My first year in corporate: the prequel
I never thought becoming a “corporate girl” would feel like this.
Okay…I may have romanticized my first year in the workforce, in my head.
Fresh coffee in a very dark minimalistic aesthetic office.
Maybe a desk with my name on it.
My laptop open.
Me, sitting a little straighter. A little more adult.
Wearing cute office outfits.
Finally contributing. Finally earning. Finally being taken seriously.
I thought the hardest part would be getting in.
And getting in was hard.
Before graduation I was sending applications everywhere. Asking professors for recommendations. Rewriting my CV over and over again, trying to sound like someone — an engineer — who knew what she was doing.
A month before graduating, I got lucky. The company where I had done my internship offered me a position. I already knew the company and it felt familiar. I was thrilled. It felt like jumping ahead of the game (I had just gotten my first job! Oh my God!!!).
I knew my future coworkers.
I knew the dynamic.
I knew my boss.
Even one of my friends joined shortly after I did.
It felt like the softest and gentlest possible entry I could have ever gotten into adulthood.
I thought that meant it would be easy.
But I think I confused “familiar” with “safe.”
The first red flag (that I ignored, obviously)
Before all of that, I remember a conversation with one of my professors. I had asked him — half joking, half desperate — if he could help me get into the very big, very international company he worked at. [A/N: Sorry guys, I can’t say which. Right now, I can’t afford to get sued by this very big, very international company]. Instead of promising the referral I was looking for, he told us a story.
About a woman — see? I should’ve taken this a bad sign.
Successful. High position. Respected.
And he told us how everyone thought of her as a bad mother.
He said that she had prioritized her career over her family. That her children weren’t close to her emotionally. That success had cost her something essential — her motherhood.
I remember sitting there, quiet. Not arguing. Not defending her. Just… absorbing it.
I may have been biased because I grew up watching my own mother raising me in similar ways.
My mom lost my father after she got pregnant. She didn’t get to choose between being fully present and fully ambitious. She just had to survive. She had to keep me alive and raise me — feed me, educate me. She had to work. She had to look out for the house and her own aging mother. She had to carry everything.
So when my professor said that this woman was a bad mother, something inside me tightened. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a small knot forming somewhere in my chest.
I didn’t have the words for this feeling at the time. But I did know one thing: if the father had been the one prioritizing his career over his family, no one would call him a bad father.
But I can name that feeling now.
Because once I officially joined the workforce, I started noticing things.
It was never about the coffee
The things I started to notice were subtle at first.
Not big, dramatic, obvious things or behaviors.
They were small and quiet.
The kind that make you pause half a second too long and leave you wondering if you imagined them or if the person knows what they’re implying.
The first time it happened was within my first month on the job I mentioned before.
It was early. My boss and I were in our tiny cubicle. We were working. The department consisted of just the two of us back then. We had just finished catching up about the weekend, and the silence that followed felt awkward, like it needed filling.
So I stood up to make myself a cup of coffee.
And because I’m polite — because my mother raised me to be — I asked him if he wanted one.
He said yes.
I didn’t think anything of it. I just prepared to cups of coffee and brought them back to our office.
A couple of days later, I got up from my desk to get some coffee — again. He asked if I could bring him one. I did. I still didn’t think anything of it.
But by the third or fourth time of him asking me for a cup of coffee, something shifted in me.
One morning he told me he had a meeting in five minutes. I nodded, thanked him for informing me, and wished him luck. And everything was okay…until he asked if I could make him a cup of coffee because he wouldn’t have time to serve himself.
Time slowed in that strange way it does when something small suddenly feels big.
I remember looking at him and feeling heat crawl up my neck and face.
Something in my stomach felt unpleasant. I felt uncomfortable.
It wasn’t about coffee.
It was about the assumption.
About how quickly a gesture of politeness had turned into a quiet expectation.
I asked him what he meant. I laughed awkwardly, and I told him I wasn’t his secretary. My irritation hidden behind humor in my comment. Still, my voice didn’t shake, but I could feel my heart pounding like it might betray me anyway.
For a split second, I was scared.
Not of him.
But of being “too dramatic.”
Of being rude or difficult.
Of being the girl who overreacts over nothing.
I told him I would make that cup as a favor — but that it wasn’t my responsibility to serve him coffee if he didn’t have time to get one himself.
After that, he made his own coffee.
