Office politics, or just emotional logistics?

af admin | jun 30, 2025 | Reflections & Emotions, Work & Identity

Dear Meeting Room,

Nobody likes to admit they’re playing the game. We tell ourselves we’re above it. That we’re just doing our job. But the truth is, office politics aren’t optional. They’re just there. Spoken or unspoken, subtle or toxic. And once I stopped pretending it wasn’t real, I actually started getting better at my job.

Especially working in sales.

Salespeople don’t exactly have the best reputation in a cross-functional setting. We’re seen as pushy. Selfish. Kind of needy. The ones who always need something urgent. It’s not entirely untrue. Sales is high pressure, and when customers need things, it often feels like everyone else is in the way.

But what I’ve learned, slowly and not without mistakes, is that getting your way is less about pushing hard and more about picking your battles. Not every request needs to be a hill to die on. And sometimes, letting others win small battles builds the goodwill you need to win bigger ones later.

He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.

Sun Tzu wasn’t talking about office diplomacy, but he might as well have been.

I remember a case once with our logistics team. A customer wanted something changed in an order. It wasn’t a big thing, and I knew I could probably push it through. But logistics said no. I could have escalated it, made the case, gone all-in. But it didn’t really matter. So I argued a little, gave them the space to explain, and then said, “Okay, fair enough, let’s do it your way.” They were happy. They felt heard. And the next time I came to them with something important, they listened and helped. That’s office politics. Or diplomacy. Or stakeholder management. Whatever you want to call it.

Another example stands out too. I was heading into a meeting, and just before it started, the leader responsible for the topic quietly gave me a heads-up. He said, “I know where you stand on this, but just so you know, this other guy might bring up something different. If you want to avoid getting stuck with the fallout, you should steer the discussion in this direction.” He didn’t have to tell me that. But he did, and it helped me navigate the discussion exactly how I needed to. I avoided taking on responsibility for something I wasn’t positioned to drive, and I could focus on more important work instead. I think he did it because we’ve built a solid, honest relationship. Sometimes people pick their horses. That time, he picked me. And that’s how trust works.

The more I’ve moved through my career, the more I’ve realized how valuable it is to build real relationships with people in other departments. Not fake alliances. Not transactional favor banks. Just actual rapport. A little trust. A sense that we’re on the same team, even if our KPIs don’t always align.

Sometimes that trust gives you early information. A heads-up before something becomes official. A second opinion before the meeting. Sometimes it’s just the benefit of the doubt when something goes wrong.

You can’t operate like an island and expect to get anything done. Especially if you’re in sales, and especially if you want to stay sane.

And yes, I’m an introvert. I don’t love the constant networking or the surface-level chatter. But relationships don’t always start with loud charisma. They start with respect. With listening. With knowing when to let someone else be right. And remembering that collaboration doesn’t always look like agreement. Sometimes it just looks like patience.

I don’t think it’s about being liked. Not exactly. But it is about being known. And maybe trusted. And when you have that, you don’t have to fight every battle. You just need to show up, and show that you know when to push and when to wait.

Do They Actually Care What I Say — or Just Pretend to?

af admin | jun 10, 2025 | Reflections & Emotions

Dear Meeting Room,

Some days I walk out of a meeting and think, That went well.
Other days, I leave wondering if anyone actually listened. Or if they just nodded politely until I stopped talking.

Right now, I hold a senior position. Director-level. I lead, I decide, I represent. On paper, there’s no doubt, I have a voice that matters. But sitting at that table with others at my level, I’m also very aware of something else: almost all of them have been doing this longer than I’ve been an adult. They have decades of experience. And then there’s me. Early 30s. Still collecting scars.

In theory, I know I belong here. I’ve done the work. I’ve gotten results. I’m not afraid to speak up, challenge ideas, or push back when something doesn’t sit right with me. I prepare. I think deeply. I hold my ground. And I’m also not too proud to admit when I’m wrong. I don’t try to bluff my way through things. If I don’t know, I say so.

Colleagues I respect have even said it out loud, that my contributions are sharp. That I bring a perspective that matters. That people listen when I talk. I try to remember that. But still, there’s this quiet voice in the back of my head that keeps asking me…

Are they just being nice?
Do they actually care, or are they just letting me speak out of politeness?

