Behind the Glass Cubicle: Confessions of a Working Woman Who Walked Away, and Other Musings

I remember the moment something felt completely off.

I was in one of those soundproof glass offices, where everyone could see through, but no one really knew what was going on inside. A bit like people, I suppose… faces are visible, intentions stay hidden.

My Boss said it in a casual tone: “Notice everything and keep me posted. Tell me who’s saying what and who’s doing what.” I nodded, because that was the right thing to do in the moment? But did I agree? 

There was a small pause inside me. I felt utter discomfort. I kept thinking why does he think I will do this? At the job interview, they spoke about being people-centric. It didn’t take long to realize they weren’t. And that’s when I decided to leave.

I am the kind who tolerates a lot. The understanding child, adjusting wife, diligent employee, loyal friend and a caring mother.

I stay, I adjust, I understand more than I am told. The one who doesn’t make things difficult. 

Not because I am weak but because I value people. I give them more chances than I probably should. I try to fix things rather than walking away. But once I reach my limit, something in me changes. I simply step back as if I was never there.  

I am the youngest of three siblings, raised in a humble home. My father worked a private job, my mother managed everything at home. Nothing was wasted. 

We didn’t talk about sacrifices. We lived them. 

I wore my sister’s clothes, read books that had already been read once or twice, sometimes more. Getting something new felt like an event. Usually birthdays.

I think I learned early that if you don’t ask for much, life moves smoothly for everyone. So, I didn’t ask. No things, no attention —  just nothing.

That’s the thing about growing up — it stays with you. It shapes the person you become.

It shows up in friendships first. I had friends I was sure would stay in life forever. You never imagine them leaving. You assume they’re always here to stay. 

Reality has a way of settling in quietly. Most of them didn’t stay. There was no big fallout. No dramatic ending. Just distance, different priorities, silence that slowly became permanent.

I used to wonder what went wrong. Not as much now.

I keep my circle small. A few people I trust. It’s quieter now. But also, clearer.

After graduation, I worked for two years so I could pay for my higher studies. I don’t remember ever asking my parents for money. I don’t remember having pocket money either. It just wasn’t something we discussed.

When I started my MBA, it felt like I stepped into a different life — just enough to believe that things would change.

That’s where I met my husband. We decided to get married. It wasn’t impulsive. It felt right.

Our families didn’t think so. There were reasons. Some said openly, some left unsaid. Suddenly my complexion, my height, my religion — everything became a problem. Someone even mentioned I might gain weight later — heredity — as if that was already a flaw.

I didn’t know how to respond to things like that. I always believed that if you were decent, sincere, it will count.

It doesn’t always.

We got married anyway.

For a few months, we lived in Hyderabad. It was my first time living away from home. I never really handled life on my own before.

People say you learn to be independent that way. Maybe you do. But I think you also become aware of how unprepared you are.

I wanted to return home to Chandigarh. Not because something was wrong with Hyderabad. Just because home kept calling.

Micromanagement is subtle. It doesn’t come with conflict. It comes with constant checking, constant questioning, constant presence. You don’t realize it immediately. You just start second-guessing yourself more.

My career began in 2010. It was never a straight line. I was in one situation after another that I adjusted to.

I left my first job after I got pregnant. My boss didn’t want to wait for my maternity leave to end. I knew the law was on my side, but I also knew how things worked. So, I didn’t fight. I left. At the time, it didn’t even feel like a choice.

Boundaries Crossed

I moved into teaching after that. It felt good in its own way. But I knew I would go back to corporate.

That’s when, I started noticing a pattern.

One boss crossed boundaries. I refused, and things became difficult.

Another was too controlling, exercised veto over everything — there was no space to breathe.

Another pushed constantly, called at odd hours.

Then someone I had helped ended up above me, and made it clear I didn’t belong.

Each time, I told myself, it’s just a difficult person and it’s a phase. This shall pass.

Each time, I adjusted. And then came the recent job.

I was genuinely happy to get it. It felt like things were finally settling. Until they weren’t.

Micromanagement is subtle. It doesn’t come with conflict. It comes with constant checking, constant questioning, constant presence.

You don’t realize it immediately. You just start second-guessing yourself more.

And then came that conversation- ‘Keep me informed.’

Sitting there, something connected.

Not loudly. Just quietly, but clearly.

All these years, I thought I was dealing with different kinds of people.

But maybe, I was the same person everywhere.

The one who adjusts. The one who doesn’t push back. The one who makes things easier.

We talk a lot about tolerance.

Especially when we compare generations. Our parents stayed together through things that we wouldn’t.

Financial struggles. Social pressure. Personal compromises.

There is strength in that. But there is also something we don’t talk about as much. Where does that tolerance end?

Now, it feels like the opposite problem.

People say we don’t tolerate enough anymore. That relationships don’t last. That people leave too quickly.

And sometimes that’s true.

Adjusting and Disappearing

But I think there’s something else happening too.

A lot of us were never really taught the difference between adjusting and disappearing.

So, we oscillate.

Some of us stay longer than we should. Some leave earlier than necessary.

Very few of us know how to pause and ask — What is actually right for me here?

Family, work, friendships — it shows up everywhere.

Earlier, people stayed even when they were unhappy.

Now, sometimes people leave before they’ve even tried to understand.

And then there are people like me — who stay, and stay, and stay… until one day something small makes you stop.

That day at the office wasn’t dramatic. 

I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. I just knew I wouldn’t do what he was asking. For once, I didn’t adjust.

I’m still figuring things out.

I haven’t suddenly become someone who speaks up all the time or walks away easily.

But something has shifted.

I don’t see tolerance the same way anymore.

It’s not about how much you can endure. It’s about knowing what you don’t have to.

I’m learning that staying is a choice. Leaving is also a choice. And both require awareness.

For a long time, I thought being easy was a strength. Now I think — it depends.

Easy for whom? And at what cost?

I don’t have a perfect answer yet.

But I know this much — I no longer want to be so easy that I disappear. 

And that feels like a start.

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Umang Wadhwa is a Chandigarh-based management professional.