WHY ARE THE RULES DIFFERENT FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME

I was called into a meeting last week, the kind where everyone pretends it's not personal, just numbers. Rising costs. Budget restructuring. “We wish things were different.” I’ve been offered a choice - a demotion or a redundancy package.

After everything.

After becoming the first Hindu woman to ever reach manager level in this company. After all the late nights, the quiet swallowing of microaggressions, the polite smiles in rooms that weren’t built for me. Now I’m being told I should consider myself lucky.

And yes, the messages started pouring in:

“Be proud of how far you’ve come.”

“Don’t forget to be grateful - they gave you a chance.”

Grateful.

That word again.

Gratitude was the first language I ever learned, not Tamil, not English, not Hindi, but gratitude. The kind you wear like a shell when you're the child of immigrants.

I grew up watching my family say “thank you” when they were underpaid. “Thank you” when their accents were mocked. “Thank you” for safety that often came with silence. “Thank you” just for being allowed to be here. That kind of gratitude becomes generational. It seeps into your bones before you even realise it.

So, I internalised it. At first, it felt like a moral compass. Humility, respect, honour - all things I was taught to value. But somewhere along the way, gratitude started to choke me. It became something I was expected to wear like a uniform a rope around my neck that I wasn’t allowed to remove.

Every time I asserted myself, even gently, even with reason, I felt that pressure:

How dare you complain? Aren’t you lucky just to be here?

But here’s what I know now: I am allowed to feel more than thankful.

I’m allowed to feel upset.

It’s my right to feel wounded.

It’s OK to want better.

I’m justified in my expectations to have fairness, respect, dignity - not as a favour, but as a right!

Because I didn’t get here by accident, luck or charity. I got here through talent, determination and tenacity. I got here because I’m good at what I do.

And yes - I am proud of my journey. But I’m also tired of acting like I’m some kind of miracle when I was simply qualified and unwavering. That shouldn't be rare. That shouldn't be fragile.

The rules don’t seem to apply the same way to people like me.

When others advocate for themselves, they’re seen as ambitious.

When I do it, I’m seen as ungrateful.

When others climb, it’s expected.

When I climb, it’s extraordinary.

When others say no to being stepped on, it’s assertive.

When I do, it’s a bad attitude.

The bar is different. The expectations are different. And most painfully - the grace is different.

So no, I won’t just be thankful.

Gratitude has its place — but not when it’s used to keep me quiet. Not when it’s weaponised to excuse inequality. Not when it’s meant to pacify me while others continue to rise.

Stop telling people like me to be grateful and start asking why the system makes us feel like guests in our own success.

Don’t applaud us for making it “despite the odds” change the odds. 

Make workplaces where gratitude isn’t demanded but earned through respect, through equity, through the simple act of recognising us as human beings.

I’m not angry because I’m bitter. I’m angry because I care. Because I know what it took to get here. And because I want the next woman like me to rise without having to wear the muzzle of eternal gratitude.

My family didn’t come here just to serve and keep quiet. We came to live, to belong and to take up space - fully, complexly, unapologetically.

So, no. I won’t always be grateful. And that doesn’t make me ungrateful. It makes me like everyone else - human!