The Day I Spoke Up (And Everything Got Quieter)

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no dramatic fallout. No angry messages. No public debates.

But the moment I started speaking—really speaking—about the realities of job hunting over 40, over 50, over liked by recruiters but not hired… the room got quieter.

At first, I thought I imagined it.

The usual commenters vanished.

The DMs slowed down.

The people who once said, “We need to fix the system!” suddenly had… meetings.

But I kept talking.

About ageism—about how experience is marketed as an asset, but treated like a liability.

About ghosting—the kind where you make it through four rounds of interviews and a “fun” cognitive test, only to be met with complete silence.

About favoritism—when jobs don’t go to the best person, but the most familiar name.

And about interviews that feel more like emotional decathlons than conversations between professionals.

And that’s when I realized:

A lot of people want change.

Just not the kind that makes them uncomfortable.

Not the kind that calls out broken processes while they’re still benefiting from them.

But here’s the truth:

I’m not writing for them.

I’m writing for the person who cried in their car after getting ghosted—again.

For the one who deleted and re-uploaded their résumé twelve times, trying to guess what version of themselves might finally be “marketable.”

For the person staring at their inbox, refreshing it like it holds the answer to their worth.

And yes—I use humor.

Because if I didn’t laugh, I’d probably spiral into a philosophical rant about how capitalism and Canva templates are crushing the human spirit.

But make no mistake—this isn’t bitterness.

It’s clarity.

I know I’m not everyone’s favorite voice. I’m not always “on-brand.” I don’t tie every post up with a motivational bow and a hashtag that says #KeepPushing.

Sometimes I just say: “This is hard. And it shouldn’t be.”

And if that costs me followers, cool.

If it costs me job opportunities, fine.

If it makes people uncomfortable, good.

Because comfort never changed a system.

Discomfort does. Honesty does. Humor does.

People who tell the truth—awkward, unfiltered, emotional truth—do.

So yes, I’m only one person.

But I’ll keep posting.

Keep advocating.

Keep cracking jokes about rejection emails and interview trauma while quietly holding space for the thousands of people going through it silently.

Because someone has to.

And if speaking up makes the room smaller—then so be it.

I’d rather sit at a table with five people who get it,

than a stadium of people who only clap when you’re polished and quiet.