This wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself when Carrie Bradshaw inspired me to pursue a career as a writer. This is so far off from the romanticized life of a curious writer who moves to a big city, finds a revolving door of stunning, eligible bachelors, and suddenly writes one solid article that makes them the media it-girl. I mean, I have been single for so long that, deep down, I have started to believe that if I smile or blush too much, I may make myself look like those scary people from From. In fact, my daily life is so far from where I thought I’d be that if I ever did one of those “Carrie Bradshaw voice-overs” for my life today, I’d probably ugly-cry and sob through the whole narrative.
How did I get here? I get it; I ask myself the same thing every day. In fact, it’s the first thought that comes to my mind every morning. So far, the best answer I have is that I took a wrong turn at some point in my life and somehow ended up in this brutal cycle of just wanting a break.
Toxic Workplace: The Final Boss
This time, however, is quite different because I can finally say, “It was all her and not me!” I mean, my toxic boss drove well over 15 staff members away from the company in my first month. You can also blame my complacent self for making excuses; the HR manager disappeared within 2 weeks of my resumption, and one social media manager came for two days, and we never saw him again (he was definitely onto something). A fellow digital marketer left after one week, plus a revolving door of sales reps who couldn’t take it anymore. All of this before my very eyes, and somehow, I stayed because my lizard brain convinced me, “Boohoo! They should have sucked it up.” It wasn’t just that; while all of this was happening, I was called dull and stupid, yet there I was, sucking it up and showing up in my Sunday best regardless. Even after one incident in which this lady yelled at me for about 30 minutes and called me a gaslighter when I tried to explain that the mistake I made while updating the website could be resolved in 60 seconds, or maybe completely avoided, with proper onboarding and the usual SOP training I should have received. Despite the slice of orientation I got, let’s say doing a good job didn’t get much traction.
But like my country people would sometimes say, “When you ignore the signs, you will see the wonders.” A proverb that advises on taking the signs you see seriously and basically running for your life. And boy! I saw wonders! Yet, somehow I am absolutely stunned to say my history at this showroom became one for the books, and might I say, the jokes were completely on me. My case became even worse.
My exit package included unlawful detention, verbal abuse, almost being framed for theft, and a three-week-long battle for my unpaid salary at the Federal Ministry of Labor. The worst part was that at some point, the arbiter said to me, and I quote, “I want to come and eat food in your house,” which I sensed was likely an innuendo for something more nefarious than any poorly made jollof rice I could have offered. Additionally, I have more than enough experience with men inviting themselves over.
For me, it was a valiant effort. Still, after my employment contract was forged by this same crazy boss (the most accurate description, by the way), I knew it was a battle I probably could have won. Still, it would have been a brutal road for me because, first, mentally, financially, and emotionally, I was drained. I prayed dearly for the gift of forgiveness and letting go, and I found value in yet another phrase: “forgive. live.” And that’s exactly what I did when I chose to forgo all other compensation I would have received for a chance at peace.
Regardless, I knew it was definitely a winning battle on my side, but three weeks was far too long to battle a crazy woman with a lot of money and the pettiness to forge an employment contract. I was offered my salary; I took it and walked away with my head held high, knowing I put up more of a fight than all 15 people who walked away with at least 2 weeks of salaries unpaid ever did against the Tasmanian devil.
We all formed our little trauma bond circle, the sales team, even more than us, because they all chose to leave at the same time. I also found solace in knowing it wasn’t just the two members of the marketing team who left—right after me, all four front sales reps followed, choosing not to show up immediately after they got their salaries; in their words, “We want her to suffer.” Deep down, my petty self was grateful she must have had an absolutely splendid time going through hundreds of applications and interviewing dozens of candidates to fill at least 10 positions during that period. I appreciated the different colors karma can take, assuming hers came in hellfire yellow—whatever that might look like with those interviews.
Job Search In Nigeria: My Very Multiverse of Career Madness
Months later, I still do not understand how I am still standing in the most brutal job market ever. Just when I thought I’d tighten my belt and go back to my first love, boom! It’s 2026, the most ruthless job market in history. I wish I could say it’s because I received so many rejections, but no, thanks. What I assume is an excursion somewhere in the multiverse: the job market is flooded with fake job posts, and real jobs with my exact qualifications that don’t want me.
The fun part: I see these posts re-emerge right after I apply, and I keep reapplying despite them saying, “erh… yeaah… nay… just not you.” I get—embarrassing! But pride cannot be me; hence, I still apply; another reason? My imposter syndrome tells me, “At some point they’ll have to lower their standard and settle for less when they don’t find their writers with golden pens. When do you, your application will be at the very top, not like you have somewhere else to be anyway.” I am in this alternate universe in which I am praying for that generic “your application was not chosen” email; sadly, I would take that 100 times over the dead silence that has followed the 10s of applications I have sent out so far, but try to be a Nigerian in a global job market where employers learn Nigerian-sounding names just to tighten their belts, and all of this makes sense. In the midst of all of these, I’ve seen a few in the same boat on LinkedIn, a little deeper in the pool of LinkedIn users who find jobs after one ridiculous AI stop. Still, the few I relate to scare the pants off me—someone spending 9 months on the job market and another more, praying not to lose their homes or just their next groceries. I wish I could do more than comment “commenting for reach,” but I am also right there with them, and I feel it too; just not strong enough to go on LinkedIn. Through this period, I can’t help but agree with Tyler Perry’s Straw that said it is expensive to be, not only because utilities and groceries are suddenly so expensive that you think twice before buying and wonder where, but also because what you lose through these, you don’t get to live as much. You have plans and projects you can’t get to right now; hence, time is wasted. Anxiety, stress, and depression- all you can pray for is to get through in one piece.
Yet somehow, it’s that hope that keeps me going. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time fate has left me destitute, if I am being honest and really thinking about it. I am basically living below the poverty line, way below, but somehow this is the time I am most hopeful; for some reason, I feel everything I ever wished for drawing even closer, even though there haven’t been any callback interviews.
But I am so bracing myself because, with my luck, fate may fatten me to go for my jugular even harder, but still, hopeful.
