Humanness as the Remedy for Losing Yourself in the Workplace

Hello Humanness Heroes! For this week’s reflection, I want to explore something that rarely gets named directly, yet quietly shapes the lives of countless people in the world of work. It is the slow surrender of self. The gradual drift from who we once were into who we never intended to become, all because a workplace felt too powerful, too necessary, or too intimidating to walk away from. Some stay because the paycheck anchors them. Others stay because the leader appears larger than life. Others stay because they fear losing stability more than they fear losing themselves. This post is a bit of a long one, so please stick with me here, you won’t regret it.

In that tension between survival and self-preservation, humanness begins to erode. To bring this to life, here are three stories across three different industries, each revealing another layer of compromise and a small but meaningful pivot back to humanness.

Story One: The Silent Companion

Aiden works in a buzzing tech start-up known for its open-concept offices, bold mission statements, and “we’re one big family” culture. He is the kind of teammate people like having around. Thoughtful. Steady. Unthreatening. He joined the company eager to build meaningful products and contribute to a collaborative culture. Yet within weeks, he starts noticing small cracks.

A designer’s well-prepared ideas are brushed aside without reason. A junior developer, Priya, is routinely talked over during sprint reviews. Aiden sees the confusion on her face, but no one pauses to make space for her voice. Another colleague pulls off an all-nighter and is praised for “dedication,” even though everyone knows the workload was unreasonable.

At first, Aiden tells himself these are isolated moments. He does not want to appear overly sensitive or disrupt the team’s “fast and fluid” rhythm. When a senior manager interrupts Priya mid-sentence for the third time in one meeting, Aiden feels a tightness in his chest… but remains quiet. It feels easier.

Over time, silence becomes a pattern. He starts avoiding conflict, excusing behavior he knows is wrong, and even laughing lightly at jokes that undermine certain teammates. He feels himself drifting from the values he once proudly held, but the speed of the environment makes reflection difficult.

Then one Thursday afternoon, during a product review, Priya presents an elegant solution she spent days refining. Before she finishes her second sentence, a senior engineer cuts her off and takes control of the conversation. Priya’s face falls. She quietly closes her laptop.

Aiden sees it clearly. This is not about productivity. It is about people being diminished. Something in him wakes up. A quiet but firm realization settles in: silence is not neutrality. Silence is participation. After the meeting, he asks Priya to walk with him to the café downstairs. As she shares how discouraged she feels, Aiden feels the full weight of his inaction. That conversation becomes his pivot. The next week, he starts making space intentionally. He redirects conversations. He affirms contributions that were overlooked. He challenges dismissive behavior, respectfully but clearly. And in doing so, he finds his humanness returning.

Story Two: The Protected Performer

Adaobi works in a high-pressure healthcare administration office, the kind of environment where decisions are made quickly and hierarchies run deep. She joined full of idealism. She believed in fairness, transparency, and doing right by patients and staff. But the culture quickly taught her different lessons.

On her team, the people who spoke up often found themselves excluded from important conversations. Those who challenged decisions were labelled “difficult.” And the ones who rose fastest were those who aligned themselves closely with the most influential leader in the department, a director known for rewarding loyalty above competence.

At first, Adaobi only adjusted slightly. She withheld small pieces of information that would allow a colleague to shine. She accepted praise for work she contributed to but did not fully own. She avoided correcting false assumptions when those assumptions reflected well on her. Each choice felt tiny, almost harmless, but each one nudged her further from the values she once held.

Over time, the shift deepened. She learned to anticipate what the influential director wanted and shaped her behaviour accordingly. She strategically distanced herself from colleagues who were no longer “in favour.” When a major project succeeded, she maneuvered to ensure her name was front and center, leaving others who carried much of the weight barely acknowledged.

Then came the moment that shattered her illusion of control.

A colleague she deeply admired, Elena, was unexpectedly reprimanded for a decision Adaobi had quietly supported behind the scenes. Elena had trusted her. They had spent years working closely, sharing ideas, frustrations, and hopes for positive change. But now Elena stood alone, blindsided, taking the brunt of a decision she believed Adaobi had openly endorsed but privately shifted away from to stay in the director’s good books.

