Reintegration and the Code-Switching Game

The other day at work, we were in an editorial meeting trying to figure out why engagement was down—why employees seemed less motivated, less willing to go the extra mile. There were plenty of theories thrown around, but I made a joke about how our “Outies” are probably going through it right now. (Yes, a Severance reference. If you know, you know.) It got a laugh, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

For those unfamiliar, Severance explores the idea of separating your work self (your “Innie”) from your personal self (your “Outie”). The two versions of you don’t share memories, experiences, or even identities. While the show takes this concept to an extreme, many of us—especially those who don’t fit the dominant culture at work—have been doing a version of this for years. It’s just another form of code-switching.

For context, I work in a conservative, Utah-centric (aka Mormon) workplace. It’s not just company culture—it’s the culture-culture. Conversations default to marriage, kids, church, and the small-world connections that make Utah feel like a social entrapment. They want to be nice and get to know you, but don’t know how to relate to anything outside their experience. So, if you don’t fit that mold? You code-switch. You adapt. You compartmentalize.

For years, I kept my “Innie” and “Outie” separate. “Work Me” was polite, neutral, and private. No one knew much about my life outside of work because I didn’t offer it up. My boss once introduced me at an awards ceremony by saying, “Jenna is quiet and efficient, and just when you think you know what to expect, she opens her mouth and the funniest thing comes out.” That was the extent of my coworkers' knowledge about me. I didn’t talk about my weekend plans in detail. I avoided mentioning if I went out drinking. I didn’t say who I was dating. Because when you’re surrounded by a dominant culture, the easiest way to function is to mirror it—or at least, not disrupt it.

But lately, I’ve been going through what I can only describe as reintegration sickness—the discomfort that comes when your “Innie” and “Outie” start merging, confusing your brain and making you feel unwell.

I’ve started letting my full self show up at work. Not in an unprofessional way—just in a more authentic way. I crack jokes that aren’t pre-filtered. I swear occasionally in meetings (within reason). I talk about my actual life instead of offering vague, non-committal updates. The response has been mixed. With some, I’ve connected more than ever. But others? They don’t know what to do with me. One coworker even told our boss he felt "othered" because our team occasionally discussed politics in a way he found inappropriate. I know what he was referring to—a passing remark about Elon Musk. My response? "Honestly, take away the whole piece-of-shit thing, I think one of his biggest crimes is looking like that." In a team of nearly 20 people, maybe four or five of us don’t identify as conservative Christians. And that one comment? It was enough to justify a complaint.

Reintegration shakes up the world people are used to. It forces them to confront the fact that a whole different world has existed outside their consciousness. For some, that’s exciting. For others, it’s unsettling. Because the ones in charge? They never had to code-switch in the first place.

It’s hitting me lately—Utah has always been a complicated place for me, but the more I grow into myself, the more obvious it becomes that I don’t fit. I’ve spent years adapting, molding, trying to find my place in it. But the more I embrace who I am, the more I realize I’m never going to fully fit in here. And there are people actively making sure I don’t.

And that’s not even touching on the broader reality of what’s happening in the world. When pride flags are banned, but Nazi flags are fine; when laws are designed to stifle, erase, and push people back into hiding—it’s not just about the workplace anymore. It’s about existing, fully and openly, in a space that would rather you stay quiet.

I know my experience is just a fraction of what others have dealt with forever. Black people, queer people, anyone outside the dominant narrative—this isn’t new. Code-switching isn’t just a workplace survival tool; for many, it’s an everyday reality in every space. And for some, it’s more than about feeling authentic—it’s about safety and survival.

I think about this a lot—how exhausting it is to pretend you don’t see what’s happening. How hard it is to keep that code-switch flipped when the world outside makes it impossible. How do you live in a dark room when you’ve seen the sun and all it has to offer?

The hope is that you find a space where you don’t have to split yourself in half just to belong. But that’s not always possible—especially in a place built on a religion that historically prioritized white men and encoded that into its laws and culture.

So, what now? I have no idea. But I do know that reintegration is hard. Trying to bring all versions of yourself into every space is uncomfortable—not just for the people around you, but for you, too. Is there room for every version of myself? Maybe there are 30 different parts of me I haven’t discovered yet. That’s dramatic, I know. But I also know I can’t go back. I can’t keep splitting myself in half just to fit in.

And honestly? I’ve got to get out of this state.

Also, watch Severance it’s truly incredible.