strategy. With the other bureau chiefs, I initiated conversation by asking what I could do tohelp them achieve their goals. It’s no surprise that they reacted more positively and with far fewerexpletives. And after I employed my “What have I done for you lately?” approach, they were far moreeager to return the favor.

As often as I try to persuade people to share their honest views, it is still a challenge to elicit them.

When I started building my team at Google, I interviewed every candidate before we made an offer.

Even when the team had grown to about one hundred people, I still spoke with each finalist. One dayat a meeting of my direct reports, I offered to stop interviewing, fully expecting everyone to insist thatmy input was an essential part of the process. Instead, they applauded. They all jumped in to explain—in unison—that my insistence on speaking personally to every candidate had become a hugebottleneck. I had no idea that I had been holding the team back and was upset that no one had told me.

I spent a few hours quietly fuming, which, given that I have no poker face, was probably obvious toeveryone. Then I realized that if my colleagues had kept this to themselves, I was clearly notcommunicating that I was open to their input. Miscommunication is always a two-way street. If Iwanted more suggestions, I would have to take responsibility for making that clear. So I went back tomy team and agreed that I would not interview anymore. And more important, I told them that Iwanted their input early and often.

Another way I try to foster authentic communication is to speak openly about my own weaknesses.

To highlight just one, I have a tendency to get impatient about unresolved situations. My reaction is topush for people to resolve them quickly, in some cases before they realistically can. David Fischer andI have worked closely together for fifteen years at Treasury, Google, and Facebook. He jokes that hecan tell from my tone of voice whether he should bother to complete a task or if I’m about to just do itmyself. I acknowledge my impatience openly and ask my colleagues to let me know when I need tochill out. By mentioning this myself, I give others permission to bring up my impatience—and jokeabout it too. My colleagues will say to me, “Sheryl, you asked us to tell you when you get nervous andpush the teams too hard. I think you’re doing that now.” But if I never said anything, would anyone atFacebook walk up to me and announce, “Hey, Sheryl, calm down! You’re driving everyone nuts!”

Somehow I doubt it. They would think it. They might even say it to one another. But they wouldn’tsay it to me.

When people are open and honest, thanking them publicly encourages them to continue whilesending a powerful signal to others. At a meeting with about sixty Facebook engineers, I mentionedthat I was interested in opening more Facebook offices around the world, especially in one particularregion. Since the group included members of the security team, I asked what they were most worriedabout. Without being called on, Chad Greene blurted out, “Opening a Facebook office in that region.”

He explained why it wouldn’t work and why I was dead wrong in front of the entire group. I loved it.

We had never met before, and I will never forget that strong introduction. I ended the meeting bythanking Chad for his candor and then posted the story on Facebook to encourage the rest of thecompany to follow his example. Mark feels the same way. At a summer barbecue four years ago, anintern told Mark that he should work on his public speaking skills. Mark thanked him in front ofeveryone and then encouraged us to extend him a full-time job offer.

Humor can be an amazing tool for delivering an honest message in a good-natured way. A recentstudy even found that “sense of humor” was the phrase most frequently used to describe the mosteffective leaders.

I have seen humor get results so many times. After working in the Obama WhiteHouse, Marne Levine joined Facebook to run global public policy. Marne is polished, professional,and highly competent. During her first week at her job, she needed a colleague from another team tofinish drafting a few paragraphs for an upcoming congressional testimony. The colleague wasdragging his heels. He kept coming to Marne to ask questions, which she would duly answer, then shewould wait, but still no paragraphs. When he came to her again with yet another question, she turnedto him with a huge smile and said, “I am going to answer all of your questions. I really am. But rightnow, the only thing that is going to keep me from falling down on the floor and having a heart attackright in front of you is for you to get out of your chair, go back to your desk, and write the paragraphswe need for Congress.” It worked beautifully.

A colleague at Google, Adam Freed, and I were frustrated by someone at work who was makingour jobs very difficult. I met with her several times and earnestly explained that I felt that she wassecond-guessing our every move and preventing progress. During each heartfelt discussion, she wouldlisten and nod and thank me for raising the matter. I would leave feeling better. Then the situationwould get worse. Adam took a totally different approach. He invited her to lunch. They met at theGoogle café, chatted a bit, and then he looked at her and jokingly asked, “Why do you hate me?”

Where I had failed repeatedly, Adam broke through. She asked why he would make that joke, whichgave him a chance to explain in a way she was able to hear.

Unfortunately, our sense of humor sometimes fails us when we need it most. When I get emotional,it’s very hard for me to treat a problem lightly. I had been at Google about three months when anuncomfortable situation erupted. I had started at the company reporting to Eric Schmidt but wastransitioning to work for Omid Kordestani. During that process, Omid and I had a majormisunderstanding. I went to discuss it with him, intending to explain calmly why I was upset, but assoon as I started talking, I burst into tears. I was horrified to be crying in front of my new boss whom Ibarely knew—which just made more tears flow. But I got lucky. Omid was patient and reassuring,insisting, “Everyone gets upset at work. It’s okay.”

Most women believe—and research suggests—that it is not a good idea to cry at work.

It is neversomething that I plan to do and is hardly recommended in The Seven Habits of Highly EffectivePeople, but on those rare occasions when I have felt really frustrated, or worse, betrayed, tears havefilled my eyes. Even as I have gotten older and more experienced, it still happens every so often.

I had been working at Facebook for almost a year when I learned that someone had said somethingabout me that was not just false, but cruel. I started telling Mark about it and, despite my best efforts,started to cry. He assured me that the accusation was so untrue that no one could possibly believe it.

And then he asked, “Do you want a hug?” I did. It was a breakthrough moment for us. I felt closer tohim than ever before. I then recounted this story publicly, figuring that it might make it easier forothers who have faced unwanted tears. The press reported the incident as “Sheryl Sandberg cried onMark Zuckerberg’s shoulder,” which is not exactly what happened. What happened was that Iexpressed my feelings and Mark responded with compassion.

Sharing emotions builds deeper relationships. Motivation comes from working on things we careabout. It also comes from working with people we care about. To really care about others, we have tounderstand them—what they like and dislike, what they feel as well as think. Emotion drives both menand women and influences every decision we make. Recognizing the role emotions play and beingwilling to discuss them makes us better managers, partners, and peers.

I did not always understand this. I used to think that being professional meant being organized andfocused and keeping my personal life separate. Early on at Google, Omid and I would have a one-on-one meeting each week. I would enter his office with a typed agenda and get right to it. I thought I wasbeing so efficient, but my colleague Tim Armstrong (who later became CEO of AOL) kindly pulledme aside one day to give me some advice. He told me that I should take a moment to connect withOmid before diving in. Since Omid and I were the only people in those meetings, it was clear who hadmentioned this to Tim. I made the adjustment and started asking Omid how he was before leaping intomy to-do list. It was a good lesson. An all-business approach is not always good business.

It has been an evolution, but I am now a true believer in bringing our whole selves to work. I nolonger think people have a professional self for Mondays through Fridays and a real self for the rest ofthe time. That type of separation probably never existed, and in today’s era of individual expression,where people constantly update their Facebook status and tweet their every move, it makes even lesssense. Instead of putting on some kind of fake “all-work persona,” I think we benefit from expressingour truth, talking about personal situations, and acknowledging that professional decisions are oftenemotionally driven. I should have learned this lesson years earlier. When I was graduating frombusiness school in 1995, Larry Summers offered me a job at Treasury. I wanted the job desperately,but there was an issue: I did not want to move back to D.C., where my soon-to-be ex-husband lived.

One of the hardest calls I’ve ever had to make was to tell Larry that I could not accept the job. Larrypressed me on why, and I thought about telling him that I really wanted to try consulting in LosAngeles. Instead, I opened up. I explained that I was getting divorced and wanted to move far awayfrom D.C., which held too many painful memories. Larry argued that it was a big city, but it didn’tseem big enough for me. A year later, when enough time had passed and I felt ready to return to D.C.,I called Larry and asked if the opportunity was still available. It was one of the easiest calls I haveever made, in part because I had been honest the year before. If I had told Larry that I was passing onthe job for professional reasons, I would have appeared impulsive when I reversed that decision. Sincethe real reason was personal, sharing it honestly was the best thing to do.

People often pretend that professional decisions are not affected by their personal lives. They areafraid to talk about their home situations at work as if one should never interfere with the other, whenof course they can and do. I know many women who won’t discuss their children at work out of fearthat their priorities will be questioned. I hope this won’t always be the case.

My sister-in-law, Amy Schefler, had a college roommate, Abby Hemani, who is a partner in one ofBoston’s most prestigious law firms. The line between personal and professional was erased for Abbywhen her seven-month-old daughter was diagnosed with Dravet syndrome, a rare and severe form ofepilepsy. Abby explained that her mostly male partners got used to seeing her cry at the office andtheir response was heartwarming. “It was as if they envisioned me as one of their own daughters andwanted to comfort me,” she said. Abby insists that her public emotion improved her work situationboth by turning her colleagues into a source of support and by leading to more flexible hours. “I knowseveral men at my firm who have had similar experiences with sick children, but they didn’t feel theycould be as forthcoming as I was,” she said. “So, in the end, I think my female manner of relatingserved me well.”

Not every workplace and every colleague will be as generous and caring. But I do think we aremoving toward at least blurring the line between personal and professional. Increasingly, prominentthinkers in the field of leadership studies like Marcus Buckingham are challenging traditional notionsof leadership. Their research suggests that presenting leadership as a list of carefully defined qualities(like strategic, analytical, and performance-oriented) no longer holds. Instead, true leadership stemsfrom individuality that is honestly and sometimes imperfectly expressed.

They believe leaders shouldstrive for authenticity over perfection. This shift is good news for women, who often feel obliged tosuppress their emotions in the workplace in an attempt to come across as more stereotypically male.

And it’s also good news for men, who may be doing the exact same thing.

I had the opportunity to see the power of authentic communication in a leader firsthand when Iserved on the board of Starbucks. Howard Schultz was CEO of Starbucks from 1987 through 2000,and during his tenure, the company grew from just a few stores into a global retail powerhouse.

Howard stepped down as CEO in 2000, and over the next eight years Starbucks’ performance faltered.

When Howard returned as CEO in 2008, he held a meeting with all of the company’s global managersin New Orleans. He openly admitted that the company was in serious trouble. Then he allowed hisemotions to show, tearing up as he confessed that he felt that he had let down his employees and theirfamilies. The entire company rose to the challenge. Starbucks turned around and delivered its highestrevenue and earnings a few years later.

Maybe someday shedding tears in the workplace will no longer be viewed as embarrassing or weak,but as a simple display of authentic emotion. And maybe the compassion and sensitivity that havehistorically held some women back will make them more natural leaders in the future. In themeantime, we can all hasten this change by committing ourselves to both seek—and speak—our truth.
Chapter 7 Don’t Leave Before You Leave
　　A FEW YEARS AGO, a young woman at Facebook came to my desk and asked if she could speak to meprivately. We headed into a conference room, where she began firing off questions about how Ibalance work and family. As the questions came faster and faster, I started to wonder about herurgency. I interrupted to ask if she had a child. She said no, but she liked to plan ahead. I inquired ifshe and her partner were considering having a child. She replied that she did not have a husband, thenadded with a little laugh, “Actually, I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

It seemed to me that she was jumping the gun—big time—but I understood why. From an early age,girls get the message that they will have to choose between succeeding at work and being a goodmother. By the time they are in college, women are already thinking about the trade-offs they willmake between professional and personal goals.

When asked to choose between marriage and career,female college students are twice as likely to choose marriage as their male classmates.

And thisconcern can start even younger. Peggy Orenstein, the author of Cinderella Ate My Daughter, relatedthe story of a five-year-old girl who came home distraught from her after-school program and told hermother that both she and the boy she had a crush on wanted to be astronauts. When her mother askedwhy that was a problem, the little girl replied, “When we go into space together, who will watch ourkids?” At five, she thought the most challenging aspect of space travel would be dependable childcare.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m a big believer in thoughtful preparation. Everywhere I go, I carry a littlenotebook with my to-do list—an actual notebook that I write in with an actual pen. (In the tech world,this is like carrying a stone tablet and chisel.) But when it comes to integrating career and family,planning too far in advance can close doors rather than open them. I have seen this happen over andover. Women rarely make one big decision to leave the workforce. Instead, they make a lot of smalldecisions along the way, making accommodations and sacrifices that they believe will be required tohave a family. Of all the ways women hold themselves back, perhaps the most pervasive is that theyleave before they leave.

The classic scenario unfolds like this. An ambitious and successful woman heads down achallenging career path with the thought of having children in the back of her mind. At some point,this thought moves to the front of her mind, typically once she finds a partner. The woman considershow hard she is working and reasons that to make room for a child she will have to scale back. A lawassociate might decide not to shoot for partner because someday she hopes to have a family. A teachermight pass on leading curriculum development for her school. A sales representative might take asmaller territory or not apply for a management role. Often without even realizing it, the woman stopsreaching for new opportunities. If any are presented to her, she is likely to decline or offer the kind ofhesitant “yes” that gets the project assigned to someone else. The problem is that even if she were toget pregnant immediately, she still has nine months before she has to care for an actual child. Andsince women usually start this mental preparation well before trying to conceive, several years oftenpass between the thought and conception, let alone birth. In the case of my Facebook questioner, itmight even be a decade.

By the time the baby arrives, the woman is likely to be in a drastically different place in her careerthan she would have been had she not leaned back. Before, she was a top performer, on par with herpeers in responsibility, opportunity, and pay. By not finding ways to stretch herself in the yearsleading up to motherhood, she has fallen behind. When she returns to the workplace after her child isborn, she is likely to feel less fulfilled, underutilized, or unappreciated. She may wonder why she isworking for someone (usually a man) who has less experience than she does. Or she may wonder whyshe does not have the exciting new project or the corner office. At this point, she probably scales herambitions back even further since she no longer believes that she can get to the top. And if she has thefinancial resources to leave her job, she is more likely to do so.

The more satisfied a person is with her position, the less likely she is to leave.

So the irony—and,to me, the tragedy—is that women wind up leaving the workforce precisely because of things they didto stay in the workforce. With the best of intentions, they end up in a job that is less fulfilling and lessengaging. When they finally have a child, the choice—for those who have one—is between becominga stay-at-home mother or returning to a less-than-appealing professional situation.

Joanna Strober, co-author of Getting to 50/50, credits a compelling job for her decision to return tothe workforce after becoming a mother. “When I first started working, there were lots of scary storiesabout female executives who ignored their kids or weren’t home enough,” she told me. “Everyone inour office talked about one executive whose daughter supposedly told her that when she grew up shewanted to be a client because they got all the attention. I found these stories so depressing that I gaveup before even really starting down the partner track. However, when five years later I was in a job Ireally loved, I found myself wanting to return to work after a few weeks of maternity leave. I realizedthose executives weren’t scary at all. Like me, they loved their kids a lot. And, like me, they alsoloved their jobs.”

There are many powerful reasons to exit the workforce. Being a stay-at-home parent is a wonderful,and often necessary, choice for many people. Not every parent needs, wants, or should be expected towork outside the home. In addition, we do not control all of the factors that influence us, including thehealth of our children. Plus, many people welcome the opportunity to get out of the rat race. No oneshould pass judgment on these highly personal decisions. I fully support any man or woman whodedicates his or her life to raising the next generation. It is important and demanding and joyful work.

What I am arguing is that the time to scale back is when a break is needed or when a child arrives—not before, and certainly not years in advance. The months and years leading up to having children arenot the time to lean back, but the critical time to lean in.

Several years ago, I approached an employee at Facebook to manage an important new project. Sheseemed flattered at first but then became noticeably hesitant. She told me that she wasn’t sure sheshould take on more responsibility. Obviously, something else was going on, so I quietly asked, “Areyou worried about taking this on because you’re considering having a child sometime soon?” A fewyears earlier, I would have been afraid to ask this question. Managers are not supposed to factorchildbearing plans into account in hiring or management decisions. Raising this topic in the workplacewould give most employment lawyers a heart attack. But after watching so many talented women passon opportunities for unspoken reasons, I started addressing this issue directly. I always give people theoption of not answering, but so far, every woman I have asked has appeared grateful for a chance todiscuss the subject. I also make it clear that I am only asking for one reason: to make sure they aren’tlimiting their options unnecessarily.

In 2009, we were recruiting Priti Choksi to join Facebook’s business development team. After weextended an offer, she came in to ask some follow-up questions about the role. She did not mentionlifestyle or hours, but she was the typical age when women have children. So as we were wrapping up,I went for it. “If you think you might not take this job because you want to have a child soon, I amhappy to talk about this.” I figured if she didn’t want to discuss it, she would just keep heading for thedoor. Instead, she turned around, sat back down, and said, “Let’s talk.” I explained that although itwas counterintuitive, right before having a child can actually be a great time to take a new job. If shefound her new role challenging and rewarding, she’d be more excited to return to it after giving birth.

If she stayed put, she might decide that her job was not worth the sacrifice. Priti accepted our offer. Bythe time she started at Facebook, she was already expecting. Eight months later, she had her baby,took four months off, and came back to a job she loved. She later told me that if I had not raised thetopic, she would have turned us down.

Like so many women, Caroline O’Connor believed that someday she’d have to choose betweencareer and family. That day came sooner than she expected. Caroline was finishing up at Stanford’sInstitute of Design when she was offered the chance to start a company at the same time that shelearned she was pregnant. Her knee-jerk reaction was to think that she could not do both. But then shedecided to question this assumption. “I began thinking of my dilemma as I would a design challenge,”

O’Connor wrote. “Rather than accepting that launching a successful start-up and having a baby areutterly incompatible, I framed it as a question and then set about using tools I’ve developed as adesigner to begin forming an answer.” O’Connor gathered data from dozens of mothers about theirexperiences and coping mechanisms. She did fieldwork on sleep deprivation by taking a night shiftwith foster infants. She concluded that with a team culture that drew support from her husband andfriends, it would be possible to proceed with both. O’Connor now refers to herself as “a career-lovingparent,” a nice alternative to “working mom.”