That thought shows up in meetings. But sometimes it creeps in during those casual conversations about the weekend, about life outside of work. I sometimes find myself wondering if they really care about my answer, or if they’re just checking a box marked “nice team player.” It’s an awful feeling. Like being in the room, but not entirely part of it.

The weirdest part is that nothing around me actually supports this doubt. It’s all in my own head. Because the truth is, I do feel respected. I’m trusted with decisions that matter. I get included in the things that count. But that little insecurity still sticks to the edges.

I keep thinking it’ll fade once I hit that big milestone, the next success, the next measurable win. But deep down, I know that’s not the solution. I think this is just part of the journey. Especially when you move fast. Especially when you climb quickly. It takes time for the room to feel like home. And maybe longer for you to believe you’re not just borrowing your seat.

So I’m trying to work on that belief. Quiet the voice, not by proving myself again and again, but by grounding myself in the facts: I’m here. I earned this. And even if some people are just being polite, most of them aren’t.

Because the real question isn’t whether they take me seriously. It’s whether I do.

Am I a good manager, or just afraid to be a bad one?

af admin | maj 29, 2025 | Career & Culture, Reflections & Emotions

Dear Meeting Room,

It’s strange how leadership sneaks up on you. One day you’re figuring out your own job, the next you’re responsible for someone else. Their success. Their frustrations. The 1:1s. Their Monday moods.

And suddenly, it’s not just about being good at your work. It’s about helping someone else be good at theirs.

One thing I learned quickly was that becoming a leader doesn’t just mean adding “manager” to your title and continuing as before. I used to think things would more or less run on momentum, that if I just worked hard and led by example, the rest would fall into place. But after a while I realized that leadership isn’t something that happens in the background. It requires time, focus, and deliberate effort. You have to pause. You have to listen. You have to make space to coach, support, and be present for your team. You have to actually take time out of your schedule to be a leader, and to help your team achieve their goals and ambitions where it makes sense. I hadn’t thought about that at all before I was in the role. And I realized this too far into the role. If I am being completely honest I think that for the first 6 months or so, I was not a good manager.

I still think about three moments from when I became a leader for the first time. Not big dramatic events. Just small, ordinary scenes that stuck with me.

1. The Interview I Faked My Way Through

I was 25 and thriving in my new role. I started in a sales manager position, where I was responsible for a customer segment the older sales guys didn’t really understand. I had an amazing boss, and even our commercial director and CEO were genuinely down to earth. One day the CEO asked around the office where I was, and my stomach dropped. I thought something was wrong. Turned out he just wanted to chat about football. That’s when I first understood that leadership didn’t have to be intimidating.

That trust eventually led to them accepting my request to expand the team and hiring someone. My first real direct report. A bright, creative woman who turned out to be the perfect fit. I screened the applications and CV’s, which was quite fun to do. Now for the first time, I was on the receiving end of the CV’s. Which in all honesty is a big task. It takes a lot of time, and now I understand why a good CV that gets attention and cuts to the point is extremely important.

But during the interviews? I struggled. I didn’t know how to ask good questions. I had to force myself to be curious and follow up on her answers. HR sat in on the first round, my boss joined the last, and I did my best to learn from them. And I guess it worked out, since I was very satisfied with my new employee. It’s actually funny, because some time later she said that she felt that the interviews were not going well since I was a bit quiet. Though it was the complete opposite.

2. The Days I Overread Her Silence

Once she joined, the real learning began. Not about onboarding or planning. About my own inner noise. I remember how much I read into her moods. If she was quiet, I’d worry. Did I do something wrong? Was she unhappy? Did I let her down?

I cared. Maybe too much.

Eventually I realized that caring is not the problem. What matters is what you do with that caring. It’s not my job to manage someone’s emotions. But it is my job to check in, to offer a safe and solid work environment, and to give my team what they need to do great work. That’s the line. I can’t dwell on every quiet moment or try to fix every dip in energy. Sometimes people are just tired or thinking. I learned to ask once, to listen, and then let go.

3. The Moment I Realized I Don’t Need to Know Everything

At some point I looked around and saw that I was managing people with more experience than I had years alive. I couldn’t out-skill them, and I didn’t need to. For a while, that was hard to accept. I felt pressure to prove myself, to always have the right answers or the smartest questions. But eventually I learned that trying to be the most capable person in every room is not leadership. It’s insecurity in disguise.

