The Quiet War in Corporate America
Let’s talk about power.
Not the kind that inspires. Not the kind that changes the world with integrity or uplifts communities. I’m talking about the silent kind. The insidious kind. The power that operates behind polished emails and “camera-on” Zoom calls. The kind that smiles in HR-approved ways while draining you behind the scenes.
It’s the power that shows up in performance reviews masked as “constructive feedback.” The power that calls itself “supportive” while tracking your every move in real-time dashboards. The kind that weaponizes flexibility—turning it from a basic human right into a privilege you must earn.
Image Credit: Midjourney AI
I’ve lived under that power. I’ve breathed it in like recycled office air. And I did everything “right.” I checked every box they gave me.
I over-delivered.
I stayed late.
I skipped lunches.
I worked while sick, because calling out felt like asking for mercy.
I answered emails from hospital beds, doctor’s offices, and yes—even delivery rooms.
When I had my son, I was back on my laptop the next day like I didn’t just bring life into this world. When I had my daughter, I took a vacation instead of maternity leave—because there wasn’t one. And while feeding a newborn, I was also onboarding into a new role. That’s not hustle. That’s survival.
Why? Because I thought if I pushed harder, if I proved myself enough, someone would finally say, “You’ve made it. You belong. You’re safe now.”
But here’s the ugly truth that corporate America doesn’t post on LinkedIn:
You will never be enough to a system that profits off your exhaustion.
You are not a person to them. You’re productivity.
You’re not a voice. You’re a metric.
And the second you speak up, set boundaries, or ask for the human decency of balance? You become a “problem.”
Suddenly, you’re not a team player. You’re “difficult.”
You’re not committed—you’re “unreliable.”
If you have a family? That’s seen as a liability, not a legacy.
This system wasn’t built for people like us. Not for women. Not for mothers. Not for first-generation Americans navigating expectations at home and at work. It wasn’t built for those of us who carry culture, community, and caregiving on our backs—and still show up ready to work.
Corporate America is a machine that rewards burnout and calls it loyalty. It applauds “grit” when what it really means is: how much of yourself are you willing to lose for a paycheck that never quite feels like enough?
Meanwhile, the same C-suite executives telling you to give more… are cashing in on your sacrifice. Their bonuses swell while your PTO requests sit unanswered. Their lives stay balanced while yours gets dissected in meetings you’re not even invited to.
And yet, somehow, we’re the ones who feel guilty for wanting rest.
But let me say this clearly:
You can still be a damn good employee and say no.
You can lead with excellence and protect your peace.
You can hit goals and still choose your mental health, your children, your joy.
That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
And if the system calls you difficult for choosing yourself? That says everything about the system and nothing about you.
We’re done waiting for permission to be whole.
We’re done asking for flexibility like it’s a favor.
We’re done applauding survival when we deserve sustainability.
If this hits you in your chest, if it echoes something you've whispered to yourself in between meetings, late-night work sessions, or silent car rides home—you're not alone. You’re not broken. You’re waking up.
And you don’t owe this machine your soul just because it gave you a seat at the table.
You deserve more than survival. You deserve freedom. You deserve to be the main character in your own damn life.
So take the pen back.
Write your own rules.
Because the system will never save you.
But you?
You’ve always had the power to save yourself.
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