The pain in Elena’s eyes stayed with Adaobi long after the meeting ended. For the first time, she truly saw herself, stripped of the protective narratives she had used to justify her choices. She felt the full weight of what she had become: someone willing to sacrifice trust and relationships for comfort in a toxic system. The loss was devastating. But it also broke something open.

In that moment, Adaobi’s pivot began. She apologized to Elena, even though she knew the relationship might never fully recover. She stopped manipulating narratives for her benefit. When credit was misplaced, she corrected it. When harmful decisions were made, she spoke honestly. It was uncomfortable. It cost her favour. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like herself again. And that was worth everything.

Story Three: The Eroded Self

Miguel has spent nearly a decade working in a sprawling manufacturing plant filled with the hum of machines, the clang of metal, and the constant pressure to hit production targets. Over the years, he has built a reputation for being reliable and adaptable. He reports directly to a supervisor known throughout the plant as the fearless leader.

This fearless leader is a force. Loud. Confident. Magnetic. He walks the plant floor with a presence that turns heads. Some admire him. Many fear him. He mocks caution. He rewards speed above all. He tells his team, “If you want to survive here, you better show you’re tougher than the line.”

Miguel, eager to grow, begins absorbing these lessons. At first, it shows up in small ways. He downplays minor safety concerns. He jokes about “soft” employees who ask too many questions. He starts gossiping strategically, aligning himself with those who matter. When a coworker expresses concern about machine vibration, Miguel reports it but frames it as “not urgent.”

Then he starts mirroring the fearless leader more directly. When others hesitate, he pushes harder. He cuts corners silently. He dismisses people who advocate for caution. He gets rewarded for his efficiency, praised for never slowing the line down, and those rewards reinforce the behavior even when it conflicts with what he knows is right.

One night, during the late shift, a technician named Farah approaches him with increasing alarm. A machine is running too hot. She has checked it twice, and the temperature is climbing. Miguel hears her but remembers the fearless leader’s mantra: “If it is still running, it is not a problem.” He waves her off and encourages her to “trust the system.” Farah hesitates but reluctantly steps back.

The next morning, an incident occurs on the same line. A malfunction leads to a sudden release of material. No one is severely injured, but the shock is palpable. Production halts. Reports are filed. Managers swarm the area.

Miguel stands frozen; the truth hits him with full force. His choices, influenced by the fearless leader he admired, put real people in danger. He sees how far he has drifted from the conscientious, safety-focused person he once was. He feels shame rising like a wave.

Later that day, he sits alone in the break room, staring at his reflection in the vending machine glass. He no longer recognizes the person looking back at him. That moment becomes the breaking point. For the first time in years, he chooses honesty over bravado. He takes responsibility. He apologizes to Farah. He supports a full safety review. He begins the slow work of rebuilding trust.

His journey back to humanness begins with one simple, difficult choice: no more imitation of harm.

A Call Back to Humanness

These stories remind us of something many people carry quietly. We do not lose ourselves in one dramatic moment. It happens slowly. A silence here. A compromise there. A leader’s influence that reshapes our instincts. But humanness invites us to pause and ask a deeper question. Who am I becoming in this environment, and is that a version of myself I can live with?

Reclaiming humanness is not always straightforward. Some actions require confidence you are still building. Some require support you may not yet have. And some require courage that grows gradually. This is not about perfection. It is about awareness and willingness. Start where you are and take the next honest step.

To help guide that process, here are three practical steps you can begin working on:

1. Recognize that perhaps your silence is not neutral: Even small moments of speaking up can begin to shift your internal compass. You do not need to be confrontational. You only need to be present and clear.

2. Regularly audit the version of yourself you have become: Self-awareness is often the first reclaiming act. If you do not like who work has shaped you into, acknowledge it without shame. That honesty opens the door to change.

3. Set at least one boundary and honour it fully: Choose a value you refuse to compromise. Start with one boundary you can realistically hold and let it become a foundation for the next.

You may not be ready to act on all three. That is alright. The point is to begin. One truth, one boundary, one moment of courage. These small shifts are often what bring us back to the person we were always meant to be.

Let’s keep growing in humanness together.