People don’t talk about death and sex at work - not openly, not honestly. But they’re there. Always. In the quiet pause after a colleague’s parent dies. In the whispered rumors about who’s sleeping with whom in the accounting department. In the way someone’s voice cracks when they say, "I need to leave early," and no one asks why. Workplaces are supposed to be clean, professional spaces. But humans don’t leave their bodies or their grief at the door.
There’s a website called escort girlparis that exists because someone, somewhere, decided intimacy could be bought and scheduled like a meeting. It’s not about love. It’s about control. And in a way, that’s not so different from how some offices operate - where power, silence, and desire are traded without names, without consequences.
Death Doesn’t Wait for a Paycheck
When someone loses a parent, a sibling, a child - the company doesn’t pause. The Slack messages keep coming. The Zoom meetings don’t cancel. The deadline? Still due Thursday. Some managers say, "Take the time you need." But then they look at their watch when you return, three days later, and ask why you’re still "not back to full capacity."
Death doesn’t care about quarterly reports. Grief doesn’t follow an HR policy. And yet, most workplaces treat mourning like a minor technical glitch - something to be fixed with a bereavement leave form and a sympathy card signed by the whole team.
In Jakarta, a woman I knew worked at a tech startup. Her husband died suddenly of a heart attack. She took five days off. When she came back, her manager asked if she was "ready to handle the client pitch." She said yes. She gave the pitch. She cried in the bathroom afterward. No one asked if she was okay. No one offered to cover her workload. She quit two weeks later.
Sex Is Always in the Room
It’s not always about romance. Sometimes it’s about power. Sometimes it’s about loneliness. Sometimes it’s about survival. In offices, sex isn’t just about who’s dating whom - it’s about who gets promoted, who gets left out, who gets blamed when things go wrong.
There’s a pattern. A junior employee starts spending late nights with their boss. A few months later, they’re moved to a "higher visibility" project. Rumors spread. No one says anything. But everyone knows. And if they speak up? They’re labeled "difficult." Or worse - "jealous."
Sexual tension isn’t just awkward. It’s dangerous. It turns collaboration into coercion. It turns mentorship into exploitation. And when it’s not reported - because the system protects the powerful - it becomes part of the culture. Not a scandal. A status quo.
One woman in Paris told me she took a job at a boutique agency because she needed the money. Her boss started inviting her to dinners. Then to his apartment. She said no. He stopped assigning her work. She asked for a transfer. HR said, "We don’t have evidence of misconduct." She left. A year later, she found out he’d done the same thing to three others. One of them was only 19.
The Unspoken Rules of Survival
Most people don’t quit because they hate their job. They quit because they can’t stand the silence. The silence when someone’s child dies and no one mentions their name. The silence when a coworker is being pressured into something they don’t want. The silence when the boss says, "I’m just being friendly," and everyone pretends to believe it.
There’s a myth that professionalism means leaving your humanity at home. But that’s not professionalism. That’s suppression. And suppression doesn’t make workplaces safer - it makes them colder. And in cold places, people don’t thrive. They just survive.
Some companies have started offering grief counseling. Others have mandatory anti-harassment training. But these are bandaids. They don’t fix the culture. They don’t change the power structure. They don’t make it safe to say, "I’m not okay," or "That’s not okay," or "I need help."
What Happens When You Break the Silence?
There are stories - rare, brave, costly - of people who spoke up. One man in Berlin told his manager he was grieving his sister’s suicide. He asked for flexible hours. His manager said, "We’re not a daycare." He left. Started his own business. Now he hires people who’ve been through loss. He doesn’t ask for proof. He just says, "I know what it’s like. Take what you need."
A woman in London reported her supervisor for repeated unwanted advances. She was moved to a different team. Her supervisor got a promotion. She was labeled "uncooperative." She still gets job offers. No one hires her. She works freelance now. She says, "I lost my job. But I didn’t lose my dignity."
These aren’t outliers. They’re the ones who survived.
The Cost of Pretending
Every time we pretend death isn’t real at work, we teach people that grief is a liability. Every time we pretend sex doesn’t happen, we teach people that power is the only language that matters. And slowly, quietly, we turn workplaces into places where people don’t feel human.
Companies spend millions on team-building retreats, wellness apps, and diversity programs. But they won’t spend a dollar on real emotional safety. Because real emotional safety means giving up control. It means admitting that people are messy. That they cry. That they want. That they break.
And that’s the truth no one wants to face: Work doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be human.
There’s a reason why people talk more openly about death on social media than in the office. There’s a reason why someone will post about their dog’s funeral and get 200 likes - but won’t tell their boss they’re struggling after their father died. Because the internet doesn’t ask for a performance review. The office does.
What Can You Do?
If you’re in a position to lead - even just a team of three - start here:
- When someone loses someone, say their name. Not "I’m sorry for your loss." Say, "I remember when Maria made that ridiculous coffee machine joke. I miss that."
- When you see behavior that feels off - don’t wait for HR. Ask the person quietly: "Are you okay?" And mean it.
- Don’t reward people who stay late because they’re scared to go home. Reward people who set boundaries.
- Stop calling it "personal time." Call it "human time."
- If you’re not sure what to say - just say, "I don’t know what to say, but I’m here."
There’s no policy that can fix this. No training module. No app. Only people. Real people. Willing to be real.
And if you’re the one hurting? You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be quiet. You don’t have to pretend. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to need help. You’re allowed to say no.
Work doesn’t own your grief. It doesn’t own your body. It doesn’t own your silence.
There’s a woman in Paris who used to work in marketing. She left after her boss started sending her messages at 2 a.m. She now runs a small café. She doesn’t take calls after 6 p.m. She doesn’t hire people who think "work-life balance" is a buzzword. She has a sign above the counter: "You are not here to perform. You are here to be."
People come for the coffee. They stay for the quiet.
Maybe that’s the only kind of workplace worth having.
And if you’re reading this and you’re still stuck in a place where death is ignored and sex is weaponized - you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re just in the wrong room. Find a new one.
There’s one more thing: You don’t have to wait for permission to be human. You already are.
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