So I changed my mindset. I stopped obsessing over expertise and started thinking about clarity. I didn’t have to be the best at everything. I had to create the best conditions for others to do great work. That meant setting a direction and holding it steady. It meant protecting time, removing blockers, making sure people felt heard, and giving them space to work — really work — without friction.

It also meant knowing when to step back. Some of my team members had decades of experience. I couldn’t teach them anything they didn’t already know. But I could ask the right questions. I could connect dots across projects. I could take responsibility when things got messy and give credit when things went well.

Most importantly, I could listen. Not just nod and agree, but really listen. Because when people feel heard, they speak up sooner. And when they know you see the big picture — even if they don’t always agree with every detail — they trust you’re moving the ship in the right direction.

I’m not a specialist. I’ve learned to stop pretending I should be. My strength as a leader comes from creating structure, offering perspective, and caring enough to make space for the people who do know all the details. That’s what I’ve come to believe: leadership is not about being the smartest. It’s about making others feel like they can do their smartest work around you.

How do you act on your first day?

af admin | maj 18, 2025 | Reflections & Emotions

Dear Meeting Room,

It’s been some years since I had my first day at my first job. But I still remember the night before. Lying in bed, fully dressed in self-doubt and silent rehearsals. I must’ve run through a hundred scenarios in my head. Everything from what to say when I entered the room, to how loudly I should laugh if someone made a joke. Not too loud, not too quiet. Engaged, but not overeager. Friendly, but not desperate. You know, the usual performance manual for being normal.

My first day of work in the adult world was at a trading company. I had been there once before for a pre-boarding lunch, a warm-up round, I suppose. I remember walking into a sea of suits and self-assurance. The guys were cocky, polished, energetic. Not unkind, to be fair. But the vibe was clear: this was not an arena for hesitations.

I tried to hang. I brought football into the conversation, I thought, as a safe topic. I had played at a decent level, and it usually worked as a form of soft currency in male spaces. That is, until two of them casually mentioned their near-pro careers. Ah. Okay. So I’m the junior here, on and off the field.

By the time the real first day came, the mental gymnastics had only intensified. I kept asking myself questions no one else seemed to be losing sleep over. What time do I go in? What should I wear? How do I greet people — handshake, nod, casual “hey”? Is it weird to bring lunch? Is it weird not to bring lunch?

Thankfully, my manager had told me what time to show up, and I had picked up some cues about the dress code during that lunch. Still, I checked three times in the mirror before leaving. Not to admire myself, but to make sure I didn’t look too junior. Too fresh. Too anything.

The day itself? It went… well. Nothing spectacular. No disasters. Which, in itself, felt like a small win.

They had breakfast ready in the kitchen, a kind of casual buffet with bread, cheese, cold cuts. I remember standing there with a plate, pretending to deliberate between rye and white bread while actually scanning the room for an opening. A place to sit. A tone to match.

Then came the practicalities. Laptop, phone, login access. A quick tour of the office, a rundown of systems I barely remembered by the afternoon. I nodded a lot. Smiled a lot. Said “cool” more times than anyone should in one day.

I met the rest of the floor. Names I forgot almost instantly but pretended to remember. Everyone was friendly in that efficient, professional way — quick eye contact, polite banter, a slight lean back in their chairs as they shook my hand. I couldn’t tell if I was being welcomed or catalogued.

The hours passed. Slowly at first, then all at once. I kept trying to read the room: how long do people take for lunch? Can I check my phone? Should I have asked more questions? Should I have asked fewer?

The worst part was the stretches where I didn’t have anything to do. No one really expects anything from you, and therefore, no one checks in with you. So I had these long pockets of time where I had nothing to do. To be fair, this happened a lot in the first 2-3 months. So I tried to look busy by studying the website, internal systems, and ERP. And if I have to be honest, I understood nothing of the systems, but it felt like a safe way to look engaged and avoid looking lazy. So I just did it.

By the time I left that afternoon, I was exhausted, not from the workload, but from the sheer effort of being perceptive. Of trying to exist in a way that would leave no bad impression. Not invisible, but not too much. Not too junior, but not arrogant either. Not too eager, not too cold.

I don’t remember much of what I actually did that day. But I remember how I felt: like I had just completed a full day’s worth of emotional cardio, quietly sweating under my business-casual armor.