Given life’s variables, I would never recommend that every woman lean in regardless ofcircumstances. There have been times when I chose not to. In the summer of 2006, a tiny start-upcalled LinkedIn was looking for a new CEO, and Reid Hoffman, LinkedIn’s founder, reached out tome. I thought it was a great opportunity, and after five years in the same position at Google I wasready for a new challenge. But the timing was tricky. I was thirty-seven years old and wanted to havea second child. I told Reid the truth: regrettably, I had to pass because I didn’t think I could handleboth a pregnancy and a new job. His reaction was incredibly kind and supportive. He tried to talk meinto it, even volunteering to work full-time at the company to support me during that period, but it washard to see a path through.

For some women, pregnancy does not slow them down at all, but rather serves to focus them andprovides a firm deadline to work toward. My childhood friend Elise Scheck looks back fondly onbeing pregnant, saying she has never felt so productive. She not only worked her usual hours as anattorney but organized her house and put five years of photos into albums. For others, like me,pregnancy is very difficult, making it impossible to be as effective as normal. I tried writing e-mailswhile hovering over the toilet, but the situation didn’t lend itself to effective multitasking. Because Ihad already been through this with my first pregnancy, I knew what I was in for. I turned down Reid’soffer and got pregnant—and extremely nauseated—a few months later.

Any regrets I had about not taking that job evaporated when, about seven months after my daughterwas born, Mark offered me the opportunity to join Facebook. The timing was still not ideal. As manypeople had warned, and I quickly discovered to be true, having two children was more than double thework of having one. I was not looking for new challenges but simply trying to get through each day.

Still, Dave and I recognized that if I waited until the timing was exactly right, the opportunity wouldbe gone. My decision to take the job was personal, as these decisions always are. And there were daysin my first six months at Facebook when I wondered whether I’d made the right choice. By the end ofmy first year, I knew I had … for me.

The birth of a child instantly changes how we define ourselves. Women become mothers. Menbecome fathers. Couples become parents. Our priorities shift in fundamental ways. Parenting may bethe most rewarding experience, but it is also the hardest and most humbling. If there were a right wayto raise kids, everyone would do it. Clearly, that is not the case.

One of the immediate questions new parents face is who will provide primary care for a child. Thehistorical choice has been the mother. Breast-feeding alone has made this both the logical and thebiological choice. But the advent of the modern-day breast pump has changed the equation. AtGoogle, I would lock my office door and pump during conference calls. People would ask, “What’sthat sound?” I would respond, “What sound?” When they would insist that there was a loud beepingnoise that they could hear on the phone, I would say, “Oh, there’s a fire truck across the street.” Ithought I was pretty clever until I realized that others on the call were sometimes in the same buildingand knew there was no fire truck. Busted.

Despite modern methods that can minimize the impact of biological imperatives, women still do thevast majority of child care. As a result, becoming a parent decreases workforce participation forwomen but not men.

Forty-three percent of highly qualified women with children are leaving careers,or “off-ramping,” for a period of time.

Women who are the most likely to leave the workforce are concentrated at opposite ends of theearning scale, married to men who earn the least and the most. In 2006, only 20 percent of motherswhose husband’s earnings landed in the middle (between the twenty-fifth and seventy-fifthpercentiles) were out of the labor force. In contrast, a whopping 52 percent of mothers with husbandsin the bottom quarter and 40 percent of mothers with husbands in the top 5 percent were out of thelabor force.

Obviously, their reasons for staying home are vastly different. Mothers married to thelowest-earning men struggle to find jobs that pay enough to cover child care costs, which areincreasingly unaffordable. Over the past decade, child care costs have risen twice as fast as the medianincome of families with children.

The cost for two children (an infant and a four-year-old) to go to aday care center is greater than the annual median rent payment in every state in the country.

Women married to men with greater resources leave for a variety of reasons, but one importantfactor is the number of hours that their husbands work. When husbands work fifty or more hours perweek, wives with children are 44 percent more likely to quit their jobs than wives with children whosehusbands work less.

Many of these mothers are those with the highest levels of education. A 2007survey of Harvard Business School alumni found that while men’s rates of full-time employmentnever fell below 91 percent, only 81 percent of women who graduated in the early 2000s and 49percent of women who graduated in the early 1990s were working full-time.

Of Yale alumni whohad reached their forties by 2000, only 56 percent of the women remained in the workforce, comparedwith 90 percent of the men.

This exodus of highly educated women is a major contributor to theleadership gap.

While it’s hard to predict how an individual will react to becoming a parent, it’s easy to predictsociety’s reaction. When a couple announces that they are having a baby, everyone says“Congratulations!” to the man and “Congratulations! What are you planning on doing about work?” tothe woman. The broadly held assumption is that raising their child is her responsibility. In more thanthirty years, this perception has changed very little. A survey of the Princeton class of 1975 found that54 percent of the women foresaw work-family conflict compared to 26 percent of the men. The samesurvey of the Princeton class of 2006 found that 62 percent of the women anticipated work-familyconflict compared to only 33 percent of the men. Three decades separate the studies and still nearlytwice as many women as men enter the workforce anticipating this stumbling block. Even in 2006, 46percent of the men who anticipated this conflict expected their spouse to step off her career track toraise their children. Only 5 percent of the women believed their spouse would alter his career toaccommodate their child.

Personal choices are not always as personal as they appear. We are all influenced by socialconventions, peer pressure, and familial expectations. On top of these forces, women who can affordto drop out of the workplace often receive not just permission but encouragement to do so from alldirections.

Imagine that a career is like a marathon—a long, grueling, and ultimately rewarding endeavor. Nowimagine a marathon where both men and women arrive at the starting line equally fit and trained. Thegun goes off. The men and women run side by side. The male marathoners are routinely cheered on:

“Lookin’ strong! On your way!” But the female runners hear a different message. “You know youdon’t have to do this!” the crowd shouts. Or “Good start—but you probably won’t want to finish.” Thefarther the marathoners run, the louder the cries grow for the men: “Keep going! You’ve got this!” Butthe women hear more and more doubts about their efforts. External voices, and often their owninternal voice, repeatedly question their decision to keep running. The voices can even grow hostile.

As the women struggle to endure the rigors of the race, spectators shout, “Why are you running whenyour children need you at home?”

Back in 1997, Debi Hemmeter was a rising executive at Sara Lee who aspired to someday lead amajor corporation like her role model, Pepsi-Cola North America CEO Brenda Barnes. Even afterstarting a family, Debi continued to pursue her career at full speed. Then one day when Debi was on abusiness trip, she opened her hotel door to find USA Today with the startling headline “Pepsi ChiefTrades Work for Family.” The subhead elaborated: “22-Year Veteran Got Burned Out.” In thatmoment, Debi said she felt her own ambitions shift. As Debi told me, “It seemed like if thisextraordinary woman couldn’t make it work, who could? Soon after, I was offered a big job at a bankand I turned it down because my daughter was just a year old and I didn’t think I could do it. Almost adecade later, I took a similar job and did it well, but I lost a decade. I actually saved that clipping andstill have it today. It’s a reminder of what I don’t want another generation to go through.”

If a female marathoner can ignore the shouts of the crowd and get past the tough middle of the race,she will often hit her stride. Years ago, I met an investment banker in New York whose husbandworked in public service. She told me that over the years all of her female friends in banking quit, butbecause she was her family’s primary breadwinner, she had to stick it out. There were days when shewas jealous and wished she could leave, days when there was just too much to do or too much crap toput up with. But she did not have that option. Eventually, she landed in a position that had less crapand more impact. Now when she looks back, she is glad that even in the hard times, she continued inher career. Today, she has a close relationship with her children and now that they have grown up andmoved away, she’s especially grateful to have a fulfilling job.

Although pundits and politicians, usually male, often claim that motherhood is the most importantand difficult work of all, women who take time out of the workforce pay a big career penalty. Only 74percent of professional women will rejoin the workforce in any capacity, and only 40 percent willreturn to full-time jobs.

Those who do rejoin will often see their earnings decrease dramatically.

Controlling for education and hours worked, women’s average annual earnings decrease by 20 percentif they are out of the workforce for just one year.

Average annual earnings decline by 30 percent aftertwo to three years,which is the average amount of time that professional women off-ramp from theworkforce.

If society truly valued the work of caring for children, companies and institutions wouldfind ways to reduce these steep penalties and help parents combine career and family responsibilities.

All too often rigid work schedules, lack of paid family leave, and expensive or undependable childcare derail women’s best efforts. Governmental and company policies such as paid personal time off,affordable high-quality child care, and flexible work practices would serve families, and society, well.

One miscalculation that some women make is to drop out early in their careers because their salarybarely covers the cost of child care. Child care is a huge expense, and it’s frustrating to work hard justto break even. But professional women need to measure the cost of child care against their futuresalary rather than their current salary. Anna Fieler describes becoming a mom at thirty-two as “thetime when the rubber hit the road.” A rising star in marketing, Anna was concerned that her after-taxsalary barely covered her child care expenses. “With husbands often making more than wives, itseems like higher ROI to just invest in his career,” she told me. But she thought about all the time andmoney she had already invested in her career and didn’t see how walking away made economic senseeither. So she made what she called “a leap of blind faith” and stayed in the workforce. Years later,her income is many times greater than when she almost withdrew. Wisely, Anna and other womenhave started to think of paying for child care as a way of investing in their families’ future. As theyears go by, compensation often increases. Flexibility typically increases, too, as senior leaders oftenhave more control over their hours and schedules.

And what about men who want to leave the workforce? If we make it too easy for women to dropout of the career marathon, we also make it too hard for men. Just as women feel that they bear theprimary responsibility of caring for their children, many men feel that they bear the primaryresponsibility of supporting their families financially. Their self-worth is tied mainly to theirprofessional success, and they frequently believe that they have no choice but to finish that marathon.

Choosing to leave a child in someone else’s care and return to work is a difficult decision. Anyparent who has done this, myself included, knows how heart wrenching it can be. Only a compelling,challenging, and rewarding job will begin to make that choice a fair contest. And even after a choice ismade, parents have every right to reassess along the way.

Anyone lucky enough to have options should keep them open. Don’t enter the workforce alreadylooking for the exit. Don’t put on the brakes. Accelerate. Keep a foot on the gas pedal until a decisionmust be made. That’s the only way to ensure that when that day comes, there will be a real decision tomake.
Chapter 8 Make Your Partner a Real Partner
BEING A MOTHER has been an amazing experience for me. Giving birth was not. After nine months ofserious nausea, I could not wait to move on to the next phase. Unfortunately, my son was in no suchrush. When my due date arrived, my OB decided I should be induced. My parents and my sister,Michelle, joined me and Dave at the hospital. Some say it takes a village to raise a child, but in mycase, it took a village just to get the child out of me. My hours in labor went on … and on … and on.

For my supporters, excitement gave way to boredom. At one point, I needed help through acontraction but couldn’t get anyone’s attention because they were all on the other side of the room,showing family photos to my doctor. It has been a running joke in my family that it’s hard to holdanyone’s attention for too long. Labor was no exception to that rule.

After three and half hours of pushing, my son finally emerged, weighing nine pounds, sevenounces. Half of that weight was in his head. My sister is a pediatrician and has attended hundreds ofdeliveries. She kindly did not tell me until much later that mine was one of the hardest she had everwitnessed. It was all worth it when my son was pronounced healthy and the nausea that I had felt fornine straight months vanished within an hour. The worst was over.

The next morning, I got out of bed in my hospital room, took one step, and fell to the floor.

Apparently I had yanked my leg back so hard during labor that I had pulled a tendon. I was oncrutches for a week. Being unable to stand added a degree of difficulty to my first week ofmotherhood but also provided one unforeseen benefit: Dave became the primary caregiver for ournewborn. Dave had to get up when the baby cried, bring him to me to be fed, change him, and then gethim back to sleep. Normally, the mother becomes the instant baby care expert. In our case, Davetaught me how to change a diaper when our son was eight days old. If Dave and I had planned this, wewould have been geniuses. But we didn’t and we aren’t.

In fact, we should have planned a lot more. When I was six months pregnant, a Ph.D. candidateinterviewed me by phone for her dissertation on working couples. She began by asking, “How do youdo it all?” I said, “I don’t. I don’t even have a child,” and suggested that she interview someone whoactually did. She said, “You’re just a few months away from having a baby, so surely you and yourhusband have thought about who is going to pick up your child if he is sick at school? Who is going toarrange for child care?” And so on. I couldn’t answer a single one of her questions. By the end of thecall, I was in full panic, overwhelmed by how truly unprepared Dave and I were to handle theseresponsibilities. As soon as Dave walked in the door that night, I pounced. “Ohmigod!” I said. “Weare just a few months away from having a baby, and we have never talked about any of this!” Davelooked at me like I was crazy. “What?” he said. “This is all we talk about.”

In dissecting this discrepancy, Dave and I figured out that we had spent a lot of time talking abouthow we would do things, but almost always in the abstract. So Dave was right that we had discussedparenthood often, and I was right that the discussion had not been that practical. Part of the problemwas that our inexperience made it hard even to know what specifics to cover. We had very little ideawhat we were in for.

I also think that we were in denial about the tremendous shift in our lives that was rapidlyapproaching. Dave and I were not even working in the same city when I got pregnant (although just tobe clear, we were in the same place when I got pregnant). Dave had founded a company, LaunchMedia, in L.A. and sold it to Yahoo years earlier. Yahoo’s headquarters were in Northern California,where I lived and worked, but Dave’s team remained in Los Angeles, where he lived and worked.

When we started dating, we decided to base our life together in the Bay Area, so Dave begancommuting, typically spending Monday through Thursday in Southern California and then flyingnorth to spend weekends with me. This pattern continued even after we were married.

After the birth of our son, Dave began flying back and forth several times a week. It was great thatwe had the ability for him to commute, but it was far from ideal. Even though he was making anexhausting effort to be with me and our baby, he was still gone a lot. Since I was with the baby full-time, the great majority of child care fell to me. The division of labor felt uneven and strained ourmarriage. We hired a nanny, but she couldn’t solve all our problems; the emotional support and sharedexperience that a spouse provides cannot be bought. After a few short months of parenthood, we hadalready fallen into traditional, lopsided gender roles.

We were not unique. In the last thirty years, women have made more progress in the workforce thanin the home. According to the most recent analysis, when a husband and wife both are employed full-time, the mother does 40 percent more child care and about 30 percent more housework than thefather.

A 2009 survey found that only 9 percent of people in dual-earner marriages said that theyshared housework, child care, and breadwinning evenly.

So while men are taking on more householdresponsibilities, this increase is happening very slowly, and we are still far from parity.

(Perhapsunsurprisingly, same-sex couples divide household tasks much more evenly.)Public policy reinforces this gender bias. The U.S. Census Bureau considers mothers the“designated parent,” even when both parents are present in the home.

When mothers care for theirchildren, it’s “parenting,” but when fathers care for their children, the government deems it a “childcare arrangement.”

I have even heard a few men say that they are heading home to “babysit” for theirchildren. I have never heard a woman refer to taking care of her own children as “babysitting.” Afriend of mine ran a team-building exercise during a company retreat where people were asked to fillin their hobbies. Half of the men in the group listed “their children” as hobbies. A hobby? For mostmothers, kids are not a hobby. Showering is a hobby.

My friends Katie and Scott Mitic flip this pattern. Katie and Scott are both Silicon Valleyentrepreneurs who work full-time. About a year ago, Scott traveled to the East Coast for work. He wasstarting a late-morning meeting when his phone rang. His team only heard one side of theconversation. “A sandwich, carrot sticks, a cut-up apple, pretzels, and a cookie,” Scott said. He hungup smiling and explained that his wife was asking what she should put in the kids’ lunch boxes.

Everyone laughed. A few months later, Scott was back east with the same work colleagues. They werein a cab late that morning when Scott’s phone rang. His team listened in disbelief as he patientlyrepeated the lunch list all over again: “A sandwich, carrot sticks, a cut-up apple, pretzels, and acookie.”

When Scott tells this story, it’s sweet and funny. But take this same story and switch the gendersand it loses its charm. That’s just reality for most couples. Scott and Katie buck expectations with theirdivision of household duties. There’s an epilogue to their story. Scott went on a third trip anddiscovered that Katie forgot to make the kids’ lunches altogether. She realized her slipup midmorningand solved the problem by having a pizza delivered to the school cafeteria. Their kids were thrilled,but Scott was not. Now when he travels, he packs lunches in advance and leaves notes with specificinstructions for his wife.

There may be an evolutionary basis for one parent knowing better what to put in a child’s lunch.

Women who breast-feed are arguably baby’s first lunch box. But even if mothers are more naturallyinclined toward nurturing, fathers can match that skill with knowledge and effort. If women want tosucceed more at work and if men want to succeed more at home, these expectations have to bechallenged. As Gloria Steinem once observed, “It’s not about biology, but about consciousness.”

We overcome biology with consciousness in other areas. For example, storing large amounts of fatwas necessary to survive when food was scarce, so we evolved to crave it and consume it when it’savailable. But in this era of plenty, we no longer need large amounts of fuel in reserve, so instead ofsimply giving in to this inclination, we exercise and limit caloric intake. We use willpower to combatbiology, or at least we try. So even if “mother knows best” is rooted in biology, it need not be writtenin stone. A willing mother and a willing father are all it requires. Yes, someone needs to rememberwhat goes into the lunch box, but as Katie will attest, it does not have to be Mom.

As women must be more empowered at work, men must be more empowered at home. I have seenso many women inadvertently discourage their husbands from doing their share by being toocontrolling or critical. Social scientists call this “maternal gatekeeping,” which is a fancy term for“Ohmigod, that’s not the way you do it! Just move aside and let me!”

When it comes to children,fathers often take their cues from mothers. This gives a mother great power to encourage or impedethe father’s involvement. If she acts as a gatekeeper mother and is reluctant to hand overresponsibility, or worse, questions the father’s efforts, he does less.

