It was 2021, and the intensity of the COVID-19 pandemic was just beginning to subside. I was young, ambitious, and incredibly impressionable, but also focused, curious, and filled with happiness—the kind of happiness that comes from a heart that had not known hurt, and it was genuine.
I had every reason to walk around with that level of excitement. I’d just graduated at the top of my class and had been applauded every year for the past four years, and constantly fed the idea that I wasn’t like other people—that I was special.
When I landed my first job immediately after graduation, it felt like another confirmation of my uniqueness.
While my friends submitted thousands of applications, I applied for one job, attended one interview, and voila! There I was, staring excitedly at my offer letter from one of the most prestigious television networks in my home country. It was the kind of miracle only I could make happen—or at least, that’s what I believed at the time.
I started my new job with enthusiasm. The role of a research writer was everyone’s dream, and I’d snagged it. The early days were somewhat routine until I attended my first board meeting.
At the time, being part of a board meeting seemed like such a dream. But there I was, nervously circling my chair among big executives and then settling in for this infamous board meeting.
As expected, ideas were tossed around rapidly, with everyone sharing what had been done in the past and what steps we should take moving forward. But I sat there, completely blank, without a single idea to contribute. I could feel the weight of their eyes on me, and every second that passed without an opinion to include made the room feel even smaller.
I struggled with the urge to say, “I don’t think I should be here” many times because that was exactly how I felt. I didn’t believe I deserved to be there.
At the end of the meeting, the other two new hires and I were asked about our interests. They both echoed the same response: news writing. When it came to my turn, perhaps driven by that persistent need to be different, I blurted out, “Television”. After all, this was a television network, so I truly believed I had aced the question.
Angel Joanne
The following week, I was informed that the CEO had requested I change departments based on my answer. I was to work directly under her as a Production Executive. Initially, I was unsure, but the moment I stepped into the new office, I felt elated. I was with the big leagues, at the main headquarters, and even saw two public figures on my first day. It felt like a dream unfolding perfectly.
But that dream soon became a nightmare for me.
My first task was to arrive at the recording studio before the anchor, who also happened to be the CEO. By the time I received this instruction, she had already arrived. The disappointment in her eyes was clear. I tried to stay composed, but I fumbled—leaving the door ajar, making loud footsteps, coughing, gasping—all rookie mistakes. Her eyes rolled with every error, and I mentally kicked myself.
As days turned into weeks, I learned my role better. But the expectations grew stranger. I was expected to arrive at the office before her, to wash and serve her fruits, give her water during breaks, sanitize her hands, clean her chair, turn on the AC at the first sign of sweat, carry her bags, and attend to her needs—none of which were explained to me outright, or stated in my job description.
It was a nightmare of unspoken expectations, and I was dying inside. Was this what work was supposed to be like?
Still, I did my best to meet these demands, even speaking up in meetings. I researched tirelessly, hoping to impress her, but to me, it seemed like it wasn’t enough.
Then came the dreaded day, It was a Friday, the last day of my first month, the HR informed me that she had sent me a mail, and on the drive home, I opened it up and there it was, my termination letter. My first real failure, staring back at me. The evidence that I wasn’t good enough for someone. I was unwanted at some place. My confidence crumbled, I felt completely broken.
Determined to understand what had gone wrong, I returned to the office the next day, hoping for an explanation. But HR wouldn’t see me, nor would the CEO. Eventually, I called the HR assistant, who apologized and said: “It’s not you, it’s them.” Her words hit me like a ton of bricks: “Amongst various other things, she didn’t think you had the body language of someone who was ready to work.” My body language? I was shocked.
From the termination letter, the reasons listed included a “perceived” lack of interest in the operations, using company time for personal matters, and the wake of COVID-19 realities. These factors contributed to my dismissal, along with the CEO’s concern about my body language not reflecting readiness to work.
At that moment, I realized how little control I had over other people’s perception of me. No matter how much I adjusted, learned, or tried to perform perfectly, I would be judged on factors I may not even be aware of. It felt unfair, but I also knew I couldn’t dwell on it forever.
Now, everything is clearer. As I wake each morning to craft curricula for university students, pen articles for a UK-based magazine, and collaborate on curating TEDx talks, I reflect on how my perspective has evolved. Once consumed by the fear of a negative body language, I’ve realized that true success lies in the quality of my work.
I now live with the mantra that when people see your value, a lot gets overlooked, So now, it’s less about picking myself apart, but more about creating value in ways that nothing else can drown it out-—not a bad posture, not a bad comment, and certainly not a bad day.
I learned that body language can communicate more than words, and it’s important to be mindful of how you present yourself. Now, I focus on staying engaged both verbally and non-verbally, ensuring I’m always aligned with team expectations. I also prioritise clear communication and seek feedback regularly to stay on track.
In retrospect, I do think that the heavy demands of the job and the unspoken expectations played a part in how my body language came across. Initially, I was excited about the role, but the non-work-related tasks I was expected to perform, which weren’t part of my job description, quickly drained my enthusiasm.
This disconnect between what I had hoped for and the reality of the job may have unconsciously affected my posture, facial expressions, and overall demeanour, even though I still tried to meet the demands.
For someone in a similar position, my advice would be to maintain clear communication with your supervisors. It’s also important to manage your mental and physical well-being—burnout can manifest in your body language and energy levels. Additionally, while it’s crucial to try your best, remember that it’s okay to acknowledge when a job may not align with your values or strengths and explore new opportunities that bring out your best self.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
Angel Joanne is a Fashion and Culture writer for KLAT Magazine. Previously, she ran MissPresident, a blog with a popular fashion and lifestyle column. Her diverse writing background and personal experiences uniquely position her to explore sensitive yet impactful stories like this one.
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