After completing my studies, which I had extended due to the 2008 economic crisis, I was finally ready to find my first real job. Having spent a year working for the German Newspaper Association, I was tired of being a temp for Manpower. In 2010, internships were the norm, and many were working for just €500 a month. I refused to go down that road and instead secured a temporary contract through a staffing agency.

That’s when an opportunity arose at a radiopharmaceutical company. I had never heard of nuclear medicine before, but it felt like we were doing something impactful. Supplying radioactive drugs nationwide was no small mission, and the logistics of transporting radioactive materials on public roads was a challenge in itself.

Even better, the parent company was in France, which allowed me to realize my dream of working not only in English but also in French. Everything seemed to fall into place: my first real job, the beginning of a promising career, and a new relationship that marked the end of my wild student life.

But soon, I learned that not everything that glitters is gold.

The company had previously belonged to Schering before being acquired by Bayer, and it had retained many remnants of Big Pharma culture. People were accustomed to doing very little while earning quite a lot. At that age, I still believed success came from hard work. Having always juggled studying and working, I was used to high pressure and long hours. Now, I found myself surrounded by idleness and toxic workplace dynamics.

There was greed, hostility, and constant envy among colleagues. But the worst part? As soon as our two male colleagues hit the road, the office transformed into a battlefield of petty conflicts. I had never witnessed such open mobbing before. Although I wasn’t the direct target, it affected me deeply. And then there was the schizophrenic colleague who remained employed the entire time I was there, unmanageable and impossible to remove. Every time she returned from a trip to Egypt, she came back unwell, refused to work, and caused complete chaos in the office.

As Assistant to the CEO and Marketing Manager, I became the go-to person for everything. That suited my generalist nature and the dynamic of a small company. But it also made me a human buffer between the older female employees, many of whom had done little personal development. Two of them were especially combative, constantly at odds with each other, and I often found myself stuck in the middle. They represented familiar parental dynamics that I knew all too well from home. At that point, I made a conscious decision about which path to follow.

Each woman embodied a very different leadership style. One was the masculine path, over 60, with 32 years in the company. She was sharp, driven, and incredibly accomplished but also rigid, authoritarian, and inflexible. The other embodied a more feminine energy, emotional, gossipy, constantly dramatizing and shifting blame. Both exhibited these traits in their unhealed, exaggerated forms. It’s probably clear which path I chose.

No one has influenced my career as profoundly as Brigitte. Her mind was quick and clear; her decisions swift and effective. An Aquarius woman with the strength of ten men, she was a powerhouse not only in work but also in culture, lifestyle, and taste. She introduced me to the world of wine, taught me how to work with doctors, and had an impeccable sense of style. We often wore similar outfits, hers, of course, in more luxurious versions. She also drilled into me a belief that you can never spend too much on a good hairdresser or face cream. More than anything, she reinforced my hyper-independence, to walk alone and never rely on anyone.

Though 30 years my senior, she made me understand that it’s not about age. It’s about energy, curiosity, a thirst for growth, healthy habits, and above all, the peace and stability you create for yourself. Looking back now, I realize she was the most significant male figure in my life, shaping me in ways I couldn’t see at the time. During those first three years, I became a lot like her.

During my nearly five years at the company, we achieved a lot. We organized medical congresses that became famous for our stand serving Belgian waffles with cream and cherries that filled entire expo halls with their scent. I became familiar with every major city in Germany and the quirkiest doctor names and streets, like Dr. King on Prince Street in Düsseldorf. We coordinated a nationwide recall of radioactive isotopes and held company events that not everyone appreciated, like our Persian Christmas cooking night.

I visited our colleagues in France, explored Paris and the countryside around Saclay, and experienced the French work culture and savoir-vivre. My perspective on nuclear energy changed. I witnessed Poland establishing its own medical nuclear reactor to gain independence in isotope production. I even met the Iranian billionaire who bought our company and ushered in a wave of corporate transformation.

Eventually, I carved out a career in Quality Assurance and Regulatory Affairs, but my relationship began to unravel. When you’re young and just starting your career, there’s a strong desire to prove yourself, to achieve. We were both driven by that impulse. My partner was a construction engineer on the delayed and debt-ridden BER airport project, and I was fighting more against toxic personalities and inflated egos than facing real professional challenges.

In the end, my dream of a fulfilling career didn’t come true. But I did see people’s true colors. When I got promoted and received a new Audi and iPhone, some colleagues simply stopped talking to me. It was as if they expected me to become arrogant or untrustworthy overnight. But guess what? I didn’t change. I was still the same person, just one illusion poorer: that career success brings happiness, and that once you’ve made it, you can build the perfect life.

My relationship collapsed, and my job became the only thing holding me together. I’ll never forget the day I called Brigitte in tears, telling her I couldn’t come to work because the man I’d supported through his workaholism had broken up with me. She just said, “Beata, I’m not surprised by anything when it comes to men. Take your time.” I returned to work the next day, but something had changed. That life no longer felt like mine.

Everything looked perfect on paper, but it didn’t feel right. It was a construct built on societal expectations and old conditioning. I had followed a path designed to make others proud, not myself. My life had started to follow the natural flow: growth, expansion, and ultimately, destruction. It was a wake-up call. At 31, I was collecting the fragments of my first major life crash and just beginning to grow into the person writing these lines today.