Whenever a married woman asks me for advice on coparenting with a husband, I tell her to let himput the diaper on the baby any way he wants as long as he’s doing it himself. And if he gets up to dealwith the diaper before being asked, she should smile even if he puts that diaper on the baby’s head.

Over time, if he does things his way, he’ll find the correct end. But if he’s forced to do things her way,pretty soon she’ll be doing them herself.

Anyone who wants her mate to be a true partner must treat him as an equal—and equally capable—partner. And if that’s not reason enough, bear in mind that a study found that wives who engage ingatekeeping behaviors do five more hours of family work per week than wives who take a morecollaborative approach.

Another common and counterproductive dynamic occurs when women assign or suggest tasks totheir partners. She is delegating, and that’s a step in the right direction. But sharing responsibilityshould mean sharing responsibility. Each partner needs to be in charge of specific activities or itbecomes too easy for one to feel like he’s doing a favor instead of doing his part.

Like many pieces of advice, letting a partner take responsibility and do his share in his own way iseasy to say and hard to do. My brother, David, and sister-in-law, Amy, were very aware of this tensionwhen they first became parents. “There were many times when our daughter was more easily consoledby me,” Amy said. “It’s really hard to listen to your baby cry while your struggling husband with nobreasts tries desperately and sometimes awkwardly to comfort her. David was insistent that rather thanhanding the baby to me when she was crying, we allow him to comfort her even if it took longer. Itwas harder in the short run, but it absolutely paid off when our daughter learned that Daddy could takecare of her as well as Mommy.”

I truly believe that the single most important career decision that a woman makes is whether shewill have a life partner and who that partner is. I don’t know of one woman in a leadership positionwhose life partner is not fully—and I mean fully—supportive of her career. No exceptions. Andcontrary to the popular notion that only unmarried women can make it to the top, the majority of themost successful female business leaders have partners. Of the twenty-eight women who have servedas CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, twenty-six were married, one was divorced, and only one hadnever married.

10Many of these CEOs said they “could not have succeeded without the support of theirhusbands, helping with the children, the household chores, and showing a willingness to move.”

Not surprisingly, a lack of spousal support can have the opposite effect on a career. In a 2007 studyof well-educated professional women who had left the paid workforce, 60 percent cited their husbandsas a critical factor in their decision.

These women specifically listed their husbands’ lack ofparticipation in child care and other domestic tasks and the expectation that wives should be the onesto cut back on employment as reasons for quitting. No wonder when asked at a conference what mencould do to help advance women’s leadership, Harvard Business School professor Rosabeth MossKanter answered, “The laundry.”

Tasks like laundry, food shopping, cleaning, and cooking aremundane and mandatory. Typically, these tasks fall to women.

In January 2012, I received a letter from Ruth Chang, a doctor with two young children who hadseen my TEDTalk. She had been offered a new job overseeing seventy-five doctors in five medicalclinics. Her first instinct was to say no out of concern that she could not handle the expandedresponsibility in addition to taking care of her family. But then she wavered, and in that moment, Dr.

Chang wrote me, “I heard your voice saying, ‘Sit at the table’ and I knew I had to accept thepromotion. So that evening, I told my husband I was taking the job … and then handed him thegrocery list.” Sharing the burden of the mundane can make all the difference.

My career and marriage are inextricably intertwined. During that first year Dave and I were parents,it became clear that balancing two careers and two cities was not adding up to one happy family. Weneeded to make some changes. But what? I loved my job at Google and he felt enormously loyal to histeam in L.A. We struggled through the commuting for another long year of marital less-than-bliss. Bythen, Dave was ready to leave Yahoo. He limited his job search to the San Francisco area, which was asacrifice on his part, since more of his professional interests and contacts were in L.A. He eventuallybecame CEO of SurveyMonkey and was able to move the company headquarters from Portland to theBay Area.

Once we were in the same city, it still took us some time to figure out how to coordinate our workschedules. Even though Dave and I are extraordinarily fortunate and can afford exceptional child care,there are still difficult and painful decisions about how much time our jobs require us to be away fromour family and who will pick up the slack. We sit down at the beginning of every week and figure outwhich one of us will drive our children to school each day. We both try to be home for dinner as manynights as we can. (At dinner, we go around the table and share the best and worst event from our day; Irefrain from saying so, but my best is usually being home for dinner in the first place.) If one of us isscheduled to be away, the other almost always arranges to be home. On weekends, I try to focuscompletely on my kids (although I have been known to sneak off a few e-mails from the bathroom ofthe local soccer field).

Like all marriages, ours is a work in progress. Dave and I have had our share of bumps on our pathto achieving a roughly fifty-fifty split. After a lot of effort and seemingly endless discussion, we arepartners not just in what we do, but in who is in charge. Each of us makes sure that things that need toget done do indeed get done. Our division of household chores is actually pretty traditional. Dave paysbills, handles our finances, provides tech support. I schedule the kids’ activities, make sure there isfood in the fridge, plan the birthday parties. Sometimes I’m bothered by this classic gender division oflabor. Am I perpetuating stereotypes by falling into these patterns? But I would rather plan a Dora theExplorer party than pay an insurance bill, and since Dave feels the exact opposite, this arrangementworks for us. It takes continual communication, honesty, and a lot of forgiveness to maintain a ricketybalance. We are never at fifty-fifty at any given moment—perfect equality is hard to define orsustain—but we allow the pendulum to swing back and forth between us.

In the coming years, our balancing act may get harder. Our children are still young and go to sleepearly, which gives me plenty of time to work at night and even to watch what Dave considers to betruly bad TV. As the kids get older, we will have to adjust. Many of my friends have told me thatteenage children require more time from their parents. Every stage of life has its challenges.

Fortunately, I have Dave to figure it out with me. He’s the best partner I could imagine—even thoughhe’s wrong about my TV shows being bad.

Having a true partner like Dave is still far too rare. While we expect women to be nurturing, wedon’t have the same expectations of men. My brother, David, once told me about a colleague whobragged about playing soccer the afternoon that his first child was born. To David’s credit, instead ofnodding and smiling, he spoke up and explained that he didn’t think that was either cool orimpressive. This opinion needs to be voiced loudly and repeatedly on soccer fields, in workplaces, andin homes.

My brother had a wonderful role model in my father, who was an engaged and active parent. Likemost men of his generation, my father did very little domestic work, but unlike most men of hisgeneration, he was happy to change diapers and give baths. He was home for dinner every night, sincehis ophthalmology practice required no travel and involved few emergencies. He coached mybrother’s and sister’s sports teams (and would have happily coached mine if I had been the slightestbit coordinated). He helped me with my homework regularly and was my most enthusiastic fan when Iparticipated in oratory contests.

Studies from around the world have concluded that children benefit greatly from paternalinvolvement. Research over the last forty years has consistently found that in comparison to childrenwith less-involved fathers, children with involved and loving fathers have higher levels ofpsychological well-being and better cognitive abilities.

When fathers provide even just routine childcare, children have higher levels of educational and economic achievement and lower delinquencyrates.

Their children even tend to be more empathetic and socially competent.

These findings holdtrue for children from all socioeconomic backgrounds, whether or not the mother is highly involved.

We all need to encourage men to lean in to their families. Unfortunately, traditional gender roles arereinforced not just by individuals, but also by employment policies. Most companies in the UnitedStates offer more time off for maternity than paternity leave, and men take far fewer extended breaksfrom work for family reasons.

Our laws support this double standard. In the United States, only fivestates provide any income replacement for the care of a new baby (which is a large problem in and ofitself). In three of these states, this benefit is only offered to mothers and is characterized as apregnancy disability benefit. Only two states offer a paid family leave benefit that fathers can use.

Ingeneral, fathers do not take much time off for a new child; a survey of fathers in the corporate sectorfound that the vast majority took off one week or less when their partners gave birth, hardly enoughtime to start out as an equal parent.

I’m proud that even before I arrived, Facebook offered equal timefor maternity and paternity leave.

When family friendly benefits like paternity leave or reduced work hours are offered, both male andfemale employees often worry that if they take advantage of these programs, they will be seen asuncommitted to their jobs. And for good reason. Employees who use these benefits often face steeppenalties ranging from substantial pay cuts to lost promotions to marginalization.

Both men andwomen can be penalized at work for prioritizing family, but men may pay an even higher price.

When male employees take a leave of absence or just leave work early to care for a sick child, theycan face negative consequences that range from being teased to receiving lower performance ratings toreducing their chance for a raise or promotion.

Fathers who want to drop out of the workforce entirely and devote themselves to child care can faceextremely negative social pressure. Currently, fathers make up less than 4 percent of parents whowork full-time inside the home, and many report that it can be very isolating.

My friend Peter Noonespent several years as a stay-at-home father and found that while people claimed to respect his choice,he did not feel welcomed into the social circles in his neighborhood. As a man at the playground or inthe not-so-tactfully-named “Mommy and Me” classes, strangers viewed him with a certain amount ofdistrust. The friendly and easy connections that the women made were not extended to him.

Timeand again, he was reminded that he was outside the norm.

Gender-specific expectations remain self-fulfilling. The belief that mothers are more committed tofamily than to work penalizes women because employers assume they won’t live up to expectations ofprofessional dedication. The reverse is true for men, who are expected to put their careers first. Wejudge men primarily by their professional success and send them a clear message that personalachievements are insufficient for them to be valued or feel fulfilled. This mind-set leads to a grownman bragging on the soccer field that he left his postpartum wife and newborn at the hospital to gokick a ball.

Making gender matters even worse, men’s success is viewed not just in absolute terms, but often incomparison to their wives’. The image of a happy couple still includes a husband who is moreprofessionally successful than the wife. If the reverse occurs, it’s perceived as threatening to themarriage. People frequently pull me aside to ask sympathetically, “How is Dave? Is he okay with, youknow, all your [whispering] success?” Dave is far more self-confident than I am, and given his ownprofessional success, these comments are easy for him to brush off. More and more men will have todo the same, since almost 30 percent of U.S. working wives now outearn their husbands.

As thatnumber continues to grow, I hope the whispering stops.

Dave and I can laugh off concerns about his supposedly fragile ego, but for many women, this is nolaughing matter. Women face enough barriers to professional success. If they also have to worry thatthey will upset their husbands by succeeding, how can we hope to live in an equal world?

When looking for a life partner, my advice to women is date all of them: the bad boys, the coolboys, the commitment-phobic boys, the crazy boys. But do not marry them. The things that make thebad boys sexy do not make them good husbands. When it comes time to settle down, find someonewho wants an equal partner. Someone who thinks women should be smart, opinionated, andambitious. Someone who values fairness and expects or, even better, wants to do his share in thehome. These men exist and, trust me, over time, nothing is sexier. (If you don’t believe me, check outa fabulous little book called Porn for Women. One page shows a man cleaning a kitchen whileinsisting, “I like to get to these things before I have to be asked.” Another man gets out of bed in themiddle of the night, wondering, “Is that the baby? I’ll get her.”)Kristina Salen, the leader of Fidelity’s media and internet investment group, told me that when shewas dating, she wanted to see how much a boyfriend would support her career, so she devised a test.

She would break a date at the last minute claiming there was a professional conflict and see how theguy would react. If he understood and simply rescheduled, she would go out with him again. WhenKristina wanted to take a relationship to the next level, she gave him another test. While working inemerging markets in the late 1990s, she would invite the guy to visit her for the weekend … in S.oPaulo. It was a great way to find out if he was willing to fit his schedule around hers. The trials paidoff. She found her Mr. Right and they have been happily married for fourteen years. Not only is herhusband, Daniel, completely supportive of her career, he’s also the primary caregiver for their twochildren.

Even after finding the right guy—or gal—no one comes fully formed. I learned from my mother tobe careful about role definition in the beginning of a relationship. Even though my mother did most ofthe household work, my father always vacuumed the floor after dinner. She never had to persuade himto do this chore; it was simply his job from day one. At the start of a romance, it’s tempting for awoman to show a more classic “girlfriendy” side by volunteering to cook meals and take care oferrands. And, suddenly, we’re back in 1955. If a relationship begins in an unequal place, it is likely toget more unbalanced when and if children are added to the equation. Instead, use the beginning of arelationship to establish the division of labor, just as Nora Ephron’s dialogue in When Harry Met Sallyreminds us:

HARRY: You take someone to the airport, it’s clearly the beginning of the relationship. That’s why Ihave never taken anyone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship.

SALLY: Why?

HARRY: Because eventually things move on and you don’t take someone to the airport and I neverwanted anyone to say to me, “How come you never take me to the airport anymore?”

If you want a fifty-fifty partnership, establish that pattern at the outset. A few years ago, MarkZuckerberg and his partner, now wife, Priscilla Chan, made a donation to improve the Newark, NewJersey, public school system and needed someone to run their foundation. I recommended JenHolleran, who had deep knowledge and experience in school reform. She also had fourteen-month-oldtwins and had cut her hours by two-thirds since their birth. Her husband, Andy, is a child psychiatristwho was involved with raising the kids when he was home. But once Jen had reduced her workload,she ended up being responsible for all of the household work, including running errands, paying bills,cooking, and scheduling. When the offer came from Mark and Priscilla, Jen wasn’t sure she was readyto upset the current order by committing to a full-time job with frequent travel. I urged her to set upthe relationship dynamic she wanted sooner rather than later. Jen remembers my suggesting, “If youwant an equal partnership, you should start now.”

Jen and Andy discussed the opportunity and decided she should take the job because of the impactshe could have. And who would pick up the slack? Andy would. He rearranged his work so he couldbe home with the boys each morning and night, and even more when Jen travels. He now pays all thebills and squeezes in grocery runs as much as she does. He cooks and cleans more, knows the detailsof the schedule, and is happy to be the number one, in-demand parent for half the week. A year and ahalf into this new arrangement, Andy told me that he loves his time alone with their boys and theincreased role that he has in their lives. Jen loves her job and is glad that she and her husband nowhave a more equal marriage. “My time is now as valuable as his,” she told me. “As a result, we arehappier.”

Research supports Jen’s observation that equality between partners leads to happier relationships.

When husbands do more housework, wives are less depressed, marital conflicts decrease, andsatisfaction rises.

When women work outside the home and share breadwinning duties, couples aremore likely to stay together. In fact, the risk of divorce reduces by about half when a wife earns halfthe income and a husband does half the housework.

For men, participating in child rearing fosters thedevelopment of patience, empathy, and adaptability, characteristics that benefit all of theirrelationships.

For women, earning money increases their decision-making ability in the home,protects them in case of divorce, and can be important security in later years, as women often outlivetheir husbands.

Also—and many might find this the most motivating factor—couples who sharedomestic responsibilities have more sex.

It may be counterintuitive, but the best way for a man tomake a pass at his wife might be to do the dishes.

I also feel strongly that when a mother stays at home, her time during the day should still beconsidered real work—because it is. Raising children is at least as stressful and demanding as a payingjob. It is unfair that mothers are frequently expected to work long into the night while fathers whowork outside the home get the chance to relax from their day jobs. When the father is home, he shouldtake on half the child care and housework. Also, most employed fathers interact with other grown-upsall day, while mothers at home are often starved for adult conversation by evening. I know a womanwho gave up a career as a lawyer to be a stay-at-home mom and always insisted that when herhusband, a TV writer, got home from work, he asked her, “How was your day?” before he launchedinto an account of his own.

True partnership in our homes does more than just benefit couples today; it also sets the stage forthe next generation. The workplace has evolved more than the home in part because we enter it asadults, so each generation experiences a new dynamic. But the homes we create tend to be morerooted in our childhoods. My generation grew up watching our mothers do the child care andhousework while our fathers earned the wages. It’s too easy for us to get stuck in these patterns. It isno surprise that married and cohabitating men whose mothers were employed while they weregrowing up do more housework as adults than other men.

The sooner we break the cycle, the fasterwe will reach greater equality.

One of the reasons Dave is a true partner is because he grew up in a home where his father set anextraordinary example. Sadly, Dave’s father, Mel, passed away before I had a chance to meet him, buthe clearly was a man way ahead of his time. Mel’s mother worked side by side with her husbandrunning the family’s small grocery store, so Mel grew up accepting women as equals, which wasunusual in those days. As a single man, he became interested in the women’s movement and readBetty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique. He was the one who introduced his wife (and Dave’smother), Paula, to this feminist wake-up call in the 1960s. He encouraged Paula to set up and leadPACER, a national nonprofit to help children with disabilities. A law professor, Mel often taughtclasses at night. Since he wanted the family to have at least one meal together each day, he decided itwould be breakfast and prepared the meal himself, complete with fresh-squeezed orange juice.

A more equal division of labor between parents will model better behavior for the next generation. Ihave heard so many women say that they wished their partners helped more with child care, but sinceit’s only a few more years until their kids are off to school, it’s not worth the battle to change thedynamic. In my opinion, it is always worth the battle to change an undesirable dynamic. I also worrythat these women will face the same dynamic when it comes time to care for aging parents. Womenprovide more than twice as much care not only for their own parents, but for their in-laws as well.

This is an additional burden that needs to be shared. And children need to see it being shared so thattheir generation will follow that example.

In 2012, Gloria Steinem sat down in her home for an interview with Oprah Winfrey. Gloriareiterated that progress for women in the home has trailed progress in the workplace, explaining,“Now we know that women can do what men can do, but we don’t know that men can do whatwomen can do.”

I believe they can and we should give them more chances to prove it.

This revolution will happen one family at a time. The good news is that men in younger generationsappear more eager to be real partners than men in previous generations. A survey that askedparticipants to rate the importance of various job characteristics found that men in their forties mostfrequently selected “work which challenges me” as very important, while men in their twenties andthirties most frequently selected having a job with a schedule that “allows me to spend time with myfamily.”

If these trends hold as this group ages, it could signal a promising shift.

Wonderful, sensitive men of all ages are out there. And the more women value kindness andsupport in their boyfriends, the more men will demonstrate it. Kristina Salen, my friend who devisedthe tests to screen her dates, told me that her son insists that when he grows up, he wants to take careof his children “like Daddy does.” She and her husband were thrilled to hear this. More boys need thatrole model and that choice. As more women lean in to their careers, more men need to lean in to theirfamilies. We need to encourage men to be more ambitious in their homes.

