Ping.
That dreaded Teams ping.
You already know—it’s going to be dumb.
Like, “mandatory team-building icebreaker” dumb.

I stared at my coffee. My third attempt at drinking it. Cold again.
At this point, I was running on 80% wishful thinking, 20% regret, and exactly zero caffeine.

Reheat it? Pointless. They’d sense my joy and ping again.
Drink it cold? Depressing. Like, airport Starbucks-level depressing.
Ignore it entirely? Realistic—but also not helping my caffeine deficit.

And then—right on cue—the message popped up.

For half a second, I let myself hope.

Maybe it was something useful. Maybe someone actually—

Nope. False alarm.

“Happy Women’s Day! 💪”

Ah yes, nothing screams “we value you” like a man who interrupts you in meetings, takes credit for your work, forgets to advocate for your raise—then drops a muscle emoji once a year.

I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary.

Maybe I should respond.

Something snarky, like “Oh, you mean the day where we get a breakroom cupcake instead of an actual seat at the table?”

Or maybe, “Will this one come with an equal pay adjustment or just another meaningless LinkedIn post?”

Instead, I closed my laptop.

Because the women I know?

They aren’t sitting around today, basking in the glow of empowerment, reveling in their special day.

They’re running late.
They’re handling sht.
They’re solving problems no one even realizes exist.

They carry the invisible weight of making sure everyone else’s life runs smoothly—while knowing that the second they drop the ball, the second they forget, the second they say “no,” it will be noticed.

Because no one notices the work.

But they sure as hell notice when it isn’t done.

And the worst part? They actually think this is enough.

March just started, International Women’s Day is coming up, and I guess this is where I’m supposed to say something deep and inspirational.

Something about how we’re breaking barriers, shattering ceilings, standing in our power.

Maybe even toss in a Pinterest-worthy quote from a woman who was never actually respected in her time, but has since been turned into everyone’s favorite LinkedIn graphic once a year.

Maybe I should tell you to celebrate yourself.

To take a moment to acknowledge your strength.

To recognize how far you’ve come.

To embrace your worth.

But honestly?

You don’t need another empty celebration.

You need someone else to pick up the slack for once.

Because the women I know aren’t asking for applause.

They’re just wondering what it would be like to go through a single damn day without having to fight for the bare minimum.

Respect.
Pay.
Not having to justify why they deserve the position they’ve already proven themselves in.

Not having to send an extra email just to be taken seriously.

Not having to soften their tone so they don’t sound too aggressive.

Not having to smile through it when a male colleague calls them intimidating for saying the same thing a man would be called confident for.

Not having to perform emotional gymnastics, hoping to land safely between “too much” and “not enough.”

Not having to accept crumbs and pretend it’s a meal.

And yet—despite it all—

They still get sht done. Because, obviously.

And I wish I could tell you that realization hit me years ago. That I walked out of my corporate job fully knowing my worth and never once questioning myself again.

But that’s not how it happened.

Because after twelve years in the legal tech industry, I had seen it all.

The being talked over in meetings.

The emails that went unanswered—until a male colleague sent the same thing and suddenly, it was a great idea.

The constant balancing act of being strong but not aggressive, confident but not intimidating, direct but not cold.

I had spent years playing that game.

Rewriting emails. Watching promotions go to people who hadn’t worked as hard. Smiling through conversations that made my blood boil.

And then there was this one guy—

A senior executive, standing next to me at a crowded industry conference.

VP of Sales.

Not some clueless intern, not a junior rep fresh out of onboarding—someone whose literal paycheck depended on knowing exactly who I was and what I did.

He glanced at my name tag, tilted his head slightly, and smirked as if preparing to offer me a prize-winning compliment.

Then he opened his mouth:

“Oh, I didn’t know you were such an important piece to this company… I honestly thought you were just another pretty face.”

(And yes, {{First Name}}, those exact words actually came out of his mouth. To me. Out loud. In front of a crowd of humans with fully functioning ears.)

