There comes a point in every adult’s working life when you realise your job is less about the job description and more about protecting your peace, and mastering the ancient corporate art of strategic silence.
In those moments, you learn that sometimes the smartest career move you’ll ever make is saying absolutely nothing. Where peace transcends the email notifications and the group chat.
You wake up daily, brush your teeth, wear your best deodorant, and log into a workplace that smells like performance reviews and passive aggression. That’s when you learn a powerful lesson, not from your HR training, but from surviving chaos in its purest form.
If we are honest, every workplace eventually gives you an Olympic-level test of restraint.
There’s an art to this. It’s not silence because you’re scared; it’s silence because you know Brenda will type “As earlier advised” with the energy of a slap. And in that moment you’ll have to exercise emotional intelligence, because we both know one wrong sentence could end up as evidence in a disciplinary hearing.
Passive-aggressive ping-pong
Your manager will schedule a 7:30 am “quick sync” to talk about nothing.
HR will boldly declare “we’re a family here” right before ghosting your leave approval. You could fight, you could rant, you could roll up your sleeves and enter the battlefield of email wars and backroom gossip. Or you could log out, sip your tea, and shut up because you’ve already checked out of this job and are mostly for the Wi‑Fi and the payslip.
Shutting up is not fear; it’s strategy. It’s refusing to be dragged into passive-aggressive ping-pong. It’s reading an email, blinking slowly, and replying six hours later with: “Noted.” Some of you think power is in the reply. I promise you, real power is in refusing to engage in chaos you did not subscribe to.
In workplaces we carry screenshots and unread messages and let people text paragraphs because your blue ticks are not their closure. I have mastered the look that says: I clocked what you did, but I value my peace more than your drama. Try it. It’s cheaper than therapy.
And then there’s the cursed WhatsApp group. One minute it’s “Happy Monday!” The next it’s a digital battlefield. The mature thing isn’t to fight. It’s to spectate like a true ghost employee. Hear me: the louder the noise, the less effective the point, and I’m not losing my job over Susan’s inability to refill the printer toner.
Rule number one: mute that group - if it’s important, they’ll email. Rule number two: never argue in emoji fonts. Rule number three: respond to chaos with unnerving professionalism; “Thanks for the clarity.” Then watch the group go silent. That’s the power of shutting up with elegance.
Now, I don’t know which HR consultant came up with “we’re family,” because they clearly never had a cousin borrow money and ghost them for six months. If we’re family, then I’m the shady aunt who only shows up for cake, throws shade, and leaves before the prayer circle.
Any employer who starts a sentence with that “we’re family” line is already warning you that there’ll be trauma, boundary violations, and someone crying in the bathroom stall by Friday.
And when the tears fall, they’ll offer pizza instead of restructuring because it’s cheaper. That’s when you level up your silence to strategy.
You don’t correct the boss. You’re never caught fighting over Slack. You perfect your smile and say: “Of course, I’ll look into it,” while deleting the entire chain of madness and mentally preparing your exit strategy.
Be the glitter, not the glue
Stop trying to be the glue holding everything together. Glue gets stretched, snapped, and finally, discarded. Be the glitter instead; shiny, unapologetic, sticking where you want, and impossible to sweep into someone else’s mess.
Because no matter how good you are, in a toxic workplace, your silence becomes self-preservation.
One of my golden rules; “Never fight a battle without a billing code.” If I’m not paid for confrontation, I am not participating. You can’t save people who are committed to misunderstanding you. You can’t teach empathy to someone who thinks micromanagement is a leadership style. You certainly can’t restore dignity in a culture that treats burnout like a KPI.
Don’t let yourself to be tagged in emotional hostage situations or cc’d into tantrums. And for the love of invoices, stop asking, “Can I just pick your brain real quick?” unless my brain is on the payroll. As Miranda Priestly [character in film The Devil Wears Prada] once didn’t quite say: That’s all. And that emotional labour you’re requesting, not in my job description, darling.
Learn that sometimes the quietest move is the most powerful one. Let them gossip and loop you in last minute. Let them throw shade in meetings. But as for you, you smile, collect your receipts, do your job immaculately, and keep your dignity.
Then, when the building starts burning (figuratively, though sometimes…), you’ll be the one calmly sipping tea in the parking lot, sending thank-you emails to your future employer. Exit with Olivia Pope [character in drama series Scandal] energy: coat flying, heels clicking, silence so sharp they hear it long after you’re gone. You don’t need to win the argument. You only need to win your freedom.
Dodge emotional landmines
This is not a call to let things slide forever. It is a survival guide. A memo to the warriors in open-plan offices dodging emotional landmines and unprovoked emails. Keep silent, not because you’re weak, but because peace is expensive and you can’t afford to lose yours. Strategic silence is powerful. It’s choosing yourself over corporate chaos.
It’s knowing that not every battle is worth your bandwidth and not every hill is worth dying on. Sometimes, the hill is just a great place to sit back, sip your tea, and watch the chaos unfold.
So, if your workplace starts to feel like survival TV, don’t volunteer as tribute. Master the art of corporate stealth where you smile, nod, collect your coins, and vanish before they even realise you’re gone. And when the urge to explain, defend, or clap back creeps in, pause and ask: What would Olivia Pope do: Answer: handle it quietly, then walk out in heels that echo like a mic drop.
And when you finally leave, leave loud. But until then, stay silent, stay dangerous, and stay employed. Because in the modern workplace, silence isn’t golden it’s bulletproof.