We need more men to sit at the table … the kitchen table.
Chapter 9 The Myth of Doing It All
HAVING IT ALL.” Perhaps the greatest trap ever set for women was the coining of this phrase. Bandiedabout in speeches, headlines, and articles, these three little words are intended to be aspirational butinstead make all of us feel like we have fallen short. I have never met a woman, or man, who hasstated emphatically, “Yes, I have it all.” Because no matter what any of us has—and how grateful weare for what we have—no one has it all.

Nor can we. The very concept of having it all flies in the face of the basic laws of economics andcommon sense. As Sharon Poczter, professor of economics at Cornell, explains, “The antiquatedrhetoric of ‘having it all’ disregards the basis of every economic relationship: the idea of trade-offs.

All of us are dealing with the constrained optimization that is life, attempting to maximize our utilitybased on parameters like career, kids, relationships, etc., doing our best to allocate the resource oftime. Due to the scarcity of this resource, therefore, none of us can ‘have it all,’ and those who claimto are most likely lying.”

“Having it all” is best regarded as a myth. And like many myths, it can deliver a helpful cautionarymessage. Think of Icarus, who soared to great heights with his man-made wings. His father warnedhim not to fly too near the sun, but Icarus ignored the advice. He soared even higher, his wingsmelted, and he crashed to earth. Pursuing both a professional and personal life is a noble andattainable goal, up to a point. Women should learn from Icarus to aim for the sky, but keep in mindthat we all have real limits.

Instead of pondering the question “Can we have it all?,” we should be asking the more practicalquestion “Can we do it all?” And again, the answer is no. Each of us makes choices constantlybetween work and family, exercising and relaxing, making time for others and taking time forourselves. Being a parent means making adjustments, compromises, and sacrifices every day. Formost people, sacrifices and hardships are not a choice, but a necessity. About 65 percent of married-couple families with children in the United States have two parents in the workforce, with almost allrelying on both incomes to support their household.

Being a single working parent can be even moredifficult. About 30 percent of families with children are led by a single parent, with 85 percent ofthose led by a woman.

Mothers who work outside the home are constantly reminded of these challenges. Tina Fey notedthat when she was promoting the movie Date Night with Steve Carell, a father of two and star of hisown sitcom, reporters would grill Fey on how she balances her life, but never posed that question toher male costar. As she wrote in Bossypants, “What is the rudest question you can ask a woman?

‘How old are you?’ ‘What do you weigh?’ ‘When you and your twin sister are alone with Mr. Hefner,do you have to pretend to be lesbians?’ No, the worst question is ‘How do you juggle itall?’ … People constantly ask me, with an accusatory look in their eyes. ‘You’re fucking it all up,aren’t you?’ their eyes say.”

Fey nails it. Employed mothers and fathers both struggle with multiple responsibilities, but mothersalso have to endure the rude questions and accusatory looks that remind us that we’re shortchangingboth our jobs and our children. As if we needed reminding. Like me, most of the women I know do agreat job worrying that we don’t measure up. We compare our efforts at work to those of ourcolleagues, usually men, who typically have far fewer responsibilities at home. Then we compare ourefforts at home to those of mothers who dedicate themselves solely to their families. Outside observersreminding us that we must be struggling—and failing—is just bitter icing on an already soggy cake.

Trying to do it all and expecting that it all can be done exactly right is a recipe for disappointment.

Perfection is the enemy. Gloria Steinem said it best: “You can’t do it all. No one can have two full-time jobs, have perfect children and cook three meals and be multi-orgasmic ’tildawn … Superwoman is the adversary of the women’s movement.”

Dr. Laurie Glimcher, dean of Weill Cornell Medical College, said the key for her in pursuing hercareer while raising children was learning where to focus her attention. “I had to decide what matteredand what didn’t and I learned to be a perfectionist in only the things that mattered.” In her case, sheconcluded that scientific data had to be perfect, but reviews and other mundane administrative taskscould be considered good enough at 95 percent. Dr. Glimcher also said she made it a priority to gethome at a reasonable hour, adding that when she got there, she refused to worry about whether “thelinens were folded or the closets were tidy. You can’t be obsessive about these things that don’tmatter.”

A few years before I became a mother, I spoke on a women’s panel for a local business group inPalo Alto. One of the other panelists, an executive with two children, was asked the (inevitable)question about how she balances her work and her children. She started her response by saying, “Iprobably shouldn’t admit this publicly …,” and then she confessed that she put her children to sleep intheir school clothes to save fifteen precious minutes every morning. At the time, I thought to myself,Yup, she should not have admitted that publicly.

Now that I’m a parent, I think this woman was a genius. We all face limits of time and patience. Ihave not yet put my children to sleep in their school clothes, but there are mornings when I wish I had.

I also know that all the planning in the world cannot prepare us for the constant challenges ofparenting. In hindsight, I appreciate my fellow panelist’s candor. And in the spirit of that candor, Iprobably shouldn’t admit this publicly either …Last year, I was traveling with my children to a business conference. Several other Silicon Valleyfolks were attending too, and John Donahoe, the CEO of eBay, kindly offered us a ride on the eBayplane. When the flight was delayed for several hours, my main concern was keeping my kids occupiedso they would not disturb the other adult passengers. I made it through the delay by allowing them towatch endless TV and eat endless snacks. Then just as the flight finally took off, my daughter startedscratching her head. “Mommy! My head itches!” she announced loudly, speaking over the headset shewas wearing (as she watched even more TV). I didn’t think anything of it until her itching grew franticand her complaints grew louder. I urged her to lower her voice, then examined her head and noticedsmall white things. I was pretty sure I knew what they were. I was the only person bringing youngchildren on this corporate plane—and now my daughter most likely had lice! I spent the rest of theflight in a complete panic, trying to keep her isolated, her voice down, and her hands out of her hair,while I furiously scanned the web for pictures of lice. When we landed, everyone piled into rental carsto caravan to the conference hotel, but I told them to go ahead without me; I just needed to “picksomething up.” I dashed to the nearest pharmacy, where they confirmed my diagnosis. Fortunately, wehad avoided direct contact with anyone else on the plane, so there was no way for the lice to havespread, which saved me from the fatal embarrassment of having to tell the group to check their ownheads. We grabbed the shampoo that I needed to treat her and, as it turned out, her brother—and spentthe night in a marathon hair-washing session. I missed the opening night dinner, and when asked why,I said my kids were tired. Frankly, I was too. And even though I managed to escape the lice, I couldnot stop scratching my head for several days.

It is impossible to control all the variables when it comes to parenting. For women who haveachieved previous success by planning ahead and pushing themselves hard, this chaos can be difficultto accept. Psychologist Jennifer Stuart studied a group of Yale graduates and concluded that for suchwomen, “the effort to combine career and motherhood may be particularly fraught. The stakes arehigh, as they may expect nothing less than perfection, both at home and in the workplace. When theyfall short of lofty ideals, they may retreat altogether—from workplace to home or vice versa.”

Another one of my favorite posters at Facebook declares in big red letters, “Done is better thanperfect.” I have tried to embrace this motto and let go of unattainable standards. Aiming for perfectioncauses frustration at best and paralysis at worst. I agree completely with the advice offered by NoraEphron in her 1996 Wellesley commencement speech when she addressed the issue of women havingboth a career and family. Ephron insisted, “It will be a little messy, but embrace the mess. It will becomplicated, but rejoice in the complications. It will not be anything like what you think it will belike, but surprises are good for you. And don’t be frightened: you can always change your mind. Iknow: I’ve had four careers and three husbands.”

I was extremely fortunate that early in my career I was warned about the perils of trying to do it allby someone I deeply admired. Larry Kanarek managed the Washington, D.C., office of McKinsey &Company where I interned in 1994. One day, Larry gathered everyone together for a talk. Heexplained that since he was running the office, employees came to him when they wanted to quit.

Over time, he noticed that people quit for one reason only: they were burnt out, tired of working longhours and traveling. Larry said he could understand the complaint, but what he could not understandwas that all the people who quit—every single one—had unused vacation time. Up until the day theyleft, they did everything McKinsey asked of them before deciding that it was too much.

Larry implored us to exert more control over our careers. He said McKinsey would never stopmaking demands on our time, so it was up to us to decide what we were willing to do. It was ourresponsibility to draw the line. We needed to determine how many hours we were willing to work in aday and how many nights we were willing to travel. If later on, the job did not work out, we wouldknow that we had tried on our own terms. Counterintuitively, long-term success at work often dependson not trying to meet every demand placed on us. The best way to make room for both life and careeris to make choices deliberately—to set limits and stick to them.

During my first four years at Google, I was in the office from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. every day at aminimum. I ran the global operating teams and thought it was critical that I stay on top of as manydetails as possible. No one ever demanded that I work this schedule; typical of Silicon Valley, Googlewas not the type of place to set hours for anyone. Still, the culture in those early days promotedworking around the clock. When my son arrived, I wanted to take the three months of maternity leaveGoogle offered, but I worried that my job would not be there when I returned. Events leading up to hisbirth did not put my mind at ease. Google was growing quickly and reorganizing frequently. My teamwas one of the largest in the company, and coworkers often suggested ways to restructure, whichusually meant that they would do more and I would do less. In the months before my leave, severalcolleagues, all men, ramped up these efforts, volunteering to “help run things” while I was gone. Someof them even mentioned to my boss that I might not return, so it made sense to start sharing myresponsibilities immediately.

I tried to take Larry Kanarek’s advice and draw my own line. I decided that I wanted to focusentirely on my new role as a mother. I was determined to truly unplug. I even made this decisionpublic—a trick that can help a commitment stick by creating greater accountability. I announced that Iwas going to take the full three months off.

No one believed me. A group of my colleagues bet on how long I would be off e-mail after givingbirth, with not a single person taking “more than one week” as his or her wager. I would have beenoffended, except they knew me better than I knew myself. I was back on e-mail from my hospitalroom the day after giving birth.

Over the next three months, I was unable to unplug much at all. I checked e-mail constantly. Iorganized meetings in my living room, during which I sometimes breast-fed and probably freakedseveral people out. (I tried to set these gatherings for times when my son would be sleeping, but babiesmake their own schedules.) I went into the office for key meetings, baby in tow. And while I had somenice moments with my son, I look back on that maternity leave as a pretty unhappy time. Being a newmother was exhausting, and when my son slept, I worked instead of rested. And the only thing worsethan everyone knowing that I was not sticking to my original commitment was that I knew it too. I wasletting myself down.

Three months later, my non-leave maternity leave ended. I was returning to a job I loved, but as Ipulled the car out of the driveway to head to the office for my first full day back, I felt a tightness inmy chest and tears started to flow down my cheeks. Even though I had worked throughout my “timeoff,” I had done so almost entirely from home with my son right next to me. Going back to the officemeant a dramatic change in the amount of time I would see him. If I returned to my typical twelve-hour days, I would leave the house before he woke up and return after he was asleep. In order to spendany time with him at all, I was going to have to make changes … and stick to them.

I started arriving at work around 9:00 a.m. and leaving at 5:30 p.m. This schedule allowed me tonurse my son before I left and get home in time to nurse again before putting him to sleep. I wasscared that I would lose credibility, or even my entire job, if anyone knew that these were my new in-the-office hours. To compensate, I started checking e-mails around 5:00 a.m. Yup, I was awake beforemy newborn. Then once he was down at night, I would jump back on my computer and continue myworkday. I went to great lengths to hide my new schedule from most people. Camille, my ingeniousexecutive assistant, came up with the idea of holding my first and last meetings of the day in otherbuildings to make it less transparent when I was actually arriving or departing. When I did leavedirectly from my office, I would pause in the lobby and survey the parking lot to find a colleague-freemoment to bolt to my car. (Given my awkwardness, we should all be relieved that I once worked forthe Treasury Department and not the CIA.)Looking back, I realize that my concern over my new hours stemmed from my own insecurity.

Google was hard charging and hypercompetitive, but it also supported combining work andparenthood—an attitude that clearly started at the top. Larry and Sergey came to my baby shower andeach gave me a certificate that entitled me to one hour of babysitting. (I never used the certificates,and if I could find them, I bet I could auction them off for charity, like lunch with Warren Buffett.)Susan Wojcicki, who blazed a trail by having four children while being one of Google’s earliest andmost valuable employees, brought her children to the office when her babysitter was sick. Both myboss, Omid, and David Fischer, the most senior leader on my team, were steadfast supporters and didnot allow others to take over parts of my job.

Slowly, it began to dawn on me that my job did not really require that I spend twelve full hours aday in the office. I became much more efficient—more vigilant about only attending or setting upmeetings that were truly necessary, more determined to maximize my output during every minute Ispent away from home. I also started paying more attention to the working hours of those around me;cutting unnecessary meetings saved time for them as well. I tried to focus on what really mattered.

Long before I saw the poster, I began to adopt the mantra “Done is better than perfect.” Done, whilestill a challenge, turns out to be far more achievable and often a relief. By the time I took my secondmaternity leave, I not only unplugged (mostly), but really enjoyed the time with both my children.

My sister-in-law, Amy, a doctor, experienced almost the exact same evolution in attitude. “When Ihad my first child, I worked twelve-hour days while trying to pump at work,” she told me. “I wantedto feel connected to my baby in the limited hours that I was home, so I made myself her sole caregivermany nights. I believed that others were demanding this of me—my bosses at work and my daughterat home. But in truth, I was torturing myself.” With the birth of her second child, Amy adjusted herbehavior. “I took three months off and handled my return to work in my own way, on my own terms.

And despite what I had previously feared, my reputation and productivity weren’t hurt a bit.”

I deeply understand the fear of appearing to be putting our families above our careers. Mothersdon’t want to be perceived as less dedicated to their jobs than men or women without familyresponsibilities. We overwork to overcompensate. Even in workplaces that offer reduced or flextimearrangements, people fear that reducing their hours will jeopardize their career prospects.

And this isnot just a perception problem. Employees who make use of flexible work policies are often penalizedand seen as less committed than their peers.

And those penalties can be greater for mothers inprofessional jobs.

This all needs to change, especially since new evidence suggests working fromhome might actually be more productive in certain cases.

It is difficult to distinguish between the aspects of a job that are truly necessary and those that arenot. Sometimes the situation is hard to read and the lines are hard to draw. Amy told me about aconference dinner she attended with a group of fellow physicians, including one who had given birthto her first child several weeks earlier. About two hours into the meal, the new mom was lookinguncomfortable, glancing repeatedly at her cell phone. As a mother herself, Amy was sensitive to thesituation. “Do you need to leave and pump?” she whispered to her colleague. The new momsheepishly admitted that she had brought her baby and her mother to the conference. She was lookingat her cell phone because her mother was texting her that the baby needed to be fed. Amy encouragedthe new mom to leave immediately. Once she left, the young mother’s mentor, an older malephysician, admitted that he had no idea that she had brought her baby. If he had known, he would haveencouraged her to leave earlier. She was torturing herself unnecessarily. This is one instance where Iwould have recommended not to sit at the table.

Technology is also changing the emphasis on strict office hours since so much work can beconducted online. While few companies can provide as much flexibility as Google and Facebook,other industries are starting to move in a similar direction. Still, the traditional practice of judgingemployees by face time rather than results unfortunately persists. Because of this, many employeesfocus on hours clocked in the office rather than on achieving their goals as efficiently as possible. Ashift to focusing more on results would benefit individuals and make companies more efficient andcompetitive.

In his latest book, General Colin Powell explains that his vision of leadership rejects “busybastards” who put in long hours at the office without realizing the impact they have on their staff. Heexplains that “in every senior job I’ve had I’ve tried to create an environment of professionalism andthe very highest standards. When it was necessary to get a job done, I expected my subordinates towork around the clock. When that was not necessary, I wanted them to work normal hours, go home ata decent time, play with the kids, enjoy family and friends, read a novel, clear their heads, daydream,and refresh themselves. I wanted them to have a life outside the office. I am paying them for thequality of their work, not for the hours they work. That kind of environment has always produced thebest results for me.”

It is still far too rare to work for someone as wise as General Powell.

A related issue that affects many Americans is the extension of working hours.

In 2009, marriedmiddle-income parents worked about eight and a half hours more per week than in 1979.16This trendhas been particularly pronounced among professionals and managers, especially men.

A survey ofhigh-earning professionals in the corporate world found that 62 percent work more than fifty hours aweek and 10 percent work more than eighty hours per week.

Technology, while liberating us at timesfrom the physical office, has also extended the workday. A 2012 survey of employed adults showedthat 80 percent of the respondents continued to work after leaving the office, 38 percent checked e-mail at the dinner table, and 69 percent can’t go to bed without checking their in-box.

My mother believes that my generation is suffering greatly from this endless work schedule. Duringher childhood and mine, a full-time job meant forty hours a week—Monday through Friday, 9:00 a.m.

to 5:00 p.m. She tells me over and over, “There’s too much pressure on you and your peers. It’s notcompatible with a normal life.” But this is the new normal for many of us.

The new normal means that there are just not enough hours in the day. For years, I attempted tosolve this problem by skimping on sleep, a common but often counterproductive approach. I realizedmy mistake partially from observing my children and seeing how a happy child can melt into a puddleof tears when he’s shy a couple hours of sleep. It turns out that adults aren’t much different. Sleepingfour or five hours a night induces mental impairment equivalent to a blood alcohol level above thelegal driving limit.

Sleep deprivation makes people anxious, irritable, and confused. (Just ask Dave.)If I could go back and change one thing about how I lived in those early years, I would force myself toget more sleep.

It’s not only working parents who are looking for more hours in the day; people without childrenare also overworked, maybe to an even greater extent. When I was in business school, I attended aWomen in Consulting panel with three speakers: two married women with children and one singlewoman without children. After the married women spoke about how hard it was to balance their lives,the single woman interjected that she was tired of people not taking her need to have a life seriously.

