I once believed the world was divided into black and white, heroes and villains. My first job shattered that illusion, reminding me that reality is often a kaleidoscope of gray, tinted by ambition, sacrifice, and the occasional existential crisis.
When people use the phrase “I’m just a girl”, I believe it is a double-edged sword, playfully meant to downplay ambition, essence, and the endless stories etched into a life. I never aspired to work and be unfulfilled while at it. Especially now, in a world where the ills of the workplace are deeply institutionalized, masked by the carefully curated illusions of what should be the status quo.
I sit in reflection, as I remember settling into the corner chair of the lobby at Notethical, one of most acclaimed writing agencies in the country. Which country? you name it, it’s your story too.
I cannot hide my disdain over the fact that they do not have a Reader’s Digest or True Love Magazine to calm my anxiety with. I’ll just settle for the water, sitting coolly on the dispenser at the far end of the room. Mother, who has always harbored high hopes of me becoming a writer, would probably be proud, if I ever told her what I was up to. But I’ve adopted what psychologists might call a case of strategic introjection: I keep things to myself until my inner world feels safe enough to audition new cast members. She’s always been my biggest supporter. In her early days, she channeled Mae West’s audacious spirit, defying societal norms with a confidence that inspired me. It was her encouragement and unwavering belief in my power of storytelling that pushed me to apply for this job in the first place. Now, as I step into this world of ambition and challenge, I carry a piece of that fearless energy she passed down to me.
The glass doors opened, and there she was: the editor-in-chief, the director, the queen of this urban jungle—wearing the cleanest pair of white bata ngoma pro max. Her smile was a predator’s mask, concealing intellect sharp enough to cut through the thickest of egos. Her eyes, warm and inviting, held a calculating glint that spoke of victories long claimed and battles fought in silence. Instant connection. Ni kama hii mambo ya eyes being the doors to the soul ni ukweli. It was my first interview, and though I approached it with the confidence of someone who’d watched too many movies about the underdog, there was an odd sense of certainty. I belonged here. For now.
The office was no sterile, fluorescent-lit labyrinth. No, Notethical had an energy all its own—a cauldron of teamwork with an undertone of tension that hinted at unspoken stories. It was as if the place itself had a pulse, one that vibrated with ambition and the lingering threat of burnout.
In the months after I started, the dream job soon revealed itself to be a toxic mirage. Promises of professional growth were as fleeting as desert rain, and employment contracts? Now that was a myth. Around 65% of Gen Z employees eye the exit sign when they realize their career path looks more like a cul-de-sac than a highway to success. The company’s idea of advancement was moving from “Junior Assistant” to “Slightly Less Junior Assistant,” an antiquated retention strategy that should’ve come with a complementary therapy session.
The culture was devoid of support and recognition, a harsh contrast to the glossy promises made during recruitment. And let’s not even start on the day my voice was branded “disrespectful” for questioning changes that impacted the team. Each day felt like a battle against an invisible current. I was exhausted, my body a battlefield of stress—my chest tight, my stomach churning. The company I had once believed would align with my purpose became the source of frustration I didn’t sign up for. I was left fighting wars I hadn’t started, grappling with a reality that felt more like a bad sitcom than the career launchpad I had envisioned.
Even as I made the decision to quit, my mother walked with me. Not in body, but in spirit, in every late-night call and quiet word of encouragement. She lent me her strength when mine began to wear thin. She reminded me that perseverance isn’t about staying in the fire until you burn out, but knowing when to walk away with your integrity intact. And when I could no longer carry the weight of trying to make it work, she gave me something even more powerful than strength: grace. The grace to let go without shame. The grace to understand that releasing something that’s breaking you is not failure, it’s wisdom. It’s self-respect.
But here’s the kicker: this journey of resilience isn’t isolated. It’s a narrative many share, a collective sigh of frustration in a world that’s often spinning a little too fast. It’s an attempt to break down the misguided opinions and outdated beliefs about why “Gen Z is so quick to quit their jobs.” Maybe it’s because we know what it means to be stuck, to feel less like a person and more like a cog that’s been worn down by time and overwork. Maybe it’s because we’re rewriting the script—one that says we’re worth more than a toxic mirage of success.
So stay tuned for more stories, more insight into the truth behind the curtain of ‘dream jobs’ and the unspoken costs of ambition. Stories of young people creating lasting impact in their communities through resilience, innovation and teamwork. And while you do, remember: every challenge is a step toward growth—so keep pushing forward, and forge your path, even if you have to fight for every inch of it.
