I remember my time at the marketing firm all too well. The office was in Ikoyi, just a stone’s throw from the boss’s house. It should have been an easy job—a straightforward 9 to 5, but that was far from reality. We were supposed to close at 5 PM, but nobody dared leave before the boss. She had this habit of leaving in the middle of the day, only to return hours later, refreshed and ready to start working again. Meanwhile, we’d sit there, staring at our screens, pretending to be busy, waiting for her to finish whatever it was she was doing.

One night, it was almost 10 PM, and she was still there. I had been up since 5 AM, and all I could think about was my bed. The idea of sitting in traffic for another hour before I could get home was unbearable. My body was exhausted, my mind was numb, but I didn’t have the guts to leave. The fear of losing my job kept me rooted to that chair.

It took months of this routine before I finally snapped. One day, I packed up my things at 5 PM sharp and walked out. I could feel the eyes of my colleagues on me, the silent judgment, but I didn’t care anymore. My mental health was suffering, and I wasn’t going to let a job destroy it. The next day, the boss called me into her office, but I stood my ground. I told her that my time was valuable, and if she couldn’t respect that, then I’d find somewhere else to work. Leaving that job was terrifying, but it was the best decision I ever made. I got my life back.