Reflections on my life as a ‘Sensitive Woman’ in the Boy’s Club.

“You live your life forwards but understand it backwards.” - Kierkegaard

I remember my first day on the job as a newly hired ‘resource’ at IBM. They call us ‘resources’ because to them, that’s all we are. We aren’t really people. I found that odd. They said, “Memorize your employee ID number – this is how you’re identified.” I was no longer Sarah. In that moment, I became employee ID 052857.

I had just turned 23 years old. I was fresh out of undergrad, wide-eyed and ready to take on the world. I was wearing my “business professional” clothing. It was uncomfortable and expensive, but it made me feel like I ‘fit in’. I use the term ‘fit in’ intentionally because while to an outsider it may appear that I am in the right place, I would never truly ‘belong’. This world wasn’t created for me.

I sat in a dingy conference room with unremarkable conference tables and chairs pointed at a large screen projector. The room had no windows and felt like a cave. An attempt had been made to paint the walls some gaudy primary colors of red, green, and blue. That’s the private sector’s take on ‘creativity’ “Hey, we may not have windows, but here’s some vibrant colors to keep you happy!”

How inspiring.

As the first onboarding day goes on, we learn about the company history, ‘core values’, the company motto, the ‘corporate culture’, the ‘business culture’, the ‘IBM Way’.. The IBM 7  Keys to Success… What a bunch of weird mumbo jumbo. Is this a business or a cult? It felt like I was attending some weird indoctrination ceremony to a religion I had never heard of and never wanted to be part of. Looking back, this was all a very normal reaction to a very unordinary world.

I got my first taste of the boy’s club when we were doing some company history trivia and the facilitator asked a question “What purpose was IBM’s Watson AI originally created for?” I knew this one. It was Jeopardy. They created this machine to compete against Ken Jennings on the Jeopardy trivia show. I knew the answer right away, and I remember how proud I felt to be able to say it.

No response. Crickets.

Did they not hear me? I know I was audible because the boy sitting in front of me apparently heard what I said and turned around to look at me. Then, in an instant, he turned back around in his chair and parroted back the exact same thing that I had just said. The onboarding facilitator exclaimed “Yes!! Very good, Arjun!!” and congratulated the boy on his correct response.

I just said that!!

This was my first taste of what it felt like to be invisible.

Fast forward nearly 10 years later, and now I’m employee number 934268. I’m also simultaneously employee number B6838. I’ve been employee number 542832. At IBM, I was one of 300,000. Now, I’m one of 350,000 and one of 32,000. I’ve been one of 78,000 and one of 13,000. And let me tell you, these places are all the same.

Swap out the logo, the company motto, the company culture, the business culture, the core values – and what you’re essentially left with is a cut and paste version of the exact same concept. Erase your personal identity and replace it with a professional one. You can be your full, authentic self at work, but don’t question the status quo and definitely don’t have any ideas of your own. They’re going to tell you what your ideas are, and you better learn quick. A mindless worker is a happy worker.

Welcome to corporate America, where your individuality is politely but firmly checked at the door. Step in line, shrink yourself to fit the corporate image, and remember: the less you stand out, the more you belong. Creativity isn’t just discouraged; it’s treated like an unruly guest who didn’t RSVP to the party. If you think you have a fresh perspective, think again—they’ve already decided what “fresh” looks like.

I remember my first few weeks on the job.  I was young, and like a sponge, I wanted to learn and soak up all the information that I could. Some of the things I encountered along this journey really rubbed me in the wrong way.

As it should.

It felt like I had stepped into an entirely new universe, one brimming with its own language, rules, and rhythms that I had to learn on the fly. Every day felt like trying to catch my breath while standing under the relentless torrent of a firehose. (Incidentally, that phrase—one of many colorful corporate idioms—quickly became part of my vocabulary that I still to this day carry with me.)

Reflecting on it now, everything I felt and the way I responded seemed like the most natural reaction to a world that was anything but normal. In a place where the rules were skewed, expectations were warped, and the environment felt inherently chaotic, my reactions were not only understandable—they were inevitable. It’s almost as if my mind and body, in their wisdom, were doing their best to adapt to a reality that didn’t make sense.

What was this new world, and where did I belong in it? How could I carve out my own space to still be Sarah and also conform to the expectations of my role as employee ID 0528857? How did any of this make sense or fit together?

The fact is, it didn’t. It never has. Ten years later, I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it all and learned to accept the reality for what it is. I’ve stopped trying become employee 934268 or B6828 or 052857 because I can’t. That’s not me. I’m not those numbers. And I’m not a ‘resource’, either. I’m an imperfect, fallible human being who makes mistakes and is still trying to figure out this thing called life. My name is Sarah. That’s who I’ve always been, and it’s who I always will be.

