This Is the Hill I’ll Die On: Protecting My Peace at All Costs
A few nights ago, over dinner with a dear friend and former colleague, we compared notes on the strange circus of job hunting. Between bites of fries and sips of margaritas, we traded war stories - PTSD from our time at a FAANG company, the surreal experience of interviewing for $300K+ roles, and the constant negotiation between ambition and exhaustion.
At some point, I shared a recent episode with a recruiter that left me seething. I had gone through an extended screening call, followed all the steps, and was told to “save the date” for a follow-up with the hiring manager. I rearranged my schedule, prepped extensively, and sent multiple follow-up emails for confirmation. Radio silence.
Then, on the day of the supposed call, my phone rang urgently. It was the recruiter, frantic: the hiring manager is on the line waiting for you. No invite had ever been sent. No prep materials. No acknowledgment of his mistake. Instead of apologizing, he pressured me to scramble onto the call.
I did it - chest tight, teeth clenched -and when it was over, I sent him a pointed, professional but unflinching note: this is unacceptable.
My friend was amused & surprised. “I don’t think I would have sent something like that.”
But Yes. Yes, I did.
And I would do it again.
Because for me, self-advocacy is a form of protest.
Why I Protest
Protest doesn’t always look like picket signs or megaphones. Sometimes, protest is sending the email no one else dares to send. It’s refusing to laugh off a slight. It’s the quiet but firm declaration: You will not handle me carelessly.
For too long, we’ve been conditioned to swallow disrespect in the name of opportunity. To be grateful for a chance even when the “chance” comes wrapped in chaos, disregard, or outright contempt. But what does gratitude mean if it costs you your peace? What does ambition mean if you have to bleed dignity to get there?
My protest is simple: I refuse.
I refuse to carry the burden of someone else’s incompetence. I refuse to let people believe it’s acceptable to mishandle me because I “need” something from them or I’m supposed to turn the other cheek.
I refuse to operate from a place of lack, because lack is a lie. Whatever is meant for me will come. And it will not require me to be silent in the face of harm.
The Cost of Silence
Silence has never been free. For women, for Black professionals, for anyone living at the intersection of “you should be grateful” and “you should know your place,” silence costs us health, sleep, joy, and sometimes our careers.
How many of us have stayed quiet when a boss took credit for our work? How many of us have smiled through “constructive feedback” that was really a thinly veiled insult? How many of us have let recruiters ghost us, shuffle us, mishandle us - because we were afraid speaking up might “burn a bridge”?
But let’s be honest: the bridges built on disrespect were never stable to begin with.
I’ve watched colleagues lose themselves in silence. The unspoken resentments turned into migraines, panic attacks, and bitterness. Silence corrodes.
Protesting, even in small ways, is how I keep myself whole.
When I say I protest, people assume it must be dramatic. But more often, it’s small acts of alignment.
Saying no to meetings that serve no purpose.
Asking, What’s the budget? before I commit to work.
Correcting people when they mispronounce my name.
Refusing to answer calls or emails after a certain hour.
Sending the note to the recruiter.
Politely declining anything that doesn’t meet my minimum requirements.
These are not tantrums. They are boundaries. And boundaries are protests against a world that benefits when we are boundaryless.
This is the hill I will die on… protecting my dignity, my energy, and my peace.
What Protest Gives Back
The irony? Every time I choose myself in this way, something better comes.
When I walked away from roles where leaders dismissed my contributions, I found environments where my voice mattered. When I stopped entertaining “opportunities” that paid less than my worth, I opened space for work that valued me fully.
Advocacy doesn’t repel blessings; it attracts the right ones.
And more importantly, it teaches others - friends, mentees, colleagues, even recruiters - that mistreatment is not the norm. There is always at least one person in the room who will name what’s wrong.
A Call to You
Maybe you’re reading this while replaying the last time you bit your tongue. The last time you carried home someone else’s disrespect and tried to sleep it off.
I want you to hear this: protest. Even if it’s a whisper. Even if it’s just a sentence in an email. Even if it’s a boundary you set only with yourself.
Protest because your peace is not disposable. Protest because life is too short to let people play with your humanity. Protest because silence costs more than truth.
And most of all…protest because you deserve to live, work, and love in environments that honor you.
That job might not get it. Your friends might be surprised. But your spirit will exhale. And that exhale is everything.