She felt that her colleagues were always rushing off to be with their families, leaving her to pick upthe slack. She argued, “My coworkers should understand that I need to go to a party tonight—and thisis just as legitimate as their kids’ soccer game—because going to a party is the only way I mightactually meet someone and start a family so I can have a soccer game to go to one day!” I often quotethis story to make sure single employees know that they, too, have every right to a full life.

My own concerns about combining my career and family rose to the forefront again when I wasconsidering leaving Google for Facebook. I had been at Google for six and a half years and had strongleaders in place for each of my teams. By then, Google had more than 20,000 employees and businessprocedures that ran smoothly and allowed me to make it home for dinner with my children almostevery night. Facebook, on the other hand, had only 550 employees and was much more of a start-up.

Late night meetings and all-night hackathons were an accepted part of the culture. I worried thattaking a new job might undermine the balance I had worked hard to achieve. It helped that Dave wasworking as an entrepreneur-in-residence at a venture capital firm, so he had almost complete controlof his schedule. He assured me that he would take on more at home to make this work for our family.

My first six months at Facebook were really hard. I know I’m supposed to say “challenging,” but“really hard” is more like it. A lot of the company followed Mark’s lead and worked night-owlengineering hours. I would schedule a meeting with someone for 9:00 a.m. and the person would notshow up, assuming that I meant 9:00 p.m. I needed to be around when others were and I worried thatleaving too early would make me stand out like a sore—and old—thumb. I missed dinner after dinnerwith my kids. Dave told me that he was home with them and they were fine. But I was not.

I thought about Larry Kanarek’s speech back at McKinsey and realized that if I didn’t take controlof the situation, my new job would prove unsustainable. I would resent not seeing my family and runthe risk of becoming the employee who quit with unused vacation time. I started forcing myself toleave the office at five thirty. Every competitive, type-A fiber of my being was screaming at me tostay, but unless I had a critical meeting, I walked out that door. And once I did it, I learned that Icould. I am not claiming, nor have I ever claimed, that I work a forty-hour week. Facebook isavailable around the world 24/7, and for the most part, so am I. The days when I even think ofunplugging for a weekend or vacation are long gone. And unlike my job at Google, which was basedalmost exclusively in California, my Facebook role requires a lot of travel. As a result, I have becomeeven more vigilant about leaving the office to have dinner with my children when I’m not on the road.

I still struggle with the trade-offs between work and home on a daily basis. Every woman I knowdoes, and I know that I’m far luckier than most. I have remarkable resources—a husband who is a realpartner, the ability to hire great people to assist me both in the office and at home, and a good measureof control over my schedule. I also have a wonderful sister who lives close by and is always willing totake care of her niece and nephew, occasionally at a moment’s notice. She’s even a pediatrician, so mykids are not just in loving hands, they’re in medically trained hands. (Not all people are close to theirfamily, either geographically or emotionally. Fortunately, friends can be leaned on to provide this typeof support for each other.)If there is a new normal for the workplace, there is a new normal for the home too. Just asexpectations for how many hours people will work have risen dramatically, so have expectations forhow many hours mothers will spend focused on their children. In 1975, stay-at-home mothers spent anaverage of about eleven hours per week on primary child care (defined as routine caregiving andactivities that foster a child’s well-being, such as reading and fully focused play). Mothers employedoutside the home in 1975 spent six hours doing these activities. Today, stay-at-home mothers spendabout seventeen hours per week on primary child care, on average, while mothers who work outsidethe home spend about eleven hours. This means that an employed mother today spends about the sameamount of time on primary child care activities as a nonemployed mother did in 1975.21My memory of being a kid is that my mother was available but rarely hovering or directing myactivities. My siblings and I did not have organized playdates. We rode our bikes around theneighborhood without adult supervision. Our parents might have checked on our homework once in awhile, but they rarely sat with us while we completed it. Today, a “good mother” is always around andalways devoted to the needs of her children. Sociologists call this relatively new phenomenon“intensive mothering,” and it has culturally elevated the importance of women spending large amountsof time with their children.

Being judged against the current all-consuming standard means motherswho work outside the home feel as if we are failing, even if we are spending the same number ofhours with our kids as our mothers did.

When I drop my kids off at school and see the mothers who are staying to volunteer, I worry thatmy children are worse off because I’m not with them full-time. This is where my trust in hard data andresearch has helped me the most. Study after study suggests that the pressure society places on womento stay home and do “what’s best for the child” is based on emotion, not evidence.

In 1991, the Early Child Care Research Network, under the auspices of the National Institute ofChild Health and Human Development, initiated the most ambitious and comprehensive study to dateon the relationship between child care and child development, and in particular on the effect ofexclusive maternal care versus child care. The Research Network, which comprised more than thirtychild development experts from leading universities across the country, spent eighteen monthsdesigning the study. They tracked more than one thousand children over the course of fifteen years,repeatedly assessing the children’s cognitive skills, language abilities, and social behaviors. Dozens ofpapers have been published about what they found.

In 2006, the researchers released a reportsummarizing their findings, which concluded that “children who were cared for exclusively by theirmothers did not develop differently than those who were also cared for by others.”

They found nogap in cognitive skills, language competence, social competence, ability to build and maintainrelationships, or in the quality of the mother-child bond.

Parental behavioral factors—includingfathers who are responsive and positive, mothers who favor “self-directed child behavior,” and parentswith emotional intimacy in their marriages—influence a child’s development two to three times morethan any form of child care.

One of the findings is worth reading slowly, maybe even twice:

“Exclusive maternal care was not related to better or worse outcomes for children. There is, thus, noreason for mothers to feel as though they are harming their children if they decide to work.”

Children absolutely need parental involvement, love, care, time, and attention. But parents whowork outside the home are still capable of giving their children a loving and secure childhood. Somedata even suggest that having two parents working outside the home can be advantageous to a child’sdevelopment, particularly for girls.

Although I know the data and understand intellectually that my career is not harming my children,there are times when I still feel anxious about my choices. A friend of mine felt the same way, so shediscussed it with her therapist and, later, shared this insight: “My therapist told me that when I wasworrying about how much I was leaving my girls, that separation anxiety is actually more about themom than the kids. We talk about it as though it is a problem for children, but actually it can be moreof an issue for the mom.”

I always want to do more for my children. Because of work obligations, I’ve missed doctor’sappointments and parent-teacher conferences and have had to travel when my kids were sick. I haven’tmissed a dance recital yet, but it probably will happen. I have also missed a level of detail about theirlives. I once asked a mother at our school if she knew any of the other kids in the first-grade class,hoping for a familiar name or two. She spent twenty minutes reciting from memory the name of everychild, detailing their parents, siblings, which class they had been in the year before, and their interests.

How could she possibly know all this? Was I a bad mother for not knowing any of this? And whyshould it even bother me?

I knew the answer to that last question. It bothered me because like most people who have choices, Iam not completely comfortable with mine. Later that same year, I dropped my son off at school on St.

Patrick’s Day. As he got out of the car wearing his favorite blue T-shirt, the same mother pointed out,“He’s supposed to be wearing green today.” I simultaneously thought, Oh, who the hell can rememberthat it’s St. Patrick’s Day? and I’m a bad mom.

Guilt management can be just as important as time management for mothers. When I went back tomy job after giving birth, other working mothers told me to prepare for the day that my son would cryfor his nanny. Sure enough, when he was about eleven months old, he was crawling on the floor of hisroom and put his knee down on a toy. He looked up for help, crying, and reached for her instead ofme. It pierced my heart, but Dave thought it was a good sign. He reasoned that we were the centralfigures in our son’s life, but forming an attachment to a caregiver was good for his development. Iunderstood his logic, especially in retrospect, but at the time, it hurt like hell.

To this day, I count the hours away from my kids and feel sad when I miss a dinner or a night withthem. Did I have to take this trip? Was this speech really critical for Facebook? Was this meeting trulynecessary? Far from worrying about nights he misses, Dave thinks we are heroes for getting home fordinner as often as we do. Our different viewpoints seem inextricably gender based. Compared to hispeers, Dave is an exceptionally devoted dad. Compared to many of my peers, I spend a lot more timeaway from my children. A study that conducted in-depth interviews with mothers and fathers in dual-earner families uncovered similar reactions. The mothers were riddled with guilt about what their jobswere doing to their families. The fathers were not.

As Marie Wilson, founder of the White HouseProject, has noted, “Show me a woman without guilt and I’ll show you a man.”

I know that I can easily spend time focusing on what I’m not doing; like many, I excel at self-flagellation. And even with my vast support system, there are times when I feel pulled in too manydirections. But when I dwell less on the conflicts and compromises, and more on being fully engagedwith the task at hand, the center holds and I feel content. I love my job and the brilliant and fascinatingpeople I work with. I also love my time with my kids. A great day is when I rush home from thecraziness of the office to have dinner with my family and then sit in the rocking chair in the corner ofmy daughter’s room with both of my kids on my lap. We rock and read together, just a quiet (okay,not always quiet), joyful moment at the end of their day. They drift off to sleep and I drift (okay, run)back to my laptop.

It’s also fun when my two worlds collide. For a period of time, Mark hosted Monday-night strategysessions at his house. Because I wouldn’t be making it home for dinner, my kids came into the office.

Facebook is incredibly family friendly, and my children were in heaven, entranced by pizza, endlesscandy, and the huge pile of Legos that the engineers kindly share with young visitors. It made mehappy that my kids got to know my colleagues and my colleagues got to know them. Mark had beenteaching my son how to fence, so they would sometimes practice with pretend foils, which wasadorable. Mark also taught both my kids various office pranks, which was slightly less adorable.

I would never claim to be able to find serenity or total focus in every moment. I am so far from that.

But when I remember that no one can do it all and identify my real priorities at home and at work, Ifeel better, and I am more productive in the office and probably a better mother as well. Stanfordprofessor Jennifer Aaker’s work shows that setting obtainable goals is key to happiness.

Instead ofperfection, we should aim for sustainable and fulfilling. The right question is not “Can I do it all?” but“Can I do what’s most important for me and my family?” The aim is to have children who are happyand thriving. Wearing green T-shirts on St. Patrick’s Day is purely optional.

If I had to embrace a definition of success, it would be that success is making the best choices wecan … and accepting them. Journalist Mary Curtis suggested in The Washington Post that the bestadvice anyone can offer “is for women and men to drop the guilt trip, even as the minutes tick away.

The secret is there is no secret—just doing the best you can with what you’ve got.”

In December 2010, I was standing with Pat Mitchell, waiting to go onstage to give my TEDTalk.

The day before, I had dropped my daughter off at preschool and told her I was flying to the East Coastso I wouldn’t see her that night. She clung to my leg and begged me not to leave. I couldn’t shake thatimage and, at the last minute, asked Pat if I should add it to my speech. “Absolutely tell that story,”

said Pat. “Other women go through this, and you’ll help them by being honest that this is hard for youtoo.”

I took a deep breath and stepped onstage. I tried to be authentic and shared my truth. I announced tothe room—and basically everyone on the internet—that I fall very short of doing it all. And Pat wasright. It felt really good not just to admit this to myself, but to share it with others.
Chapter 10 Let’s Start Talking About It
　　SOMETIMES I WONDER what it would be like to go through life without being labeled by my gender. I don’twake up thinking, What am I going to do today as Facebook’s female COO?, but that’s often how I’mreferred to by others. When people talk about a female pilot, a female engineer, or a female race cardriver, the word “female” implies a bit of surprise. Men in the professional world are rarely seenthrough this same gender lens. A Google search for “Facebook’s male CEO” returns this message:

“No results found.”

As Gloria Steinem observed, “Whoever has power takes over the noun—and the norm—while theless powerful get an adjective.”

Since no one wants to be perceived as less powerful, a lot of womenreject the gender identification and insist, “I don’t see myself as a woman; I see myself as a novelist/athlete/professional/fill-in-the-blank.” They are right to do so. No one wants her achievementsmodified. We all just want to be the noun. Yet the world has a way of reminding women that they arewomen, and girls that they are girls.

In between my junior and senior years of high school, I worked as a page in Washington, D.C., formy hometown congressman, William Lehman. The Speaker of the House at the time was thelegendary Massachusetts representative Tip O’Neill, and Congressman Lehman promised to introduceme to him before the summer ended. But as the days ticked by, it didn’t happen. And it didn’t happen.

Then, on the very last day of the session, he made good on his promise. In the hall outside the Housefloor, he pulled me over to meet Speaker O’Neill. I was nervous, but Congressman Lehman put me atease by introducing me in the nicest way possible, telling the Speaker that I had worked hard allsummer. The Speaker looked at me, then reached over and patted my head. He turned to thecongressman and remarked, “She’s pretty.” Then he turned his attention back to me and asked just onequestion: “Are you a pom-pom girl?”

I was crushed. Looking back, I know his words were intended to flatter me, but in the moment, Ifelt belittled. I wanted to be recognized for the work I had done. I reacted defensively. “No,” I replied.

“I study too much for that.” Then a wave of terror struck me for speaking up to the man who was thirdin line for the presidency. But no one seemed to register my curt and not-at-all clever response. TheSpeaker just patted me on the head—again!—and moved along. My congressman beamed.

Even to my teenage self, this sexism seemed retro. The Speaker was born in 1912, eight yearsbefore women were given the right to vote, but by the time I met him in the halls of Congress, societyhad (mostly) evolved. It was obvious that a woman could do anything a man could do. My childhoodwas filled with firsts—Golda Meir in Israel, Geraldine Ferraro on the Mondale ticket, Sandra DayO’Connor on the Supreme Court, Sally Ride in space.

Given all these strides, I headed into college believing that the feminists of the sixties and seventieshad done the hard work of achieving equality for my generation. And yet, if anyone had called me afeminist, I would have quickly corrected that notion. This reaction is prevalent even today accordingto sociologist Marianne Cooper (who also contributed her extraordinary research assistance to thisbook). In her 2011 article, “The New F-Word,” Marianne wrote about college English professorMichele Elam, who observed something strange in her Introduction to Feminist Studies course. Eventhough her students were interested enough in gender equality to take an entire class on the subject,very few “felt comfortable using the word ‘feminism.’ ” And even “fewer identified themselves asfeminists.” As Professor Elam noted, it was as if “being called a feminist was to suspect that some foulepithet had been hurled your way.”

It sounds like a joke: Did you hear the one about the woman taking a feminist studies class who gotangry when someone called her a feminist? But when I was in college, I embraced the samecontradiction. On one hand, I started a group to encourage more women to major in economics andgovernment. On the other hand, I would have denied being in any way, shape, or form a feminist.

None of my college friends thought of themselves as feminists either. It saddens me to admit that wedid not see the backlash against women around us.

We accepted the negative caricature of a bra-burning, humorless, man-hating feminist. She was not someone we wanted to emulate, in part becauseit seemed like she couldn’t get a date. Horrible, I know—the sad irony of rejecting feminism to getmale attention and approval. In our defense, my friends and I truly, if na.vely, believed that the worlddid not need feminists anymore. We mistakenly thought that there was nothing left to fight for.

I carried this attitude with me when I entered the workforce. I figured if sexism still existed, I wouldjust prove it wrong. I would do my job and do it well. What I didn’t know at the time was thatignoring the issue is a classic survival technique. Within traditional institutions, success has often beencontingent upon a woman not speaking out but fitting in, or more colloquially, being “one of theguys.” The first women to enter corporate America dressed in manly suits with button-down shirts.

One veteran banking executive told me that she wore her hair in a bun for ten years because she didnot want anyone to notice she was a woman. While styles have relaxed, women still worry aboutsticking out too much. I know an engineer at a tech start-up who removes her earrings before going towork so coworkers won’t be reminded that she is—shhh!—not a man.

Early in my career, my gender was rarely noted (except for the occasional client who wanted to fixme up with his son). Manly suits were no longer in fashion, and I neither hid nor emphasizedfemininity. I have never reported directly to a woman—not once in my entire career. There werehigher-level women at the places I worked, but I wasn’t close enough to see how they dealt with thisissue on a daily basis. I was never invited to attend a single meeting that discussed gender, and therewere no special programs for women that I can recall. That all seemed fine. We were fitting in, andthere was no reason to call attention to ourselves.

But while gender was not openly acknowledged, it was still lurking below the surface. I started tosee differences in attitudes toward women. I started noticing how often employees were judged not bytheir objective performance, but by the subjective standard of how well they fit in. Given that thesummer outing at McKinsey was a deep-sea fishing trip and most company dinners ended withwhiskey sipping and cigar smoking, I sometimes struggled to pass the “fitting in” test. One night,encouraged by the male partners, I puffed away on a cigar—just one of the guys. Except that thesmoking nauseated me and I reeked of cigar smoke for days. If that was fitting in, I stuck out.

Others also seemed aware that I was not one of the guys. When I was named the TreasuryDepartment’s chief of staff in 1999, several people remarked to me, “It must have helped that youwere a woman.” It was infuriating. Their intent may not have been malicious, but the implication wasclear: I had not gotten the job on merit. I also figured that for every person pointing out my“advantage” to my face, there were probably a dozen others saying it less politely behind my back. Iconsidered my possible responses. I could explain that the last time I checked there was no affirmativeaction for women at Treasury. I could mention that my credentials lined up with those of the men whohad previously held this position. If there was enough time, I could recount centuries of discriminationagainst women. Or I could just slap the person across the face. I tried all these options at least once.

Okay, not the slap. But of the responses I did try, none of them worked.

It was a no-win situation. I couldn’t deny being a woman; even if I tried, people would still figure itout. And defending myself just made me seem … defensive. My gut and the signals I received fromothers cautioned me that arguing the issue would make me sound like a strident feminist. And I stilldid not want that. I also worried that pointing out the disadvantages women face in the workforcemight be misinterpreted as whining or asking for special treatment. So I ignored the comments. I putmy head down and worked hard.

Then, as the years ticked by, I started seeing female friends and colleagues drop out of theworkforce. Some left by choice. Others left out of frustration, pushed out the door by companies thatdid not allow flexibility and welcomed home by partners who weren’t doing their share of thehousework and child rearing. Others remained but scaled back their ambitions to meet outsizeddemands. I watched as the promise my generation had for female leadership dwindled. By the time Ihad been at Google for a few years, I realized that the problem wasn’t going away. So even though thethought still scared me, I decided it was time to stop putting my head down and to start speaking out.

