Big Girl Panties Diaries – Entry #65: I Wrote the Script—Then They Used It to Let Me Go
I wasn’t the only one who noticed the cracks. But I might’ve been one of the few who said something. Clearly. Kindly. Repeatedly.
Not to stir the pot. Not to be difficult. But because real leaders don’t watch things break in silence. I had context. Institutional knowledge. A pulse on the culture. And more than anything, I had hope. I believed it could get better.
But when you're the new boss—freshly hired from the outside with something to prove— Hope, perspective, and thoughtful questions can feel like threats.
Especially when they come from someone who's already earned trust and credibility inside the building.
And let me say this clearly—it’s not just women. I’ve seen strong male leaders pushed out, too. The common denominator isn’t gender—it’s presence. Clarity. Courage. The kind of leadership that doesn’t stay small to make someone else feel big. That kind of energy? It makes insecure people sweat, no matter who’s carrying it.
She Was Insecure. I Was Inconvenient. You Do the Math.
I wasn’t confrontational. I wasn’t disrespectful. I was strategic. Thoughtful. Collaborative.
And somehow, I still became expendable.
She didn’t say it was because I spoke up. She didn’t have to. It was masked as “restructuring.” The corporate catch-all for: We’re not going to say it, but you know.
And the kicker?
I helped write the talking points for the restructuring.
Yep. The same scripted lines that were later delivered to me—about “realignment” and “business priorities”—were the ones I helped draft.
I thought I was helping guide the company through a tough transition. Turns out, I was unknowingly writing my own exit script.
If that’s not a metaphor for corporate irony, I don’t know what is.
Cue the Grief Spiral (And the Grocery Store Breakdown)
Nobody talks enough about the grief that comes after job loss. It’s not just the paycheck—it’s the loss of rhythm, relevance, and routine. You go from leading meetings to crying in the frozen food aisle because you run into someone and don’t know what to say.
And when people call you “strong,” you smile politely. But inside, you're thinking: "I didn’t want to have to be this strong right now."
Grief is sneaky like that. It shows up in your chest, your sleep, your silence. It shows up when your favorite mug is still sitting on your old desk and you’ll never get it back.
Sometimes the Universe Kicks You Out Because You Won’t Walk Away
I’ll be honest—I probably wasn’t going to leave.
I liked the work. I believed in the mission. I wanted to help fix what was broken.
But that’s the thing about staying too long in places that don’t value you: Eventually, the universe steps in and hits eject.
And this time, it wasn’t subtle.
What She Took Was a Job. What She Gave Me Was Clarity.
So… thank you. Thank you for showing me what kind of leader not to be. Thank you for reminding me that shrinking doesn’t guarantee safety—it guarantees invisibility. Thank you for being the push I didn’t want—but clearly needed.
What you took? Was a title. A paycheck.
What you gave me—accidentally, of course—was clarity, freedom, and a clean slate.
How to Spot an Insecure Leader Without Saying a Word
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They don’t ask questions—they issue ultimatums.
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They confuse feedback with disrespect.
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They remove dissent rather than learn from it.
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They prioritize comfort over culture.
What I’ll Never Do Again:
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Apologize for offering a thoughtful perspective.
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Pretend silence is safer than truth.
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Shrink to fit someone else’s idea of “professional.”
I Didn’t Disappear—And I Didn’t Get Quieter
I moved on to work that values truth-telling. Where challenge is welcomed. Where courage isn’t confused for attitude. Where “strong” isn’t a dirty word.
I didn’t fade—I got free. I didn’t get quieter—I got sharper. I didn’t lose my voice—I found the volume dial.
Big Girl Panties Rule: When strong voices challenge the status quo, the status quo gets nervous.
And when it pushes you out? That’s not failure. That’s your permission slip to walk into something better—with your voice intact, your power dialed up, and your head held high.
Sometimes the story they hand you is the one you secretly helped write. But it still doesn’t mean they get to define your ending.