They Told Me I Was the Problem. My Body Knew the Truth.
By Ashley Ryall
Survival mode is tricky. We convince ourselves we're the only ones who can save us—even when the system is designed to make us fail.
We’re told that we’re the problem. That our age is the reason we don’t work fast enough. That being a parent is the reason we’re on a performance plan. Or, in my case, not “having thick skin to work here” is the reason I failed.
I got a job after eight years of running my own business. I needed a change of scenery, a new container to learn and grow. Two months in, I started to see some red flags.
I was responsible for turning around some unhappy clients and, try as I might, it seemed like nothing I did appeased them. While some clients valued our partnership and were grateful for the strengths I brought to the table, others outwardly dismissed my tenure and treated our partnership as a transaction.
Despite all this, I did whatever I could to make them happy, oftentimes going above and beyond the scope of work to show my worth.
It wore on me. The more unhappy they became, the more I was instructed to “fix it” but all I had was a hammer and a few nails to do so. The system was broken. Clients were promised what we couldn’t deliver and our infrastructure couldn’t support the demand.
Things got worse; when clients crossed boundaries, leadership didn’t advocate for me, and even when I did everything I knew how to do, clients were told that I was a disappointment.
When we’re repeatedly told that we’re the problem, that an impossible workload should be easy, we start to believe it. That failure is on us. That we’re not good at what we do.
That’s what happened to me. After several months of this, my confidence, and my body, began to slowly erode. Eventually, I felt like I had nothing left but a shell of both.
As a result, I played small, I held back on recommending a good idea because it didn’t feel safe to speak up. I retreated and was recluse – in my work and in my life. I got so tired and burnt out from the weight of it all. I struggled to get back to text messages from friends because I didn’t have the capacity to show up for them; my hair started falling out in clumps, my cortisol levels remained at their peak, I didn’t care to brush my teeth at night, and my nervous system got comfortable in fight or flight.
Most mornings I would sign on to my computer wearing an emotional sheet of armor, like I had entered the arena for the tenth round of a gladiator fight, and I had only a pocketknife to keep me alive.
Survival mode is a tricky thing. For those of us who've been through some shit, we've convinced ourselves that we're the only ones who can save us. That even when we're stripped of our utility, we can still endure regardless of circumstance. That survival is totally within our control, if we're strong enough. So as women, we place too much trust in companies, in our leaders and coworkers, and in the work system itself—systems that were never built for us. We internalize the weight of impossible demands, absorb burdens that were never meant to be shouldered alone, and blame ourselves when we can't succeed inside a structure designed for our failure. Instead of questioning whether we ever had the tools and support we needed, we assume the problem is us—that we're not strong enough, not resilient enough, not enough.
Here's the kicker and where the opportunity lies: It never crossed my mind that others might have had a hand in what was happening. That maybe my inability to support and deliver for the client wasn’t entirely my fault. That I wasn’t the one who failed. That leadership had failed me. In fact, it was not that I didn’t have the right skillsets or the stomach to do this job, it was that the business didn’t a backbone to distinguish our strengths from our weaknesses. And if the business didn’t have a backbone, how could I be expected to have one?
Only after I left this job did I realize the damage that had been done to my confidence. When I started a new job a few months ago, my ability to show up to client meetings with assurance and conviction was so much harder than I thought it would be. I’d bring my trusted armor to Zoom calls, just in case, and often misinterpret a client’s confusion for something a lot worse. A client would say, “I’m not sure what you’re recommending here” and instead, I’d hear, “what am I even paying you for?”
If I was going to get my power back, I would need to address a crack in the foundation, which was:
After a decade of putting myself outside my comfort zone, speaking on stages, asking for higher fees, investing in my skillsets, learning from leadership coaches, and running a successful business…here I was, believing that I wasn’t good at what I do.
I knew the repercussions if I kept slugging around this heavy sack of emotional baggage with me – from job to job, to dinner with my partner, to my next happy hour with friends.
So I’m actively working on healing it.
And that where Community comes in. The HerSpace community has spoken truth to what was really going on for me, not what I was told or led to believe. They’ve reminded me that what we resist, persists, and that there’s healing in stories.
I’m still in active recovery, but I hired a coach who is helping me rebalance my nervous system, identify what client opportunities are in alignment, and regain the confidence to speak up when I don’t have what I need to get the job done.
You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. And, chances are, you aren’t the problem.
Now, I’m a lot more careful about vetting opportunities and looking for red flags. When it comes to new jobs I’m considering, I’ve gotten better about asking for the systems, tools, and support that are in place to help me succeed in my role. When it comes to potential clients, I ask them to describe what a successful partnership with me looks like. If their answer is all vanity metrics and I’m just a warm body, then I’m not the problem (nor am I for hire).
About Ashley:
Ashley is a Hype Woman and Speakers' Agent who's done the Big Scary Things—commanded stages, quit jobs to start businesses, hiked 275 miles across Spain. Her trail name is Sunshine. Now she helps others do their Big Scary Thing with strategy, accountability, and the kind of encouragement that actually moves the needle.
👉 Work with Ashley: ashleyryall.com
💼 Follow her here
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