Fortunately, I had company. In 2005, my colleagues Susan Wojcicki and Marissa Mayer and I allnoticed that the speakers who visited the Google campus were fascinating, notable, and almost alwaysmale. In response, we founded Women@Google and kicked off the new series with luminaries GloriaSteinem and Jane Fonda, who were launching the Women’s Media Center. As a former aerobicsinstructor, I was excited to meet Jane Fonda—and sucked in my stomach the whole time. From what Iknew about the women’s rights movement, I expected Gloria Steinem to be formidable and brilliant,which she was. But she was also charming and funny and warm—the absolute opposite of my childishimage of the humorless feminist.

After the Women@Google event, Gloria invited me to speak at the Women’s Media Center in NewYork. I said yes without hesitating. The day before the talk, I headed to the airport with Kim MaloneScott, who ran the Google publishing teams. Kim is an experienced writer, so I figured she would helpme craft a speech during the long flight. By the time I got through all of my backlogged e-mails, it wasalmost midnight. I turned to Kim for help and saw that she had fallen asleep. Long before Facebookmade it popular, I thought about giving her a poke. But I couldn’t bear to wake her up. Staring at theblank computer screen, I was at a complete loss. I had never spoken about being a woman in publicbefore. Not once. I had no talking points or notes to turn to. Then I realized how striking thiswas … and that I actually had quite a lot to say.

I began my talk the next day by explaining that in business we are taught to fit in, but that I wasstarting to think this might not be the right approach. I said out loud that there are differences betweenmen and women both in their behavior and in the way their behavior is perceived by others. I admittedthat I could see these dynamics playing out in the workforce, and that, in order to fix the problems, weneeded to be able to talk about gender without people thinking we were crying for help, asking forspecial treatment, or about to sue. A lot poured out of me that day. Then I returned to NorthernCalifornia and put the conversation on hold.

In the following four years, I gave two talks on women in the workplace, both behind closed doorsto professional women’s groups at nearby Stanford. Then one day, Pat Mitchell called to tell me thatshe was launching TEDWomen and invited me to speak on social media. I told her I had anothersubject in mind and started pulling together a talk on how women can succeed in the workforce (a talkthat TED later named “Why We Have Too Few Women Leaders”). Very quickly, I became excited.

And just as quickly, I learned that no one else shared my excitement. Friends and colleagues—bothmale and female—warned me that making this speech would harm my career by instantly typecastingme as a female COO and not a real business executive. In other words, I wouldn’t be blending in.

I worried they might be right. Speaking at TED would be different from my previous keynotes.

Although I would be addressing a sympathetic room, the talk would be posted on the web, whereanyone could watch, and judge, and criticize.

Inside Facebook, few people noticed my TEDTalk, and those who did responded positively. Butoutside of Facebook, the criticism started to roll in. One of my colleagues from Treasury called to saythat “others”—not him, of course—were wondering why I gave more speeches on women’s issuesthan on Facebook. I had been at the company for two and a half years and given countless speeches onrebuilding marketing around the social graph and exactly one speech on gender. Someone else askedme, “So is this your thing now?”

At the time, I didn’t know how to respond. Now I would say yes. I made this my “thing” becausewe need to disrupt the status quo. Staying quiet and fitting in may have been all the first generations ofwomen who entered corporate America could do; in some cases, it might still be the safest path. Butthis strategy is not paying off for women as a group. Instead, we need to speak out, identify thebarriers that are holding women back, and find solutions.

The response to my TEDTalk showed me that addressing these issues openly can make a difference.

Women forwarded the video to their friends, colleagues, daughters, and sisters. I began receiving e-mails and letters from women all over the world who wanted to share their stories of how they gainedthe courage to reach for more opportunities, sit at more tables, and believe more in themselves.

One of my favorite letters came from Sabeen Virani, a consultant in Dubai and the only woman inan office of more than three hundred employees. She responded to my story about the executive whocould not point me to the women’s bathroom because, as she explained, in her workplace, thewomen’s bathroom did not even exist. Sabeen described how during her first week on the project, theclient took her team out to dinner, but she couldn’t join because the restaurant didn’t allow women.

Talk about not sitting at the table—she couldn’t even get into the restaurant! Some of the men wereopenly hostile to Sabeen. Others just ignored her. But rather than give up and transfer to a friendlieroffice, she decided that she could demonstrate to everyone that women are competent professionals. Inthe end, she won her coworkers over and the client converted a bathroom into a women’s bathroomjust for her. She sent me a photo of her standing in front of a door with a printed sign that read simplyand powerfully “Toilets for women only.”

It was also enormously gratifying that men reacted positively to the talk too. Dr. John Probasco ofthe Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine told me that my story about women being morereluctant than men to raise their hands rang true for him so he decided to do away with the old hand-raising system during rounds. Instead, he started calling on male and female students evenly. Hequickly realized that the women knew the answers just as well—or even better—than the men. In oneday he increased female participation. By making one small change to his behavior, he changed amuch larger dynamic.

Major changes can result from these kinds of “nudge techniques,” small interventions thatencourage people to behave in slightly different ways at critical moments.

The simple act of talkingopenly about behavioral patterns makes the subconscious conscious. For example, Google has anunusual system where engineers nominate themselves for promotions, and the company found thatmen nominated themselves more quickly than women. The Google management team shared this dataopenly with the female employees, and women’s self-nomination rates rose significantly, reachingroughly the same rates as men’s.

All the feedback from TED convinced me that I should keep speaking up and encouraging others todo the same. It is essential to breaking the logjam. Talking can transform minds, which can transformbehaviors, which can transform institutions.

I know it isn’t easy. Anyone who brings up gender in the workplace is wading into deep and muddywaters. The subject itself presents a paradox, forcing us to acknowledge differences while trying toachieve the goal of being treated the same. Women, especially those at junior levels, worry that raisinggender issues makes them appear unprofessional or as if they are blaming others. I have listened towomen vent frustration over being undervalued and even demeaned on a daily basis at work. When Iask if they have aired any of these complaints to their superiors, they’ve responded, “Oh no! Icouldn’t.” There is so much fear that speaking up will make the situation worse or even result in beingpenalized or fired. It seems safer to bear the injustice.

For men, raising this subject can be even harder. A male friend who runs a large organization onceconfided in me, “It’s easier to talk about your sex life in public than to talk about gender.” The factthat he wouldn’t go on record with this quote shows he meant it. Vittorio Colao, CEO of Vodafone,told me that he showed my TEDTalk to his senior management team because he shares my belief thatwomen sometimes hold themselves back. He also believed this message was easier to hear from awoman than a man. His point is valid. If a man had delivered the same message or even gently pointedout that women might be taking actions that limited their options, he would have been pilloried.

Shutting down discussion is self-defeating and impedes progress. We need to talk and listen anddebate and refute and instruct and learn and evolve. And since the majority of managers are men, weneed them to feel comfortable addressing these issues directly with female employees. When a womansits on the side of a room, a man needs to be able to wave her over to the table and explain why so shewill know to sit at the table the next time.

Ken Chenault, CEO of American Express, is a leader on this front. Ken openly acknowledges thatin meetings, both men and women are more likely to interrupt a woman and give credit to a man foran idea first proposed by a woman. When he witnesses either of these behaviors, he stops the meetingto point it out. Coming from the top, this really makes employees think twice. A more junior woman(or man) can also intervene in the situation when a female colleague has been interrupted. She cangently but firmly tell the group, “Before we move on, I’d like to hear what [senior woman] had tosay.” This action not only benefits the senior woman but can raise the stature of the junior woman aswell, since speaking up for someone else displays both confidence and a communal spirit. The juniorwoman comes across as both competent and nice.

At Facebook, I teach managers to encourage women to talk about their plans to have children andhelp them continue to reach for opportunities. I give men the option of quoting me if the words don’tfeel right coming out of their mouths. Still, this approach is a bit of a crutch and it does not translate toother companies. It would be preferable if everyone had permission to talk about this subject bothpublicly and behind closed office doors.

One stumbling block is that many people believe that the workplace is largely a meritocracy, whichmeans we look at individuals, not groups, and determine that differences in outcomes must be basedon merit, not gender. Men at the top are often unaware of the benefits they enjoy simply becausethey’re men, and this can make them blind to the disadvantages associated with being a woman.

Women lower down also believe that men at the top are entitled to be there, so they try to play by therules and work harder to advance rather than raise questions or voice concerns about the possibility ofbias. As a result, everyone becomes complicit in perpetuating an unjust system.

At the same time, we must be careful not to inject gender into every discussion. I know a male CEOwho is enormously dedicated to hiring and promoting women. When a female employee kicked off anegotiation by insisting that she should have a higher title and was underleveled because she was awoman, it immediately put him on the defense. She was speaking her truth, but in this case, her truthwas an accusation with legal ramifications. As soon as she framed the issue in those terms, the CEOhad no choice but to put their friendly talks on hold and call in HR. It might have served her better toexplain how she was contributing to the company and ask for the promotion first.

Even today, mentioning gender in work situations often makes people visibly uncomfortable. Totheir credit, many institutions have worked hard to sensitize people to these issues, especially sexualharassment. But while human resources seminars can raise consciousness and help protect employees,they have also raised the specter of legal action, which can create real barriers to these conversations.

The federal and state laws that are designed to protect employees against discrimination specify onlythat an employer cannot make decisions based on certain protected characteristics such as gender,pregnancy, and age. But companies usually take the policy a step further and teach managers not toask anything related to these areas. Anyone making even a benign inquiry such as “Are you married?”

or “Do you have kids?” can later be accused of basing a personnel decision on this information. As aresult, a manager who is trying to help a female employee by pointing out a gender-driven styledifference could be charged with discrimination for doing so.

The first time I asked a prospective employee if she was considering having children soon, Iunderstood that doing so could expose me and my company to legal risk. Unlike many women, I wasin a position to evaluate that risk and chose to take it. The laws that protect women and minorities andpeople with disabilities, among others, from discrimination are essential, and I am not suggesting theybe circumvented. But I have also witnessed firsthand how they can have a chilling effect on discourse,sometimes even to the detriment of the people they are designed to defend. I don’t have a solution tothis dilemma and will leave it to public policy and legal experts to solve. I do think this is worth someserious attention so we can find a way to deal with these issues in a way that protects but doesn’tsuppress.

Most people would agree that gender bias exists … in others. We, however, would never be swayedby such superficial and unenlightened opinions. Except we are. Our preconceived notions aboutmasculinity and femininity influence how we interact with and evaluate colleagues in the workplace.

A 2012 study found that when evaluating identical résumés for a lab manager position from a malestudent and a female student, scientists of both sexes gave better marks to the male applicant. Eventhough the students had the same qualifications and experience, the scientists deemed the femalestudent less competent and offered her a lower starting salary and less mentoring.

Other studies of jobapplicants, candidates for scholarships, and musicians auditioning for orchestras have come to thesame conclusion: gender bias influences how we view performance and typically raises ourassessment of men while lowering our assessment of women.

Even today, gender-blind evaluationsstill result in better outcomes for women.

Unfortunately, most jobs require face-to-face interviews.

All of us, myself included, are biased, whether we admit it or not. And thinking that we areobjective can actually make this even worse, creating what social scientists call a “bias blind spot.”

This blind spot causes people to be too confident about their own powers of objectivity so that theyfail to correct for bias.

When evaluating identically described male and female candidates for the jobof police chief, respondents who claimed to be the most impartial actually exhibited more bias in favorof male candidates. This is not just counterproductive but deeply dangerous. Evaluators in that samestudy actually shifted hiring criteria to give men an advantage. When a male applicant possessed astrong educational record, that quality was considered critical to the success of a police chief. Butwhen a male applicant possessed a weaker educational record, that quality was rated as less important.

This favoritism was not shown to female applicants. If anything, the reverse happened. When awoman possessed a particular skill, ability, or background, that quality tended to carry less weight.

The infuriating takeaway from this study is that “merit” can be manipulated to justify discrimination.

Social scientists are uncovering new examples of bias all the time. In 2012, a series of studiescompared men in more “modern” marriages (whose wives worked outside the home full-time) to menin more “traditional” marriages (whose wives worked at home). The researchers wanted to determineif a man’s home arrangement affected his professional behavior. It did. Compared to men in modernmarriages, men in more traditional marriages viewed the presence of women in the workforce lessfavorably. They also denied promotions to qualified female employees more often and were morelikely to think that companies with a higher percentage of female employees ran less smoothly. Theresearchers speculated that men in traditional marriages are not overtly hostile toward women butinstead are “benevolent sexists”—holding positive yet outdated views about women.

(Another term Ihave heard is “nice guy misogynists.”) These men might even believe that women have superiorstrengths in certain areas like moral reasoning, which makes them better equipped to raise children—and perhaps less equipped to succeed in business.

In all likelihood, men who share this attitude areunaware of how their conscious and unconscious beliefs hurt their female colleagues.

Another bias arises from our tendency to want to work with people who are like us. Innovisor, aconsulting firm, conducted research in twenty-nine countries and found that when men and womenselect a colleague to collaborate with, both were significantly more likely to choose someone of thesame gender.

Yet diverse groups often perform better.

Armed with this information, managersshould take a more active role in mixing and matching when assigning teams. Or, at the very least,managers should point out this tendency to give employees the motivation to shake things up.

My own attempts to point out gender bias have generated more than my fair share of eye rollingfrom others. At best, people are open to scrutinizing themselves and considering their blind spots; atworst, they become defensive and angry. One common instance of bias crops up during jobperformance evaluations. When reviewing a woman, the reviewer will often voice the concern, “Whileshe’s really good at her job, she’s just not as well liked by her peers.” When I hear language like that, Ibring up the Heidi/Howard study and how success and likeability are negatively correlated for women.

I ask the evaluator to consider the possibility that this successful female may be paying a gender-basedpenalty. Usually people find the study credible, nodding their heads in agreement, but then bristle atthe suggestion that this might be influencing the reaction of their management team. They will furtherdefend their position by arguing that it cannot be gender related because—aha!—both men andwomen have problems with that particular female executive. But the success and likeability penalty isimposed by both men and women. Women perpetuate this bias as well.

Of course, not every woman deserves to be well liked. Some women are disliked for behaviors thatthey would do well to change. In a perfect world, they would receive constructive feedback and theopportunity to make those changes. Still, calling attention to this bias forces people to think aboutwhether there is a real problem or a perception problem. The goal is to give women something mentend to receive automatically—the benefit of the doubt.

In turn, women might also want to give their bosses the benefit of the doubt. Cynthia Hogan servedas chief counsel for the Senate Judiciary Committee under then-senator Joe Biden before leaving in1996 after her first child was born. Her plan was to return to the workforce a few years later. But whenher second child was born prematurely, those plans changed. A full twelve years later, Vice President-Elect Biden called Cynthia to ask her to join his staff as chief legal counsel in the White House. “Myfirst reaction was that I no longer owned any clothes other than yoga pants!” Cynthia said. But herlarger concern was whether she could manage the long hours in the White House and still see herfamily. She put it beautifully: “I knew that whether this would work depended on two men. So first Iasked my husband if he could step in and take on more of the responsibility for the kids. He said, ‘Ofcourse, it’s your turn.’ And then I told the Vice President-elect that I really wanted to have dinnerwith my kids most nights. And his response was, ‘Well, you have a phone and I can call you when Ineed you after dinnertime.’ ”

Cynthia believes that the lesson of her story is “Don’t be afraid to ask,” even if it seems like a longshot. Being offered a senior job, especially after being at home for so long, presented a greatopportunity. Many women would have accepted it without even trying to carve out the time theyneeded for their families. Others would have turned it down, assuming that having dinner at homemost nights was not negotiable. Being forthright led to opportunity.

Every job will demand some sacrifice. The key is to avoid unnecessary sacrifice. This is especiallyhard since our work culture values complete dedication. We worry that even mentioning otherpriorities makes us less valuable employees. I have faced this too. As I described, once I had children,I changed my working hours to be home for dinner. But only fairly recently did I start talking aboutthis change. And while the impact of my actually leaving work early was negligible, admitting that Iwent home at five thirty turned out to be kind of a big deal.

I first openly discussed my office hours at the launch of Facebook Women, an in-house resourcegroup. The initial meeting, run by Lori Goler and Facebook’s head of engineering, Mike Schroepfer,was open to any Facebook employee, including men. During the Q&A, I was asked the (inevitable)question about how I balanced my job and family. I talked about leaving work to have dinner with mychildren and then getting back online after they went to bed. I said that I was sharing my schedulebecause I wanted to encourage others to personalize their schedules too. Even though I had planned inadvance to discuss this, I felt nervous. Years of conditioning had taught me never to suggest that I wasdoing anything other than giving 100 percent to my job. It was scary to think that someone, evenpeople working for me, might doubt my diligence or dedication. Fortunately, it didn’t happen. A fewpeople at Facebook thanked me for mentioning it, but that was it.

A few years later, producer Dyllan McGee interviewed me for her Makers video series. We spokeon a wide range of subjects, including my daily work schedule. The video was posted to the web andwas instantly the subject of heated debate. Thanks to social media (serves me right), everyone had anopinion about my leaving the office at five thirty. I got flowers with an anonymous thank-you note.

Mike Callahan, Yahoo’s general counsel at the time, told me that several of the more senior women inhis legal department said my admission struck a chord and they were going to follow my example.

Author Ken Auletta said that I could not have gotten more headlines if I had murdered someone withan ax. While I was glad to jump-start the discussion, all the attention gave me this weird feeling thatsomeone was going to object and fire me. I had to reassure myself that this was absurd. Still, theclamor made me realize how incredibly hard it would be for someone in a less-senior position to askfor or admit to this schedule. We have a long way to go before flextime is accepted in mostworkplaces. It will only happen if we keep raising the issue.

The discussions may be difficult, but the positives are many. We cannot change what we areunaware of, and once we are aware, we cannot help but change.