I froze—polite smile automatically activated, heart rate spiking, internal monologue screaming something between, “Did he just say that?” and “What if I just quietly set this entire booth on fire?”

And the kicker?

He laughed. Like it was charming. Like he'd just given me a compliment I'd waited my whole life to receive.

And then it hit me—
It didn’t matter how much I achieved.
How hard I worked.
How much I proved myself.
They were always going to see what they wanted to see.

But then, something else hit me.

Because for every person who dismissed me, underestimated me, and made me jump through hoops they’d never set for themselves—there were others who didn't.

Men who sat across from me in meetings, looked me square in the eye, and said, “No matter what, be true to yourself.”

Men who saw me as a leader—not just a box to check.

And the truth?

They were right.

Because all the proving, all the fixing, all the bending myself into someone they'd find more comfortable—it was exhausting, and none of it mattered.

They were going to decide how they saw me, no matter what.

So I might as well show up exactly as myself—fully, unapologetically.

That realization stayed with me.

Long after I left corporate.

Long after I stopped chasing approval from people who were never planning to give it anyway.

Months later, after walking away from that world, I ordered a pen.

Not just any pen—a pen engraved with a single word:

“Unfckwithable.”

It spoke to me.

It wasn’t a reminder. It was confirmation.

Because by then, I already knew.

I wasn’t proving anything anymore.
I wasn’t waiting.
I wasn’t asking.
I wasn’t hoping someone would finally get it.

I got it.

And the funny thing?

The right people saw it too.

Like Tricia, the woman entrepreneur who created that pen. Someone who built her business from the ground up—not because she had funding, connections, or some magic shortcut—but simply because she was relentless.

Someone who had been through it.

Someone who had been overlooked, underestimated, dismissed—

And still showed up.

When the package arrived, I expected just the pen.

But inside was a small, handwritten note.

It stopped me in my tracks.

After years of proving. Justifying. Overexplaining. Carrying. Fixing. Handling everything.

After years of hearing what I’m not, what I should be, what I need to do differently—

Here was a woman, in her own handwriting, telling me:

You are enough. Exactly as you are. And no one can touch that.

And that? It meant more than every empty 'Happy Women’s Day!' post combined.

Because it wasn’t about empty recognition.
It was about actually being seen.

Not just for the things you accomplish.
Not just for what you do.

But for who you are.

For the strength it takes to show up when no one is clapping.
For the quiet battles that don’t make it into headlines.
For the way you keep pushing forward, even when no one is watching.

Because the truth is—
Women don’t just hold up half the world.
We hold up the half that’s falling apart.

The half that gets ignored.
The half that gets underpaid.
The half that gets taken for granted until the moment we stop doing it.

And even then?
We still keep going.

International Women’s Day isn’t just about celebrating the women who shattered ceilings.

It’s about the ones who never get celebrated at all.

The women who keep entire industries running but don’t have the title to show for it.
The women who fight battles they never signed up for.
The women who make everything look effortless—but are breaking under the weight of it.

And IWD should be for them.

For us.

So no, I’m not here to tell you to “celebrate yourself” today.

I’m here to tell you:

I see you, {{First Name}}.
I know how much you do.
And I know you shouldn’t have to do it alone.

So take up the damn space.
Speak the hell up.
Make them uncomfortable.

And if you need to burn the whole thing down and start over?

Just say the word.

I’ll bring the matches. 🔥

(And a spare latte. Priorities).

👇 I want to hear from you.

📩 So tell me {{First Name}}, what’s the thing you do every damn day that no one even notices—but everything would fall apart without it?

Hit reply and spill the tea. Or better yet—send this to a woman who deserves to be seen today.

Because I see you, {{First Name}}. And I know how much you carry.

Your personal “no crumbs” advocate,

– Genta

P.S. If your inbox is flooded with empty “Happy Women’s Day!” messages from guys who wouldn't know real support if it interrupted them in a meeting—forward them this. Consider it my gift to you. 😉