STANDING IN THE STORM

When I left the country again in 2024, I carried hope like fragile glass. I believed distance would bring healing, that a new environment would give me room to breathe, to start again without the weight of old wounds. On May 9, 2024, I walked into an office believing it would be the place where I would finally heal and move forward.

Instead, I walked into rejection disguised as professionalism.

I later learned that the very people I shared space with complained about me, saying I smelled, saying they couldn’t stand having me in the office. Words that cut deeply, not just because they were cruel, but because they were spoken in silence. No colleague had the courage to speak to me directly. No manager sat me down to address it. I was left to exist in a space where I was discussed daily, judged constantly, and never given the dignity of honesty.

For three months, I endured that space knowingly.

Every morning, I showed up aware of what was being said behind my back. Every day I choose composure over collapse. I smiled when my heart was breaking. I worked when my spirit was tired. I pretended nothing was wrong, not because I was strong all the time, but because survival demanded it.

And the challenges did not stop there.

It became one battle after another, pressure from junior staff, intimidation from senior staff. A slow, calculated erosion of peace. There were days before I questioned my decision to come back here at all. Days I wondered if I had misread my calling, my timing, my strength.

But I refused to give up.

I refused to let them define me.

Even when the past four months tested me more than I was prepared for. Even when the feeling of being watched crept into my bones. Even when a leader yelled in the office, banging doors, awakening memories I had buried so deeply. Each outburst peeled back old wounds, reminding my body of pain my mind was trying to forget.

There were moments I questioned reality itself, wondering if someone had sent them, if this pain was intentional, orchestrated. When a leader tells you that certain people want you out, and then adds cruelty to an already bleeding wound, something inside your shifts. Trust fractures. Safety disappears.

And yet, I am still here.

Still trying to make sense of it all. Still choosing to show up. I’m still hoping clarity will come. Anxiety has been slowly tightening its grip, day by day, but it has not won. Not yet.

Because even in the fog, I know this: my presence is not a mistake. My endurance is not weak. My story does not end in this chapter.

Some environments reveal not who you are, but who they are. And sometimes, survival itself is the bravest form of resistance.

I am still standing.

And that is a quiet victory.

 


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

BENEATH THE QUIET HOURS

Image
1.THE SILENCE THAT RAISED ME I was born in the early 1990s, into a home defined by routine, responsibility, and a quiet, unspoken resilience. Life followed patterns that rarely changed. School mornings were short and efficient. We came home for lunch, and in the afternoons, we went back to the house again, long, quiet stretches of time where the world seemed to pause. Both of my parents worked full-time. My mother returned each evening carrying fatigue that spoke volumes without saying a word tiredness rooted in love, in sacrifice, in survival. My father’s presence was firmer, more distant, mostly reserved for weekends. His love was strict, measured, something we learned to recognize rather than feel openly. We were a large family, but never all in one place. My sister and our second-born brother stayed with our grandmother. Our eldest brother had already moved on to high school, stepping into a future we could only imagine from afar. At home, it was just me and our third-born br...
Read more

MY TURN

This chapter of my life is called MY TURN. Not because I suddenly became selfish, but because I have been selfless for too long. I gave until my hands were empty, loved until my chest was tired, stayed in places that were shrinking my spirit just to prove I was loyal. Now I choose me, not loudly, not for applause, but intentionally, I’m choosing my growth, even when it makes people uncomfortable. I’m choosing my peace, even when it looks like distance, choosing my healing, even when others prefer me broken because broken people are easier to control. For years, I was the “understanding one.”, the one who made excuses for disrespect, one who stayed silent to keep the room comfortable, who carried other people’s pain while bleeding quietly in corners, the one who showed up for everyone, even when nobody showed up for me, and look at me now, still standing, Still breathing, Still here, but this time, I’m standing differently. My back is straighter, My boundaries are louder than my mouth, ...
Read more

NEXT VICTIM

Coming from the same country doesn’t make you my friend. It doesn’t make you family. It doesn’t make you close. It just means we boarded different flights with the same passport. I treated her like a big sister, no, let’s be honest, like a mother. I listened, I nodded, I sat there quietly while she seasoned other women’s names like stew, one insult at a time. And the funny thing? I knew. Oh, I knew. When someone is that comfortable tearing others apart, it’s only a matter of time before you’re added to the menu. I just didn’t know when my name would be served. Spoiler alert: it was coming. 😂 There we were, at a party. Music loud. Food good. Laughter real. Greek-themed gowns everywhere, flowing, dramatic, giving Olympus realness. Women glowing, dancing, eating like they deserved joy. And me? I was present. Happy. Free. Unbothered. Or so I thought. Because while we were dancing and living, she was sitting. Not resting. Not enjoying. Sitting and strategizing. Plotting. Calculating. Like ...
Read more