Even a well-established institution like Harvard Business School (HBS) can evolve rapidly whenissues are addressed head-on. Historically at HBS, American male students have academicallyoutperformed both female and international students. When Nitin Nohria was appointed dean in 2010,he made it his mission to close this gap. He began by appointing Youngme Moon as senior associatedean of the MBA program, the first woman to hold that position in the school’s century-plus history.

He also created a new position for Robin Ely, an expert on gender and diversity.

Associate Dean Moon, working with Professor Frances Frei, spent the first year rigorouslyexamining the school’s culture. They visited each classroom and discussed the challenges women andinternational students faced. Then they used that knowledge to create what Dean Nohria calls “a levelof mindfulness.” Without calling for major overhauls, they tackled the soft stuff—small adjustmentsstudents could make immediately, like paying more attention to the language they used in class. Theylaid out a new, communal definition of leadership: “Leadership is about making others better as aresult of your presence and making sure that impact lasts in your absence.” They held studentsresponsible for the impact their behavior had on others. Those who violated that principle, or evenhosted an event where that principle was violated, were held accountable. The second year, HBSintroduced small group projects to encourage collaboration between classmates who would notnaturally work together. They also added a year-long field course, which plays to the strengths ofstudents who are less comfortable contributing in front of large classes.

By commencement, the performance gap had virtually disappeared. Men, women, and internationalstudents were represented proportionally in the honors awarded. There was another benefit too. In aresult many considered surprising, overall student satisfaction went up, not just for the female andinternational students, but for American males as well. By creating a more equal environment,everyone was happier. And all of this was accomplished in just two short years.

Social gains are never handed out. They must be seized. Leaders of the women’s movement—fromSusan B. Anthony to Jane Addams to Alice Paul to Bella Abzug to Flo Kennedy to so many others—spoke out loudly and bravely to demand the rights that we now have. Their courage changed ourculture and our laws to the benefit of us all. Looking back, it made no sense for my college friends andme to distance ourselves from the hard-won achievements of earlier feminists. We should havecheered their efforts. Instead, we lowered our voices, thinking the battle was over, and with thisreticence we hurt ourselves.

Now I proudly call myself a feminist. If Tip O’Neill were alive today, I might even tell him that I’ma pom-pom girl for feminism. I hope more women, and men, will join me in accepting thisdistinguished label. Currently, only 24 percent of women in the United States say that they considerthemselves feminists. Yet when offered a more specific definition of feminism—“A feminist issomeone who believes in social, political, and economic equality of the sexes”—the percentage ofwomen who agree rises to 65 percent.

That’s a big move in the right direction.

Semantics can be important, but I don’t think progress turns on our willingness to apply a label toourselves. I do think progress turns on our willingness to speak up about the impact gender has on us.

We can no longer pretend that biases do not exist, nor can we talk around them. And as HarvardBusiness School has demonstrated, the result of creating a more equal environment will not just bebetter performance for our organizations, but quite likely greater happiness for all.
Chapter 11 Working Together Toward Equality
I BEGAN THIS BOOK by acknowledging that women in the developed world are better off than ever, but thegoal of true equality still eludes us. So how do we move forward? First, we must decide that trueequality is long overdue and will be achieved only when more women rise to the top of everygovernment and every industry. Then we have to do the hard work of getting there. All of us—menand women alike—have to understand and acknowledge how stereotypes and biases cloud our beliefsand perpetuate the status quo. Instead of ignoring our differences, we need to accept and transcendthem.

For decades, we have focused on giving women the choice to work inside or outside the home. Wehave celebrated the fact that women have the right to make this decision, and rightly so. But we haveto ask ourselves if we have become so focused on supporting personal choices that we’re failing toencourage women to aspire to leadership. It is time to cheer on girls and women who want to sit at thetable, seek challenges, and lean in to their careers.

Today, despite all of the gains we have made, neither men nor women have real choice. Untilwomen have supportive employers and colleagues as well as partners who share familyresponsibilities, they don’t have real choice. And until men are fully respected for contributing insidethe home, they don’t have real choice either. Equal opportunity is not equal unless everyone receivesthe encouragement that makes seizing those opportunities possible. Only then can both men andwomen achieve their full potential.

None of this is attainable unless we pursue these goals together. Men need to support women and, Iwish it went without saying, women need to support women too. Stanford professor DeborahGruenfeld makes the case: “We need to look out for one another, work together, and act more like acoalition. As individuals, we have relatively low levels of power. Working together, we are fiftypercent of the population and therefore have real power.”

As obvious as this sounds, women have notalways worked together in the past. In fact, there are many discouraging examples where women haveactually done the opposite.

We are a new generation and we need a new approach.

In the summer of 2012, my former Google colleague Marissa Mayer was named CEO of Yahoo.

Like several of her friends and the Yahoo board, I knew that she was heading into her third trimesterof pregnancy. Of course, many men take big jobs when their wives are weeks away from giving birth,and no one raises it as an issue, but Marissa’s condition quickly became headline news. She washeralded as the first pregnant CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Feminists cheered. Then Marissa let itbe known: “My maternity leave will be a few weeks long, and I’ll work throughout it.”

Manyfeminists stopped cheering. Since taking such a short leave is not feasible or desirable for everyone,they argued that Marissa was hurting the cause by setting up unreasonable expectations.

So was this one giant leap forward for womankind and one baby step back? Of course not. Marissabecame the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company … while pregnant. She decided how she wantedto manage her career and family and never claimed that her choice should apply to anyone else. If shehad cut Yahoo’s maternity leave to two weeks for all employees, then concern would have been inorder. She did not do this, but she was still roundly criticized. Even a European cabinet memberweighed in.

Like any individual, Marissa knows best what she is capable of given her particularcircumstances. And as journalist Kara Swisher also noted, Marissa “has a husband who can actuallytake care of the child, and no one seems to remember that.”

Women who want to take two weeksoff … or two days … or two years … or twenty years deserve everyone’s full support.

As Marissa’s experience demonstrates, women in powerful positions often receive greater scrutiny.

Because the vast majority of leaders are men, it is not possible to generalize from any one example.

But the dearth of female leaders causes one woman to be viewed as representative of her entiregender.

And because people often discount and dislike female leaders, these generalizations are oftencritical. This is not just unfair to the individuals but reinforces the stigma that successful women areunlikeable. A perfect and personal example occurred in May 2012, when a Forbes blogger posted anarticle entitled “Sheryl Sandberg Is the Valley’s ‘It’ Girl—Just Like Kim Polese Once Was.” Hebegan his comparison by describing Kim, an early tech entrepreneur, as a “luminary” in the mid-1990swho never really earned her success, but was “in the right place at the right time [and was] young,pretty and a good speaker.” The blogger then argued, “I think Polese is a good cautionary talefor … Sheryl Sandberg.”

Ouch.

Kim and I had never met or spoken before this incident, but she defended both of us. In a publishedresponse, she described reading the blog post and how her “immediate thought was—how sad. Howsad that as an industry and a society we haven’t advanced over these past two decades when it comesto views on women and leadership. As with all the past lazy, stereotype-ridden articles like this one, itgets the facts wrong.” After correcting the facts, she continued, “Views like these are all toocommonplace, and part of a pervasive pattern that belittles, demeans and marginalizes women asleaders.”

So many other readers joined her in calling the post sexist that the blogger posted anapology and retraction.

I was grateful for Kim’s vocal support. The more women can stick up for one another, the better.

Sadly, this doesn’t always happen. And it seems to happen even less when women voice a positionthat involves a gender-related issue. The attacks on Marissa for her maternity leave plans came almostentirely from other women. This has certainly been my experience too. Everyone loves a fight—andthey really love a cat-fight. The media will report endlessly about women attacking other women,which distracts from the real issues. When arguments turn into “she said/she said,” we all lose.

Every social movement struggles with dissension within its ranks, in part because advocates arepassionate and unlikely to agree on every position and solution. Betty Friedan famously and foolishlyrefused to work with—or even to shake hands with—Gloria Steinem. They both did so much tofurther women’s rights. But what if they had been able to work together? Couldn’t they have furtheredthe cause even more?

There are so many of us who care deeply about these matters. We should strive to resolve ourdifferences quickly, and when we disagree, stay focused on our shared goals. This is not a plea for lessdebate, but for more constructive debate. In Marissa’s case, it would have been great to keep the focuson her breakthrough achievements. Thanks to her high-profile appointment, other companies mightconsider hiring pregnant women for big jobs, and expectant mothers might be more inclined to applyfor them. By diminishing Marissa’s accomplishment, the attacks diminished us all.

It is a painful truth that one of the obstacles to more women gaining power has sometimes beenwomen already in power. Women in the generations ahead of me believed, largely correctly, that onlyone woman would be allowed to ascend to the senior ranks in any particular company. In the days oftokenism, women looked around the room and instead of bonding against an unfair system, they oftenviewed one another as competition. Ambition fueled hostility, and women wound up being ignored,undermined, and in some cases even sabotaged by other women.

In the 1970s, this phenomenon was common enough that the term “queen bee” was used to describea woman who flourished in a leadership role, especially in male-dominated industries, and who usedher position to keep other female “worker bees” down. For some, it was simple self-preservation. Forothers, it reflected their coming-of-age in a society that believed men were superior to women. In thissense, queen bee behavior was not just a cause of gender discrimination but also a consequence of thatdiscrimination. Queen bees internalized the low status of women and in order to feel worthythemselves wanted only to associate with men. Often, these queen bees were rewarded for maintainingthe status quo and not promoting other women.

Unfortunately, this “there can be only one” attitude still lingers today. It makes no sense for womento feel that we are competing against one another anymore, but some still do. In certain instances,women question their female colleagues’ level of career commitment, aggressiveness, and leadershipabilities.

One study found that female professors believed that male Ph.D. students were morecommitted to their careers than female Ph.D. students, even though a survey of the students found nogender difference in their reported levels of commitment.

Other research suggests that once a womanachieves success, particularly in a gender-biased context, her capacity to see gender discrimination isreduced.

It’s heartbreaking to think about one woman holding another back. As former secretary of stateMadeleine Albright once said, “There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help otherwomen.”

And the consequences extend beyond individual pain. Women’s negative views of femalecoworkers are often seen as an objective assessment—more credible than the views of men.

Whenwomen voice gender bias, they legitimize it. Obviously, a negative attitude cannot be gender based ifit comes from another woman, right? Wrong. Often without realizing it, women internalizedisparaging cultural attitudes and then echo them back. As a result, women are not just victims ofsexism, they can also be perpetrators.

There is hope that this attitude is changing. A recent survey found that “high-potential women”

working in business want to “pay it forward,” and 73 percent have reached out to other women to helpthem develop their talents.

Almost all of the women I have encountered professionally have gone outof their way to be helpful. When I was a lowly summer intern at McKinsey, I met Diana Farrell, a starconsultant, at a company-wide conference in Colorado. Diana had just spoken at a panel that Iattended and we bumped into each other afterward—where else?—in the women’s room. We endedup having a talk that continued beyond the sinks, and she became a close friend and trusted advisor.

Years later, she was one of the few who encouraged me to join Google.

The more women help one another, the more we help ourselves. Acting like a coalition truly doesproduce results. In 2004, four female executives at Merrill Lynch started having lunch together once amonth. They shared their accomplishments and frustrations. They brainstormed about business. Afterthe lunches, they would all go back to their offices and tout one another’s achievements. Theycouldn’t brag about themselves, but they could easily do it for their colleagues. Their careersflourished and each rose up the ranks to reach managing director and executive officer levels.

Thequeen bee was banished, and the hive became stronger.

I know that not every woman encounters this kind of positive female support, and yet oddly, weoften expect it. Most women don’t assume that men will reach out and help, but with our own gender,we assume there will be a connection. We imagine women will act communally and maybe we do soout of our own bias. Once in my career, I felt that a senior woman treated me poorly. She wouldcomplain about me and my team behind my back but would not discuss any concerns she had withme, even when I asked directly. When I first met her, I had high hopes that she would be an ally.

When she turned out to be not just unhelpful but actually spiteful, I was not just disappointed; I feltbetrayed.

Sharon Meers explained to me that this feeling of betrayal was predictable. Both men and womendo, in fact, demand more time and warmth from women in the workplace. We expect greater nicenessfrom women and can become angry when they don’t conform to that expectation. “I think that’s a bigpart of the protest about executive women being ‘mean’ to other women,” Sharon told me. “I think it’sabout a double standard we have when we look at female versus male superiors.”

I now recognize that had this senior woman been a man and acted the same way, I still would havebeen frustrated, but I wouldn’t have taken it so personally. It’s time to drop the double standard.

Gender should neither magnify nor excuse rude and dismissive treatment. We should expectprofessional behavior, and even kindness, from everyone.

Any coalition of support must also include men, many of whom care about gender inequality asmuch as women do. In 2012, Kunal Modi, a student at Harvard’s Kennedy School, wrote an articleimploring men to “Man Up on Family and Workplace Issues.” He argued that “for the sake ofAmerican corporate performance and shareholder returns, men must play an active role in ensuringthat the most talented young workers (often women …) are being encouraged to advocate for theircareer advancement.… So men, let’s get involved now—and not in a patronizing manner thatmarginalizes this as some altruistic act on behalf of our mothers, wives, and daughters—but on behalfof ourselves, our companies, and the future of our country.”

I applaud Kunal’s message, especially his focus on active engagement. Men of all ages mustcommit to changing the leadership ratios. They can start by actively seeking out qualified femalecandidates to hire and promote. And if qualified candidates cannot be found, then we need to invest inmore recruiting, mentoring, and sponsoring so women can get the necessary experience.

An “us versus them” crusade will not move us toward true equality. Nor will an “us versus us”

crusade, which U.C. Hastings law professor Joan Williams calls the “gender wars.” These wars arebeing waged on many fronts, but the mommy wars, which pit mothers who work outside the homeagainst mothers who work inside the home, attract the most attention. As Professor Williams explains,“These mommy wars are so bitter because both groups’ identities are at stake because of another clashof social ideals: The ideal worker is defined as someone always available for work, and the ‘goodmother’ is defined as always available to her children. So ideal-worker women need to prove that,although they weren’t always there, their children are fine, fine, fine.… Women who have rejected theideal-worker norm and settled for a slower career (or no career) need to prove that their compromisewas necessary for the good of their families. So you have each group of women judging the other,because neither group of women has been able to live up to inconsistent ideals.”

Professor Williams is absolutely right. One of the conflicts inherent in having choice is that we allmake different ones. There is always an opportunity cost, and I don’t know any woman who feelscomfortable with all her decisions. As a result, we inadvertently hold that discomfort against thosewho remind us of the path not taken. Guilt and insecurity make us second-guess ourselves and, in turn,resent one another.

In a letter to The Atlantic in June 2012, Barnard president Debora Spar wrote about this messy andcomplicated emotion, exploring why she and so many successful women feel so guilty. She decidedthat it’s because women “have been subtly striving all our lives to prove that we have picked up thetorch that feminism provided. That we haven’t failed the mothers and grandmothers who made ourambitions possible. And yet, in a deep and profound way, we are failing. Because feminism wasn’tsupposed to make us feel guilty, or prod us into constant competitions over who is raising childrenbetter, organizing more cooperative marriages, or getting less sleep. It was supposed to make us free—to give us not only choices but the ability to make these choices without constantly feeling that we’dsomehow gotten it wrong.”

Stay-at-home mothers can make me feel guilty and, at times, intimidate me. There are momentswhen I feel like they are judging me, and I imagine there are moments when they feel like I amjudging them. But when I push past my own feelings of guilt and insecurity, I feel grateful. Theseparents—mostly mothers—constitute a large amount of the talent that helps sustain our schools,nonprofits, and communities. Remember that mom who pointed out that my son should be wearing agreen T-shirt on St. Patrick’s Day? She is a tireless volunteer in the classroom and our community. Somany people benefit from her hard work.

Society has long undervalued the contributions of those who work without a salary. My mother feltthis slight keenly. For seventeen years, she worked more than full-time as a mother and on behalf ofSoviet Jewry. She understood that the compensation for her efforts was making a difference in thelives of persecuted people halfway across the world, but many people in her own neighborhood didnot consider her work to be as important as a “real job.” She was still regarded as “just a housewife”—undercutting the very real but unpaid work of raising children and advocating for human rights.

We all want the same thing: to feel comfortable with our choices and to feel validated by thosearound us. So let’s start by validating one another. Mothers who work outside the home should regardmothers who work inside the home as real workers. And mothers who work inside the home should beequally respectful of those choosing another option.

A few years ago on a visit to the U.S. Naval Academy, I met an extraordinary woman who wasabout to join the U.S. Submarine Force as one of its first female officers. She was nervous about hernew role and aware that there were risks in being an officer and not a gentleman. I asked her to let meknow how it went. A year later, she followed up with a heartfelt e-mail. “Truthfully I was prepared foropposition and the possibility of being discounted,” she wrote. “But it did not happen. I was respectedthe moment I stepped on board and I can truly say that I am a valued part of the crew.” Unfortunately,she told me that she encountered resentment from another source—the navy wives. At an onshore“welcome” dinner, the wives of her colleagues pounced and accused her of being a “bra-burningfeminist out to prove a point.” They forced her to defend her career choice, reputation, and personallife. “I was shocked! Talk about uncomfortable!” she wrote. “I did my best to answer their questionsand stand my ground. Eventually they backed off and started in on my husband!”

We must work harder to rise above this. The gender wars need an immediate and lasting peace.

True equality will be achieved only when we all fight the stereotypes that hold us back. Feelingthreatened by others’ choices pulls us all down. Instead, we should funnel our energy into breakingthis cycle.

Sharon Meers tells a story about a school parents’ night she attended in which the childrenintroduced their parents. Sharon’s daughter Sammy pointed at her father and said, “This is Steve, hemakes buildings, kind of like an architect, and he loves to sing.” Then Sammy pointed at Sharon andsaid, “This is Sharon, she wrote a book, she works full-time, and she never picks me up from school.”

To Sharon’s credit, hearing this account did not make her feel guilty. Instead, she said, “I felt mad atthe social norms that make my daughter feel odd because her mother doesn’t conform to thosenorms.”

