Desi-Gal-With-Opinions

I’ve been postponing posting again—if I’m honest, even journaling publicly feels exhausting now.

My body has grown accustomed to constant health battles: migraines, IBS flare-ups, not being able to eat without throwing up, not having the motivation to do anything. Stress has stopped being an episode and turned into a baseline.

The last time I posted, I was happy. I had cracked two interviews. I was deciding between offers. I was worried about making the wrong decision.

Guess what happened?

I made the wrong decision.

This role made complete sense on paper. It looked like my dream job—the career trajectory I wanted, the responsibilities I had been aiming for, the change I desperately needed. And the highlight? It was nearby. No more four-hour daily commute involving multiple forms of transport. On day one, I was impressed by the office. I felt relieved. I felt proud.

I thought I had finally made it.

That feeling didn’t last.

Before I could even properly start, I was told I was replacing someone who would be leaving in a month and a half. I had less time than that to get up to speed. The cherry on top? No backup. No real team. I was solely responsible for a critical portion of applications. Technically part of a team—but not really.

What followed was a slow drip of information that, had I known upfront, would have made me never join. But revealed gradually, it became harder to leave.

As the weeks went by, I realized this wasn’t what I signed up for. I had tried to escape what I thought was a toxic workplace—only to land in something a hundred times worse. I was constantly told I needed to “foster good communication” with an onshore team that was openly non-cooperative. This wasn’t news to them—they had known for years.

Then came the whiplash moment.

On day three, I was told—directly to my face—that the onshore team would be rude, aggressive, and difficult. And the most absurd, horrifying part? I was told I would be treated even worse because I’m a woman.

This was exactly the kind of environment I was trying to escape.

Still, I held on to hope.

Slowly, painfully, it became clear: the role wasn’t what I had been interviewed for. The work I was promised? I wasn’t doing any of it. Instead, I was assigned old technology—or technology that wasn’t even my skill set. I was also expected to work every Sunday, with no backup, and receive one single compensatory day off for the entire month.

Sounds great, right?

Then came the harsher truth: my job was being phased out. The applications I was responsible for were being migrated to other languages, making my role increasingly irrelevant.

How did I find out?

Not from my manager. Not from my lead. Not from the person I was replacing.

I figured it out by watching what the rest of the team was working on.

When I confronted my manager, I got half-promises. I was advised to “learn other languages” and “pivot” my career internally. None of this was what I was hired for.

By then, I had mentally checked out.

Every day brought new bad news. New bombshells. More warnings about onshore communication. More pressure to perform without access, context, or support. I kept going while quietly breaking down over the mistake I had made.

Then came the moment that confirmed everything.

I finally started interacting with the onshore team—and they were far worse than I expected. In ten years of my career, I had never witnessed behavior this unprofessional.

One conversation still plays on loop in my head.

I had a meeting with one of the main architects—someone I had been repeatedly warned about. A man with single-handed knowledge of these applications, considered untouchable despite a terrible reputation.

We started with a simple question. I answered.

His response stunned me.

He said he had “collective feedback” that I was “putting on an accent” and needed to stop doing that.

I was speechless. I told him that’s just how I talk—that I wasn’t putting on any accent.

He replied, “It’s feedback. Work on it,” and moved on.

If this had happened in any previous company I worked at, I would have gone straight to HR. It was discriminatory. Racist. Shockingly, it came from someone of the same ethnicity as me. But he was untouchable—known for saying worse things and getting people fired for talking back.

The call didn’t end there. He berated me throughout—for minor misclicks, for things outside my control, for issues I had no authority over.

This behavior has continued ever since.

And I’m constantly told the same thing: adjust. Break through. Build rapport.

So what have I learned?

I don’t know.

It feels like every time I take one step forward, life pulls me back ten. Everyone who left my previous organization is thriving. I’m happy for them. I’m also jealous. I’m miserable. I’m maxed out on stress and fear.

Will I get through this? I don’t know.

I know leaving is important for my mental and physical health. But will it harm my career? Yes. The thought of job hunting again—the uncertainty, the humiliation, the exhaustion—makes me want to curl up into a ball and disappear.

Going through this with no real support has been a special kind of hell.

Right now, life feels heavy. Meaningless.

Will it get better? I hope so.

I’ve held on for a long time through everything life has thrown at me. I only hope I can find the courage and hope to keep going.

And if you’re feeling the same way—hold on.

If not for anyone else, then for a stranger on the internet standing in the same dark place, wishing someone had told her this earlier:

Hold on.
Things will work out.
And one way or another, we will see the light at the end of the tunnel.