Throughout my life, I’ve learned that trying to force fit myself in to some predetermined cookie cutter definition of a person has never worked for me. The more I tried to become like the people around me, the harder I pushed to erase the soft, sensitive parts that make me who I am… the less successful and more burnt out I felt. I felt like I had to put on this mask every single day. “Develop a thick skin”, “Be more aggressive”, “Toughen up”, “You need to push them harder”, “You’re not a strategic thinker”, “Just put less quality in to what you do so you can get it done faster”, “You’re a follower, not a leader”, the list goes on….

Why couldn’t I just be me? What’s wrong with being Sarah?

It’s taken me my entire life to realize, the answer was nothing. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with being who I am. Maybe there actually are things that are ‘right’ about being Sarah.

I’ve found that the more that I lean in to being my true, authentic self – the more people respond positively, and the more I feel like I belong. Yeah, I don’t belong everywhere and there are people that have negative opinions of me. That’s ok. That’s their prerogative, and it has nothing to do with me. I can exist as who I am, and the right people will find me and stay. Unfortunately, this means going through a lot of pain, fear, doubt, and rejection as people self-select themselves out of my life. But you know what? Those people weren’t meant for me. They never were going to fit in my life, and it really isn’t my loss that the wrong people have opted out. Because I’m not for everyone. No one is. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

For a lot of years operating in this boy’s club called the ‘tech industry’, I’ve carried this heavy shame of believing that I was somehow defective—that my quirks, my personality, my unique perspective, my softer approach, and my way of existing in the world were something to be ‘fixed’ or changed. I needed to erase these parts of myself in order to survive. I measured myself against this invisible ruler, one that was never made for me in the first place.

But now, I understand: the problem was never me. It was the mold I was forced into, a mold that couldn’t accommodate my true self. The moment I stopped trying to force myself to fit in to this compartmentalized version of who I ‘should’ be, the more I began to drop this heavy shame that’s been weighing on me my entire adult life. The journey to self-acceptance hasn’t been an overnight revelation for me—it’s been a gradual awakening, and it’s led me down some really dark paths to get here. I’ve nearly lost myself entirely, but here I am. I’m still breathing.

Now, I am found.

When faced with circumstances that defy logic or stability, we respond the only way we know how—with the tools we’ve developed to survive. It’s easy for me to look back and question myself, wondering why I couldn’t seem to adjust to a maladjusted world or to carry all this weight of the world at once. But the truth is, handling things at all in an environment that felt upside down was a testament to my resilience.

In hindsight, it’s become clear that what we might feel like "flaws" within ourselves are actually reasonable responses to unreasonable circumstances. When everything around you feels distorted, your instincts kick in. You do what you have to in order to survive. It’s a reminder to have grace for our past selves—to recognize that we were doing the best we could with what we had at the time.

The irony is that in a world that seems so unnatural, these deeply human responses are proof of our authenticity.

I’m nearly 32 now, and I wish I could go back and give that 23 year old version of myself a hug. I wish I could tell her there’s nothing wrong with who you are. You’re not a machine designed for ceaseless productivity, churning out results without pause or hesitation. You’re a human being, beautifully complex and inherently imperfect. Your worth isn’t tied to how efficiently you perform or how much you can achieve in a single day. It’s in the moments when you embrace your humanity—when you acknowledge your limits, honor your needs, and allow yourself the space to breathe.

Being authentic takes courage – especially in corporate America where your identity as an individual is intricately tied to your position in the hierarchy, your earning potential, and your entire career path— all of which can seem almost predestined based on the snap judgment someone forms in the fleeting moments they encounter you. It can be a real damning experience and lead to very real emotional pain and the enduring discomfort that comes with losing people along the way. But I think it’s better to grow in fertile soil than to wilt away in an environment that stifles you.

I’ve learned that not ‘fitting in’ isn’t always a bad thing— sometimes it means you’re doing the right thing. It’s clearing the path for the people who truly see you, who celebrate your essence rather than tolerate it. The ones who are meant to walk alongside you will stay. They’ll recognize the beauty in your individuality and nurture it, not try to prune it into something it was never meant to be.

This process is an evolution. It’s the shedding of relationships and spaces that were never equipped to hold you, so that you can find those that are. Growth is never comfortable—it’s messy, unpredictable, and painful. But that’s where transformation happens.

That’s where you bloom.

No, I’m not for everyone— and that’s a good thing. I’m a sensitive woman who happens to find herself living in the boy’s club. I’m not like them, and I’m not supposed to be. The very act of being human means we’re all different.

There’s power in embracing the truth that your people will find you, that the right people will come, and stay, and they will cherish the authenticity you bring. Because when you do, you’ll flourish in ways you never thought possible.

Keep going.