The goal is to work toward a world where those social norms no longer exist. If more children seefathers at school pickups and mothers who are busy at jobs, both girls and boys will envision moreoptions for themselves. Expectations will not be set by gender but by personal passion, talents, andinterests.

I am fully aware that most women are not focused on changing social norms for the next generationbut simply trying to get through each day. Forty percent of employed mothers lack sick days andvacation leave, and about 50 percent of employed mothers are unable to take time off to care for a sickchild.

Only about half of women receive any pay during maternity leave.

These policies can havesevere consequences; families with no access to paid family leave often go into debt and can fall intoC:\Users\Yuvi\Documents\Calibre Library\Sheryl Sandberg\Lean In (31)\Lean In - Sheryl Sandberg\images\000002.jpgpoverty.

Part-time jobs with fluctuating schedules offer little chance to plan and often stop short ofthe forty-hour week that provides basic benefits.

Too many work standards remain inflexible and unfair, often penalizing women with children. Toomany talented women try their hardest to reach the top and bump up against systemic barriers. Somany others pull back because they do not think they have a choice. All of this brings me back toLeymah Gbowee’s insistence that we need more women in power. When leadership insists that thesepolicies change, they will. Google put in pregnancy parking when I asked for it and it remains therelong after I left. We must raise both the ceiling and the floor.

MY MOTHER had fewer choices than I did, but with my father’s support, she has always worked hard.

During my childhood, she chose to be a devoted mother and volunteer. When I left for college, shewent back to school to study teaching English as a second language. She taught full-time for fifteenyears and felt that teaching was her calling. “At one point, I was asked to become the administrator forthe entire school,” my mother told me. “I said no, preferring to stay in the classroom and work withmy students. I was exactly where I wanted to be.”

In 2003, my mother left the workforce to take care of her ailing parents. She was sorry to leave herteaching career, but family has always been her top priority. After my grandparents passed away, shereentered the workforce. She founded Ear Peace: Save Your Hearing, a nonprofit to prevent noise-induced hearing loss in young people. At the age of sixty-five, she has returned to her love ofteaching, running workshops and speaking to students from elementary to high school.

My mother has leaned in her entire life. She raised her children, helped her parents spend their finalyears in dignity and comfort, and continues to be a dedicated and loving wife, mother, andgrandmother. She has always contributed to her community and the world. She is my inspiration.

My mother wants to see society achieve true equality. She sees the barriers that women still face,but she also sees new opportunities. She believes that what I have achieved, and much more, ispossible for many others. I agree. And more important, so many women that I have encountered agree.

Filled with energy, optimism, and self-confidence, they are scrambling along that jungle gym andmoving toward their long-term dream.

It’s up to us to end the self-fulfilling belief that “women can’t do this, women can’t do that.”

Throwing up our hands and saying “It can’t be done” ensures that it will never be done.

I have written this book to encourage women to dream big, forge a path through the obstacles, andachieve their full potential. I am hoping that each woman will set her own goals and reach for themwith gusto. And I am hoping that each man will do his part to support women in the workplace and inthe home, also with gusto. As we start using the talents of the entire population, our institutions will bemore productive, our homes will be happier, and the children growing up in those homes will nolonger be held back by narrow stereotypes.

I know that for many women, getting to the top of their organization is far from their primary focus.

My intention is not to exclude them or ignore their valid concerns. I believe that if more women leanin, we can change the power structure of our world and expand opportunities for all. More femaleleadership will lead to fairer treatment for all women. Shared experience forms the basis of empathyand, in turn, can spark the institutional changes we need.

Critics have scoffed at me for trusting that once women are in power, they will help one another,since that has not always been the case.

I’m willing to take that bet. The first wave of women whoascended to leadership positions were few and far between, and to survive, many focused more onfitting in than on helping others. The current wave of female leadership is increasingly willing tospeak up. The more women attain positions of power, the less pressure there will be to conform, andthe more they will do for other women. Research already suggests that companies with more womenin leadership roles have better work-life policies, smaller gender gaps in executive compensation, andmore women in midlevel management.

The hard work of generations before us means that equality is within our reach. We can close theleadership gap now. Each individual’s success can make success a little easier for the next. We can dothis—for ourselves, for one another, for our daughters, and for our sons. If we push hard now, thisnext wave can be the last wave. In the future, there will be no female leaders. There will just beleaders.

When Gloria Steinem marched in the streets to fight for the opportunities that so many of us nowtake for granted, she quoted Susan B. Anthony, who marched in the streets before her and concluded,“Our job is not to make young women grateful. It is to make them ungrateful so they keep going.”

The sentiment remains true today. We need to be grateful for what we have but dissatisfied with thestatus quo. This dissatisfaction spurs the charge for change. We must keep going.

The march toward true equality continues. It continues down the halls of governments,corporations, academia, hospitals, law firms, nonprofits, research labs, and every organization, largeand small. We owe it to the generations that came before us and the generations that will come after tokeep fighting. I believe women can lead more in the workplace. I believe men can contribute more inthe home. And I believe that this will create a better world, one where half our institutions are run bywomen and half our homes are run by men.

I look toward the world I want for all children—and my own. My greatest hope is that my son andmy daughter will be able to choose what to do with their lives without external or internal obstaclesslowing them down or making them question their choices. If my son wants to do the important workof raising children full-time, I hope he is respected and supported. And if my daughter wants to workfull-time outside her home, I hope she is not just respected and supported, but also liked for herachievements.

I hope they both end up exactly where they want to be. And when they find where their truepassions lie, I hope they both lean in—all the way.
Let’s Keep Talking …
　　My goal is that this book is not the end of the conversation, but the beginning.

I invite you to continue the discussion with me by joining the Lean In Community atwww.facebook.com/leaninorg. Let’s keep talking about these issues and supporting one another.

Women and men of all ages are welcome.

I also encourage you to visit www.leanin.org for practical education and personal experiences thatcan help you reach your goals. Here you can explore topics critical to your success—from negotiatingeffectively to understanding your strengths. You also can create and join Lean In Circles, small peergroups that meet in person for ongoing encouragement and development.
Acknowledgments
　　I am grateful to the many people who believed in these ideas and gave so much of themselves to makethe publication of Lean In possible.

My deepest thanks go to my writing partner Nell Scovell. Nell and I have been working together onspeeches, starting with the 2011 Forrestal Lecture at the U.S. Naval Academy, where I first used thephrase “lean in.” When I was considering writing this book, I realized that I was willing to do it only ifNell collaborated with me. Nell responded that she was “not just in, but all in,” which says everythingabout her commitment. She took a break from her work as a television writer/producer and journalistto make this a priority. She put in nights, early mornings, weekends, and holidays to accommodate mylimited schedule. Most of all, she was insistent that we keep searching until we found the right way totalk about these complicated and emotional issues. Nell’s talent with words is matched only by hersense of humor and her unshakable belief that having more women in leadership positions will resultin a fairer and better world. I am grateful to her not just for her expertise and complete dedication, butfor her friendship, which I have come to cherish. Her heart rings true and clear on this book’s everypage.

Marianne Cooper also has lived and breathed this book for the past year and a half. As a sociologistat the Clayman Institute for Gender Research at Stanford University and an expert on gender andsocial inequality, Marianne brought her vast knowledge to bear as this book’s lead researcher. She ismeticulous in her approach and has an unparalleled talent for synthesizing research so it is concise,understandable, and convincing. I learned a great deal from her clear thinking, deep insight, andanalytical rigor.

This book would not have been written if it were not for Jennifer Walsh. Through the depth of herconviction, the sheer force of her will, and her absolute refusal to take no for an answer, Jenniferconvinced me to write this book. She told me that this process would be an important personal journeyfor me, and she was right. She stayed by my side from beginning to end, providing guidance andencouragement and reminding me at key moments why I was doing this.

My editor, Jordan Pavlin, believed in this project so much that she dedicated many hours over manymonths before I fully committed. She was instrumental in helping flesh out the initial ideas and turnthose ideas into outlines and finally into chapters. Jordan never read an anecdote she did not thinkcould be expanded, and she continually pushed me to share more of my experiences and emotions. Ialso owe my deepest gratitude to Sonny Mehta, editor in chief of Knopf, whose unflagging supportkept this project on the fast track.

David Dreyer and Eric London were indispensable to the writing of this book. As trusted advisorsand brilliant craftsmen, they pored over each and every draft from the very first to the very last. Theyapplied their impeccable judgment and communications expertise to all matters, from suggestingsweeping structural changes to honing minute details. They always (always) stayed on point, wereable to see issues from multiple angles, and delivered their advice with speed and a sense of humor.

Elliot Schrage, Brandee Barker, Sarah Feinberg, Debbie Frost, and especially Ashley Zandy providedinvaluable support and advice. Gina Bianchini, Rachel Thomas, and Debi Hemmeter turned theirpassion for and commitment to this book’s message into establishing the Lean In Community.

If you read this book, you know the importance I place on feedback, and I am especially grateful tothe many people who provided it. From the moment I decided to do this, my sister-in-law, AmySchefler, jumped in to help. She sent detailed thoughts on topics I should cover as I was working onthe initial outline, interviewed all her friends, shared her own stories, and read every draft of eachchapter multiple times. Her enthusiasm and passion for this project—as well as her love and support—were truly inspiring.

Gloria Steinem has shared her wisdom with me since I was lucky enough to meet her six years ago.

My understanding of the challenges that women face owes much to the time she has generously spentwith me. No one has thought about women—and all of humanity—more deeply than Gloria. And sheconsiders every issue with humility, humor, and a profound desire to build a just world. As an activist,her efforts continue to move us all toward the goal of true equality. As a writer, her words oftenprovide the best single-sentence summary on any topic, which is why she is quoted so frequently inthis book. The phrase “internalize the revolution” comes from her and echoes her book Revolutionfrom Within. It is with love and gratitude that I quote her words in these pages.

Arianna Huffington has been a constant source of support in every aspect of my life for many years.

She sent comments on drafts from all around the world, adding her insight and deep understanding ofcultural trends. Oprah Winfrey encouraged me to focus on my intent for this book. When I washesitant to share something personal, I heard her voice in my head—or in the text messages she sent—reminding me of the power of being authentic. Gene Sperling is one of the busiest people I know, andyet he found the time to write page after page of key suggestions. His ability to cut to the heart of thematter on issues that concern public policy and the problems that affect people from every lifecircumstance is matchless.

Mindy Levy, my childhood friend, was visiting with her family when I roped her into looking at achapter. She turned out to be a master of structure and organization, which she then applied to futuredrafts. Mellody Hobson encouraged me to speak from the heart with conviction and confidence. Shesets the example of what it means to be a woman, unapologetically. Karen Kehela Sherwood helpedcrystallize several key ideas, including the “aha” moment of realizing that how women are perceivedwhen negotiating can be used as a negotiation tool. And just as she did for so many of my papers forso many years, my college roommate Carrie Weber stayed up many late nights line editing everysentence. She helped in ways that only someone who is both a dear friend and an accomplished authorcould.

Many others generously read drafts and offered thoughts, sometimes under demanding deadlines.

Deep thanks to Stephanie Flanders, Molly Graham, Larry Summers, Bill McKibben, Tina Bennett,Scott and Clia Tierney, Amanda McCall, Jami Passer, Michelle Ebersman, Stephen Paul, DianaFarrell, Adam Freed, Phil Deutch, Marne Levine, Joel Kaplan, Eric Antonow, Lorna Borenstein,Marcus Buckingham, Michael Grimes, Anna Fieler, Kim Scott, Kim Jabal, Carole Geithner, DonGraham, Zander Lurie, and Michael Balaoing.

Many people contributed to the research that underpins this book. Shelley Correll and LoriMackenzie of the Clayman Institute for Gender Research at Stanford connected me with Marianne,then supported her so that she could dedicate so much time to this project. Mana Nakagawa, a Ph.D.

candidate in the International Comparative Education program at Stanford University, did theinternational research needed to make the book relevant for a global audience. Professor DeborahGruenfeld of the Stanford Graduate School of Business started educating me on gender issues morethan five years ago and has been doing it ever since. Kathleen McCartney, dean of the HarvardGraduate School of Education, explained the NICHD study on early child care and child development.

Professor Jennifer Aaker of the Stanford Graduate School of Business shared her research on theimportance of setting goals to pursuing happiness. Harvard professor Hannah Riley Bowlesinterrupted her vacation to spend hours on the phone discussing her work on negotiation. ProfessorFrancis Flynn of the Stanford Graduate School of Business walked me step by step through thefindings of his breakthrough Heidi/Howard study. Sharon Meers generously shared all of the researchshe spent years doing for her book Getting to 50/50. Christine Silva, senior director of research atCatalyst, provided important detail on several studies. Kim Parker, senior researcher with the PewSocial & Demographic Trends project, discussed Pew’s research report on gender and careeraspirations. And special thanks to Phil Garland, vice president of methodology at SurveyMonkey, forhis insightful comments on many drafts as well as assistance with statistical analysis.

The team at WME has been on top of every aspect of this book. Ari Emanuel kicked this wholething off by introducing me to Jennifer, and I am grateful for his friendship as well as his ever-amusing and supportive check-in calls. I am indebted to Tracy Fisher, Theresa Brown, Margaret Riley,Kathleen Nishimoto, and Caitlin Moore for all their efforts. The team at Knopf showed remarkablededication and enthusiasm in this process: Tony Chirico, Paul Bogaards, Chris Gillespie, PeterMendelsund, Erinn Hartman, Elizabeth Lindsay, Caroline Bleeke, Katherine Hourigan, and LydiaBuechler. It was a joy to work closely with Ellen Feldman and Amy Ryan, and I grew to depend ontheir precision with words, careful attention to detail, and endless patience. Thank you to DiveshMakan of Iconiq for his organizational and structural help and to Gary Stiffelman of ZiffrenBrittenham for his diligence. I also want to thank Jill Gillett and Chris Sanagustin for their support ofNell’s work on this project. Much appreciation goes to Markus Dohle and Madeline McIntosh ofRandom House for their steadfast belief in this book.

A special thanks to all the women and men who reached out to me after my TEDTalk and otherspeeches to share their stories, struggles, and triumphs. I would not have kept talking about thissubject or written this book had it not been for their responses and thoughts. When I neededinspiration, I read and reread their e-mails and letters.

I am also indebted to the many people who have given me opportunities and guidance over thecourse of my career. Larry Summers offered to advise my senior thesis, gave me my first job out ofcollege, and has been an important part of my life ever since. Lant Pritchett, my first boss, taught meto look hard at the data and speak the unvarnished truth. Eric Schmidt, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, andOmid Kordestani hired me at Google despite my complete lack of any relevant experience andsupported me throughout my many years working for them. Richard Skolnik, Salim Habayeb, andMaria Clark invited me to join their team in India at the World Bank. Doug Elmendorf helped me starta group for women in economics when I was in college and taught me so much over the course ofmany years. Don Graham, Pat Mitchell, John Doerr, Dan Rosensweig, Michael Lynton, Bob Iger,Howard Schultz, and Bob Rubin have all given me key advice at critical junctures in my career. FredKofman shared his insights on leadership, authenticity, and responsibility.

I am lucky to work every day with extraordinary people at Facebook. Camille Hart has worked bymy side for more than ten years. So much of what I am able to do is because of her expertise, greatjudgment, and relentless pursuit of efficiency. My colleagues Chris Cox, Mike Schroepfer, ElliotSchrage, David Ebersman, Ted Ullyot, Libby Leffler, Charlton Gholson, Kelly Hoffman, AnikkaFragodt, Eric Antonow, David Fischer, Lori Goler, and Dan Rose challenge me to live up to their highstandards and provide the friendship and support that makes coming to work every day worthwhile.

Mark Zuckerberg gave me the opportunity of a lifetime and has continued to inspire and support meever since. He has taught me by his example to chart my own course and has encouraged me to dowhat I would do if I were not afraid.

I am blessed to be surrounded by loving friends through this project and all else. I am so grateful formy childhood friends Eve Greenbarg, Mindy Levy, Jami Passer, Beth Redlich, Elise Scheck, PamSrebrenik, Brook Rose, Merle Safer-stein, and Amy Trachter; and my closest adulthood friends CarrieWeber, Marne Levine, Phil Deutch, Katie and Scott Mitic, Craig and Kirsten Nevill-Manning, AdamFreed, Joel Kaplan, Clia and Scott Tierney, Kim Jabal, Lorna Borenstein, David Lawee, ChamathPalihapitiya, Zander Lurie, Kim Keating, Diana Farrell, Scott Pearson, Lori Talingting, and LarryBrilliant.

The boundless support of my family has been the foundation of my life. My deepest gratitude andlove to my parents Adele and Joel Sandberg, my brother David Sandberg, my sister MichelleSandberg, my mother-in-law Paula Goldberg, my siblings-in-law Amy Schefler, Marc Bodnick, andRob and Leslye Goldberg, and my goddaughter Elise Geithner.

This book does not just recommend true partnership; it is a product of several true partnerships.

Colin Summers, Nell’s husband, slowed down his architecture career to become the primary caregiverfor their children. In twenty years, his encouragement of her career has never faltered. Hiscontributions to this mission included reading many drafts of this book, discussing its contents overcountless meals, and attending several school events alone. Whenever someone suggests that mothersare better suited to raising children, Nell knows in the deepest way possible that fathers can parentwith as much love, devotion, and joy.

Scott Saywell, Marianne’s husband, encouraged her to take on this project despite her initialreluctance. When my offer came, she had her own book to write and a second baby with food allergieswho was not sleeping well. Scott insisted they would figure out a way to make it work, thenreorganized his schedule so that it did. He was more than just supportive, he was excited for Marianne.

And finally, I want to thank my truly amazing husband, Dave Goldberg. Dave is my best friend,closest advisor, dedicated coparent, and the love of my life. We both knew that my writing this bookwould come primarily at the expense of our time together, and so writing Lean In was as much hisdecision as mine. He supported me every step of the way, as he always does, with patience, greatinsight, humor, and love.

The End