The Exit Interview

My first day at the company felt like stepping into a different world. The building was tall and shiny, with glass walls that reflected the busy city outside. Inside, people moved quickly, dressed in suits and clicking on keyboards like they were playing some important game.

I was 24, fresh out of university, full of hope and dreams. I had just landed my first real job as an HR assistant at one of the biggest firms in town. The office smelled like coffee and new paper, and the air buzzed with energy. Everyone said this was the place where careers were made.

My mentor, Sarah, was the first person to greet me. She was calm and smiled warmly, but her eyes had a tiredness I didn’t understand yet. “Welcome to the machine,” she joked as she showed me around. “Remember, smiles are free, but trust is expensive.”

At first, I thought she was being funny. But later, I realized how true those words were.

I spent my first week learning about company rules, organizing files, and answering emails. I liked the feeling of being part of something big. Every day brought new challenges, new people, and new ways to prove myself.

But slowly, the excitement began to fade.

After a few months, the long hours started to weigh me down. Meetings piled up like mountains. Emails came at all hours, even late at night. I found myself sitting at my desk long after everyone else had left, answering messages and preparing reports. The pressure to perform was constant.

One day, I missed my mother’s birthday. It was not because I forgot, but because I was so busy preparing a company newsletter that I didn’t call her until late at night. Her voice was tired but she didn’t complain. I felt guilty, but I didn’t know how to stop.

That small moment was the beginning of a change inside me. I started to ask: what am I giving up for this job?

A year later, the office coffee machine broke down. It was just a small thing, but it felt like the whole day was off. That morning, a young employee had a breakdown right in front of me. She cried quietly, overwhelmed by work and family problems.

I tried to comfort her, but I felt powerless.

I realized then how many people were struggling in silence. Behind the polished presentations and happy faces were real people fighting battles I could not see.

At times, I hoped for a promotion to show that my hard work mattered. I was told it was coming soon. But when the news came, it went to someone else—a younger man with less experience but more connections.

I smiled and congratulated him, but inside, I felt invisible.

During breaks, I talked to a janitor named Mr. James. He was kind and wise. One day, he told me he used to be a senior software developer but lost his job after budget cuts.

His story felt like a mirror reflecting what could happen to any of us. I started to see the office not just as a place of success, but also of loss.

Over the years, I collected emails from employees leaving the company. Some were angry, some sad, others hopeful. I kept these emails in a folder on my computer—a secret reminder that people’s stories mattered.

Then came the “wellness bonus.” It was a small amount of money given to me after I helped manage over 100 employee complaints during a stressful merger.

I spent that bonus on therapy. For the first time, I faced the cracks in my own heart.

And now, it’s my turn for the exit interview.

The company has a new policy: every employee leaving must answer a detailed questionnaire about their experience.

But I have decided to write something different. Instead of filling out a form, I’m writing my story. The truth no one asks for.

The story of a young woman who joined full of hope, and slowly learned that success often comes at the cost of your own peace.

As I prepare to say goodbye, I wonder what comes next.

Will I find myself again outside the glass walls?

Or will I carry the machine inside me forever?

End of Chapter 1