Like millions of women striving to balance their professional careers and private goals, I have endured hostile work environments while navigating hurdles designed to stop or stunt us. It is true that the architects of barriers and blockades are often men.

As a black woman in America, my experiences have been shaped by a double-whammy: the historically tense intersection of race and gender. Discrimination in the workplace is doled out for one, the other, or both. Longstanding stereotypes did not help. I was a visible target merely by my skin color. I was treated worse because I happen to be female.

Our history, as African-American women, is drenched in a legacy of rape and assault, silence and sin, committed by powerful evil men. Slave women, as young as 14, were forced to submit, to bear children for masters demanding their sadistic right to additional human chattel. Knowledgeable white wives looked the other way.

In modern-day workplaces, the belief that black women are tougher and can withstand more abuse has helped shape treatment of employees in every industry, from hotel maids to teachers, from warehouse workers to police officers. I just happened to choose a male-dominated profession to make my living as a radio personality and news reporter.

From the moment I passionately ventured into broadcasting, working for nine radio stations in 20 years, I was managed by men, mostly white men at mostly white stations, who were endlessly frustrated by my refusal to stay in my place with gratitude for being there.

If not for the Me Too movement, and two sons asking why so many "old women" are coming forward to speak about crimes they shouldn't be, I might have never told my youngest about the rape. I needed him to see that one of those "old women" raised him. If you think this piece was difficult to write, imagine the author crying all over her laptop.

If not for my humble life as a writer, I might have never shared with my firstborn son the many episodes of sexual harassment in the workplace. To help ensure my male children never commit these acts or behavior, I asked them to not judge a woman by how long she waited. But I also do not want them to become victims of any revengeful person lying about abuse for the sake of ruining someone.

In 22 years of telling stories for audiences from New York to Texas, I had to fight racism and sexual misconduct that produced anxiety, as it required me to put up a defense mode that resulted in accusations of troublemaker. Like the time a senior male manager told me to "stop acting like a bitch."

I had no second ear or witness who could back up my account. He was a well-respected, rich white man. I wrote a column for Billboard Magazine and described the incident. Corporate lawyers soon called the newsroom to ask if I wished to name the person.

I never did.

At another radio station, where I was the only woman on the air, and the only black, a colleague thought it was funny to leave open his magazines of naked women. Publications would be strewn all over the control room and even right near the microphone when it was my turn.

Usually, I gathered them up and put them in a pile or the trash while the man watched my discomfort from a nearby production room. One night, he went beyond disgusting. The magazines featured children.

The next day I met with our boss, the station manager. His response to my truth was to question whether I was sure of what I had seen and to say the whole incident might just be a case of boys being boys. Emboldened by this endorsement from our supervisor, the colleague felt free enough to ask what size bra I wore.

My first instinct was to slap him right across his vulgar mouth. I did not. I looked the man dead in his eye and said, "I'm not one of your little girls in a book. If you keep this up, a long line of people, real men, will come in here to have a chat with you." I then picked up the phone to call police. The exposed fiend grabbed his reading material and scurried away.

At one station, again, where I was the only black person on the air, I was fired to make room for a younger white woman, an attractive blonde. It hurt. The married boss who did the dirty deed -- I was told by the woman herself -- once made an uninvited visit to her home with wine. She called to apologize for the abrupt way I was terminated, though she fully grasped the behavior could help her career.

In all my years behind the mike, I have only missed one shift that caused public concern: the night I was raped. That is the only occasion, in a career of proudly delivering news, sports and entertainment, that no one could locate me. What the rape took from me is painful to describe. The man was later shot dead. My youngest son held me, as I told him about the evening of radio silence.

I will never stop sharing the truth about being black and female in America. Nor will I ever judge all men by the actions of some. I hope the old women who carry scars are able to heal. Because our stories help the men we love better understand us and how to not repeat the abuse.

Joyce King is a writer in North Texas and the author of several books. Twitter: @writerjoyceking

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