Confronting Respect, Power, and Cultural Norms in the Workplace

I clearly remember when my former white American male boss was offended because he thought I deliberately didn’t say hello when he saw me one day. My response was simple: I likely didn’t hear him. I explained that I had just entered the space, as I always did, probably with tunnel vision stemming from a disagreement we’d had days earlier. But he chose to hold that against me, interpreting my actions as deliberately bringing negative energy into his space. He even went so far as to share how disruptive I was when I filed for discrimination.

This moment still weighs on me because of how it affected me mentally. It was a moment that taught me how some people weaponize misunderstandings to hold power over others. Now, fast forward to my current situation in Korea: I rarely get a “Hello,” “Thank you,” or even a basic acknowledgment from my Korean boss. And it angers me to no end. While cultural differences may play a role, basic respect and gratitude should transcend culture.

Cultural differences aside, we’ve all been taught to treat others—especially those who work under us—with respect, even if it’s just a fake level of courtesy. When I don’t receive a response, it feels blatantly disrespectful, especially considering my consistent reliability and work ethic.

What pisses me off most is the lack of care and gratitude, even as I show up and work daily. This is something I’ve grown to deeply dislike about some Korean men. While other travelers here might be enamored with Korean boys and men, that’s not my position or interest. In fact, I find some of their daily habits off-putting—but that’s a separate matter.

This isn’t the first time I’ve struggled with navigating workplace dynamics in Korea. Just four months prior, I worked under another Korean male boss whose approach was the complete opposite—and just as harmful. This boss demanded constant communication, even on my days off, and would often resort to verbal abuse when things didn’t go his way. The pressure became so overwhelming that I had to leave, knowing that my mental health and boundaries couldn’t survive in such an environment.

Reflecting on these two experiences—one boss showing a lack of communication and respect, and another being overly demanding and verbally abusive—I’ve come to question whether this dynamic is rooted in cultural norms or individual personality traits. While hierarchy and deference are deeply ingrained in Korean workplaces, there’s a fine line between respect for authority and exploitation of power.

Yesterday, before starting my shift, I wrote down my thoughts:

Fuming inside.

I don’t like my time being disrespected, which means not being offered consideration.

Feeling like I’m a pawn in someone’s chess game.

Feeling like my time doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter if you’re paying me or I’m volunteering—my time matters, and I should be given that respect.

Sometimes it feels like bosses—especially male bosses—become so comfortable with your reliability and good work that you turn into their puppet. They start pulling the strings, structuring your every move without considering your humanity, your rituals, your plans.

I’m a human being. And goddamn, I’m a woman. We have menstrual cycles, for crying out loud. Honestly, I doubt my boss would even care about that. When he’s having a rough day, I can see it and share my empathy. But when his lack of communication becomes a pattern—when it morphs into an “I don’t have to communicate with Dionna because I own her” type mentality—it starts to eat away at me.

This exploitative behavior, paired with selective, partial generosity, is exhausting. And what makes it even harder is knowing I have no other options right now. I’m in another country, as a Black woman, and I feel the constant pressure to stay on my Ps and Qs. I know that one misstep could drastically change my situation.

This pressure triggers my natural fight-or-flight response—my trauma response. It reminds me of the instability I fought so hard to leave behind: the financial insecurity, the housing insecurity. That wasn’t a good place to be.

So, what’s the answer?

Do I comply with this “lack of communication,” only responding when spoken to, or do I take back the reins and demand respect for my own time? Do I fake the funk, doing just what they want to hear and feel, to keep the peace?

No matter what, I know my time and humanity matter. It’s up to me to decide how I reclaim that in environments that don’t acknowledge it.

~deeply