Sarah found herself at a critical juncture in her life. She had obtained a B.Sc. degree in pharmacy and aspired to delve into research and development. She was driven by the idea of discovering ground-breaking vaccines that could improve healthcare and contribute to scientific progress. However, the pharmaceutical industry in her country prioritized marketing over research, shattering her dream of working in laboratories. Feeling desperate, she came across a job opening for a medical representative. This role required strong social skills, negotiation abilities, and the capacity to persuade even the most sceptical doctors, the very skills that sent her pulse racing and her mind into a whirlwind of self-doubt.

The dilemma: Sarah wore her best professional attire, hiding her trembling hands beneath the folds of her blazer. The interview room smelled of polished wood and nervous anticipation. Sitting across the table was Mr. Rajiv, the national sales manager.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, leaning back.

Sarah’s mind raced. Should she mention her social anxiety disorder (SAD)? Would it help or hinder her chances? She chose to put on a mask, one she’d perfected over weeks of rehearsing to become a “typical salesperson.”

“I’m passionate about healthcare,” she began, reciting lines she’d rehearsed. “I believe in building strong relationships with physicians and promoting products effectively.”

Mr. Rajiv nodded, oblivious to the storm brewing within her.

Lacklustre performance: Sarah got the job. Her new colleagues welcomed her with open arms. She attended training sessions and memorized drug names, indications and side effects. She smiled at doctors, handed out glossy brochures, and recited efficacy statistics like a well-programmed robot. Her supervisor praised her “enthusiasm,” unaware that it was fuelled by sheer terror.

But the mask chafed. The art of persuasion eluded her and sales pitches felt like a tango on quicksand. Her first presentation was a disaster. She had wrestled with a panic attack in the bathroom before gaining the confidence to walk into the conference room. Sarah clutched her tablet, the slides blurring before her eyes. She stumbled over words, mixing up efficacy percentages and side effects. The doctors exchanged glances and polite smiles.

“Any questions?” she asked, her voice a tightrope stretched over a chasm of embarrassment.

Dr. Gupta, a seasoned physician, leaned forward. “Your data is impressive, but can you explain the real-world impact?”

Sarah’s mind raced. Real-world impact? She’d never thought beyond the slides. Panic clawed at her throat. “Um, well, patients…they feel better?”

Dr. Gupta’s smile wavered. “Patients aren’t PowerPoint slides, Sarah.”

Her teammate, Ben, blissfully unaware of how to best support her patted her back, saying, “You’ll get the hang of it.”

But she didn’t want to “get the hang of it.” She wanted to breathe freely, to be Sarah, the girl who loved reading research papers and sketching chemical structures. She wanted authenticity, not applause.

Weeks turned into months and the frustration of missed sales targets and relentless pursuit of commissions gnawed at her. She felt like an imposter, a square peg in a round hole. She wondered if she’d ever find her place.

During the Q2 sales meeting, Sarah sat at her desk surrounded by motivational posters and cheery slogans promising success and teamwork. However, the only team she felt a part of was the one inside her head, the one that whispered doubts and fears.

“Sarah,” Mr. Rajiv said during a team meeting, “you’re so quiet. We need more enthusiasm in our presentations.”

‘Quiet’… the word echoed like a distant bell tolling her inadequacy. She had always been the listener, the observer, the girl who preferred the company of books to people. But here, in the world of sales targets and quotas, quiet was a liability.

The breaking point: One rainy afternoon, Sarah sat in her car, tears blurring the windshield. Her reflection stared back, her eyes hollow. She had become an expert at pretending to belong. She opened her laptop, and the resignation email flowed from her fingertips. She hit “send,” and the weight lifted. The rain outside matched her tears, a cleansing downpour washing away the remnants of a role that never fit.

Self-reflection and awareness: But what now? Where did she belong? Sarah retreated to solitude. She wandered through the sun-dappled botanical garden at the National Museum, notebook in hand. Birds chirped, their melodies a backdrop to her thoughts. She sat on a bench, the wood cool against her palms, and began to unravel herself.

“Strengths,” she whispered. “What are mine?”

She listed them, the quiet ones, the ones that didn’t shout for attention:

• Curiosity: She spent late nights digging through scientific papers on PubMed.
• Empathy: She could sense a person’s fears, their unspoken worries.
• Attention to detail: She was able to catch errors and inconsistencies that others overlooked.
• Analytical: She enjoyed dissecting problems and seeking novel solutions.

These were her strengths, her authentic self.

The true fit: With newfound clarity, Sarah restructured her job search strategy. She scoured websites and read Glassdoor reviews to identify organizations with inclusive cultures and transparency. And when she found a match, she’d whisper, “This could be it.” Eventually, she found a niche, a medical writing position that blended science, communication, and creativity. Here, her words could educate, inspire and heal.

Her new workplace embraced diversity. Colleagues listened, not just to her words, but to the spaces between them. They built bridges of understanding, creating a safety net for vulnerability. When overwhelmed, she’d approach her supervisor, Mr. Samuel. “I need a quieter workspace,” she’d say. Or, “Can we adjust the meeting format?” He’d listen and adjust schedules and expectations. She carved out moments for self-care, taking meditative walks during lunch breaks and deep breaths before presentations. Sarah also connected with fellow medical writers. They’d meet in the courtyard, sharing stories over thermos cups.

She thrived in her new role, not because she’d magically overcome her anxiety, but because she felt seen, and understood.

Years later, Sarah stood before a group of fresh graduates and said, “Embrace authenticity. While society clamours for conformity, our souls crave truth. So, shed your masks, dance to your rhythm, and prioritize roles that fit your true self.”