Seduced by the Siren Song (Disguised as a Calendar Invite)

Editorial Assistant Rahima Bilgrami recounts the time the most magnetic siren of all seduced her: the non-stop corporate grind.

If someone had told me in 2024 that in a year, I would willingly give up trying to manage my full-time job, two volunteer roles, and networking with the persistence of a LinkedIn algorithm on steroids, I would’ve laughed, cried, and then pulled my hair out from sheer terror.

Because back then? I lived for the grind. I was Jessica Pearson in the flesh, but without the fancy attire. I took pride in being the go-to person who always replied to emails with “No worries at all!” while slowly developing a deep-seated hatred for Outlook. What I didn’t know, however, was that my first brush with a siren didn’t happen at sea; it happened in a Slack notification. Or worse, a congratulatory email. No one ever warns you that the first time you hear a siren, she might just sound like praise.

Having a full plate wasn’t just my default setting; it was my entire identity. My Google calendar looked like it was made by an early 2000s website developer who hated white space. I breathed in burnout and exhaled deliverables. When coworkers said, “You’re great at what you do!” I internalised it like a prophecy. I thought if I was tired, I was doing something right. That being perpetually overwhelmed was a sign that I was on the path to what, exactly, I never stopped to ask.

And that was the point. I didn’t stop.

Chapter One: The Climb (a.k.a. Mistaking Anxiety for Ambition)

It always starts out innocent, doesn’t it? You get your first real corporate job. Not retail. Not hospitality. A Real Job™ with a lanyard, corporate access cards and maybe even free coffee. You’re nervous, you’re excited, and you're bursting with an almost delusional level of hope. For me, I knew I would revolutionise this company from the inside out.

Ultimately, it was the start of something I had waited years for, a job that didn’t involve apologising to Karens about the refund policy on a sale item. I was finally in. And I was hungry for success, for experience, for the mythical idea of ‘getting ahead.’

So naturally, when the first few tasks came rolling in, I swallowed them whole. Finished early? Give me more. Boring admin work? Happy to help. Event over the weekend? I’ll cancel my plans and be there with a PowerPoint.

Chapter Two: Drowning

As weeks turned into months, something shifted. The compliments became expectations. “You’re so reliable” transformed into “Can you also take this on?” and “I know it’s late, but you’re the only one I trust to do this.” And I, ever the self-declared ‘Company Revolutioniser’, obliged.

I was logging off late most nights. I would squeeze myself into peak-hour trains like we were all a pack of animals heading for slaughter, come home dead-eyed, cook something resembling food, and collapse.

My weekends disappeared into the void of sleep and low-stakes dissociation. You know that kind of burnout where even watching a movie feels like a commitment? That was me. Choosing between going out with friends or staying in became a false choice; I just didn’t want to do either.

And yet, I still said yes.

Why? Because when you’re a woman of colour, a first-gen anything, and visibly different in a sea of button-down shirts, you say yes out of survival. You say yes because if you don’t, someone else might stop asking. And we all know what that means. Super duper whammy if you ask me.

Chapter Three: Productivity is a Scam, and I Was Eating it Up

It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realise that I was worshipping at the altar of productivity. I had turned myself into a machine and expected myself to outperform the rest without ever overheating. Spoiler alert: I overheated. I emotionally short-circuited.

But the thing is, productivity culture doesn’t just seduce you with efficiency. It flatters you. It gives you a dopamine rush every time someone calls you “amazing” for doing the work of three people. It tricks you into thinking your value is directly tied to your output. It wraps itself in Canva-infographics and gaslights you into believing burnout is not real.

And I was the ideal victim. I thought overwork was noble. That being tired all the time meant I was doing something meaningful. That if I could just keep pushing, I’d finally arrive. Arrive where? Probably the ER.

Chapter Four: Sirens Wear Blazers Now

We don’t talk enough about how modern sirens aren’t mythical creatures anymore. They’re real, they’re strategic, and they send you calendar invites titled “Quick Chat?” that are anything but.

They lure you with the possibility. With curated LinkedIn success stories that leave out the mental breakdowns and the office politics. Like, why exactly am I passive-aggressively fighting with a person 30 years older than me?

They say things like “It’s a great opportunity,” and you hear “If you say no, someone else will take it and succeed instead of you.” And suddenly you’re spiralling, because even if you're drowning, you don’t want to stop swimming. The fear of stillness is stronger than the fear of collapse.

Chapter Five: Redefining the Song

Eventually—and I say this with the humility of someone who has had multiple dramatic breakdowns in the Coles lollies aisle —I realised I had to stop.

Not for dramatic reasons. No health crisis. No emotional rock bottom. Just a quiet clarity that this wasn’t it. That success at the cost of peace isn’t success. That being busy isn’t the same as being important, I didn’t want my life to feel like a never-ending group project.

So I started saying no.

To extra work. To unnecessary guilt. To networking events that made me feel like a LinkedIn influencer with no conscience.

I said yes to naps. To Sundays without plans. To texts I didn’t reply to for three days, and didn’t feel bad about.

The sirens didn’t vanish. They never do. But I learned to remember that even sirens, mythical or modern, are only dangerous if you don’t realise they’re singing.

The End: Not a Happy One, But a Happier One

I’m still working, still volunteering. But now I know what my limit feels like. I can spot the seductive call of burnout before it turns into a full-blown crisis. I’m unlearning the idea that rest is laziness and that setting boundaries is a weakness.

It’s not glamorous. There’s no dramatic resignation email.

It’s just one woman, closing her laptop at a reasonable hour, eating leftovers with unwashed hair, and learning—slowly—that being alive is not a to-do list.