When I first started at our firm, I used to think I had an unlimited supply of resilience.
And for a little while, it was true. Long hours? I could do it. Confusing client asks? No problem. Ambiguity, absurdity, 800 versions of the same deck? Bring it on.
But then I met my match: a long engagement at one client site, with a manager who was lovely and chaotic in equal measure. Picture the most caring person you’ve ever met, but with a nervous system powered by yellow post-its. She once tried to open my car because she thought it was hers. (They look nothing alike.) She’d often praise me on Monday, change her mind on Tuesday, and ask for a full pivot by Friday.
I was in charge of the data workstream, which meant every “small” change request from her or the client required a full archaeological dig through complex datasets. But as project management was not my manager’s strong suit, I was doing that too. And the best part? I was alone onsite. For a year and a half.
I started off resilient. I stayed late - at least, a lot later than the client ever did. “This is fine”, I told myself. But somewhere along the line, I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
From committed to frustrated
At first, it showed up as resistance. Every time my manager asked for a change, I felt a physical wave of dread. Not because it was too complex. But because I was done following this unstructured way of working. With my lack of experience, I was not used to having to cope with such different working styles. And there was no one next to me who was going through the same thing.
So I started doing what many of us do: I complained.
To colleagues, to friends, to other managers who asked how I was doing. I wasn’t mean or dramatic - just… honest. There was no filter.
The cost of unfiltered honesty
My coach told me that during the talent review, there were two different views on my performance:
She’s being super resilient, working by herself at the client and managing difficult demands
She is complaining just a little too much
Of course, my stomach dropped when I heard this. Not because they were wrong, but because I’d become “that person.” The one who vents without discretion. The one whose frustrations get filed away, not as context, but as a red flag.
Find your people
Here’s what I learned the hard way:
Venting is human. But your audience matters.
In corporate life, there are very few true confidantes. So be wise about who you open up to. Two, maybe three people you trust implicitly - people who get you, who know when to nod and when to call you out.
I still vent (I’m not a robot). But I do it with my circle - not just whoever happened to ask “how’s it going?”
So yeah, complain. Rant. Voice your stress. But pick your audience like your promotion depends on it.
Because often... it actually does.
Let's talk about it
When you run out of resilience, what does it look like? And what - or who - helps you come back?
Yours in expensive barista coffees,
Cécile
Thanks for reading Colleague, Interrupted. I’m Cécile, a Senior Manager at a Big Four consulting firm in Europe. I write the things I can’t say in meetings and occasionally try to make jokes. Mostly, I turn corporate rage and hard-earned lessons into advice for anyone in their 20s or 30s trying to build a successful career. The goal is to help you be the best version of yourself, ultimately getting promoted faster without losing your mind!