It had been such a small thing.
And yet, I drove home that day replaying the conversation in my head.
“Did I overreact?”
“Was it unnecessary?”
“Did I sound aggressive?”
No one teaches you that part of corporate life.
The part where you start learning how to defend your own space without apologizing for it.
Set some boundaries — especially in these situations —, and don’t feel the need to explain them. Remember!
This is kind of becoming a pattern…and I don’t like it
Sadly, it didn’t stop there.
There have been meetings where I’m the only woman in the room. Where I would start speaking and someone would interrupt me mid-sentence. Where my comment would float in the air, unacknowledged, until a man rephrased it five minutes later and suddenly it was brilliant. Where my contributions were just background noise for everyone else.
At first I thought I was being sensitive.
I attributed it to my lack of experience.
Until I started noticing the pattern.
It wasn’t exclusive to me, but this happened at least once to other women who attended a meeting.
And what shocks you the most is that none of it looks aggressive from the outside. It looks unintentional. There are no screaming matches. No obvious discrimination. No scenes that belong in a movie.
Just small moments. Repeated enough times to make you question yourself: “Did I-?” 🤨, “Did he just-?” 😑
And I think that’s what surprised me the most.
I didn’t expect my first year as a corporate girl to feel like I was constantly adjusting my size.
Trying not to shrink too much.
Trying not to expand too aggressively.
I didn’t want to take up all the space, but I wanted to be noticed.
Trying to be agreeable but not invisible.
Assertive but not intimidating.
Capable but not threatening.
And somewhere in between all of that, I remembered my professor’s story.
The successful woman. The “bad” mother.
I started thinking about how easily women are measured. Not just at work — but everywhere. As employees. As daughters. As mothers. As if every choice will be used later as evidence against us.
I don’t think being a woman in the job market is a battleground.
But I do think it’s exhausting.
Not because of grand injustices every day.
But because of the constant calibration, and balance you have to achieve.
The quiet vigilance.
The awareness.
The mental notes.
However, I don’t want to live defensively! I don’t want to walk into rooms already armored. I don’t want to assume malice in every interaction. I don’t want to turn into someone constantly bracing for impact.
What I’m learning
I don’t want to disappear in a room. I want my presence to be recognized.
I’ve concluded that maybe being a “corporate girl” isn’t about climbing fast or proving I belong — it’s too tiring.
Maybe it’s about noticing the moment something feels off — and trusting myself enough to say it out loud.
Maybe it’s about building a spine slowly.
Maybe it’s about unlearning the instinct to serve before I’m asked.
I’m still figuring it out.
Some days I speak up.
Some days I stay quiet and think about it for hours later.
Some days I’m proud of myself.
Some days I wonder if I’m too much.
But I know this:
I entered the workforce to build a career. I didn’t realize I would also need to learn how to take up space and defend it.
And I’m still learning.
Slowly.
Have you ever experienced a similar situation? I’m positive you have…you’re very lucky if you haven’t. Tell me in the comments! I look forward to reading you 🤍💻☕️
THE LESSON: never bring your boss a cup of coffee when it’s not marked down as one of your responsibilities in your contract. Babe, save yourself the trouble 😔
Author’s thoughts…
Cheers, babes 🤍
I’ve been a little MIA this past week — and now I have a very corporate reason for it.
I got fired.
I could go into the details (and maybe I will in a future post), but for now I’ll just say this: know your value. And don’t let anyone convince you that you don’t have it. Especially not in corporate. Especially not when it’s inconvenient for them.
(Honestly… I might need to write about that. There’s something there)
On a softer note — my mom is doing better. Her leg finally looks normal again (thank God), but she’s still bedridden for at least this week and probably next. I’ve been taking care of her while also applying for new jobs. I had an interview yesterday, so we’ll see what comes of it. Trying to trust the timing of everything, even when it feels like I’m going nowhere.
I’m not going to lie — I’m exhausted. Mentally and physically. But I still wanted to show up here, even if just briefly.
Thank you for being patient with me.
Wishing you the gentlest Friday 🤍
Also — I’ll be more active on Instagram (@slowbecoming.blog) and Pinterest (slowbecomingblog) this week. I’m planning on posting short highlights/summaries of the blog posts there, and I’ll be moving Monday’s Morning Selection into its own post format.
See you on next week’s post.
Lots of love,
Adas
