For a long time, I used to think sexual abuse was something that only happened to young girls, the naive ones who didn’t know how to say no, or the ones who were too scared to fight back. I used to pity them when I heard their stories on the news. But I never imagined that one day, I would almost become one of them.

I was twenty-seven, finally working the kind of job I used to pray for. After eight years of sending CVs, hustling through internships, and praying for a chance, I got it. My company had just landed an international contract, one I personally worked on for a full year. I stayed late most nights, missed weddings, skipped family gatherings, and sometimes even slept in the office. I wanted that project to succeed so badly because it was my ticket to being taken seriously.

But then came the day I went into Mr Ade’s office.

He was my boss, respected, polished, always smiling in public. People spoke highly of him, even outside work. So when he asked to see me about the new project, I went with my notes and laptop, ready to discuss timelines and deliverables.

Instead, he told me he didn’t think I could handle it. “A project this big?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re smart, but women get emotional. You might not stand the pressure.” He laughed after saying it, but it wasn’t funny. Then he added, “Steven will take over.”

Steven, his brother-in-law, who knew nothing about what we did. I almost laughed. It felt like a bad joke.

I reminded him of my work, the sacrifices, and how I brought in that client. That was when he looked at me, smiled in that disgusting way, and said, “Unless you give me a reason to change my mind.”

At first, I didn’t understand. Then I did.

The look in his eyes said it all. That ugly, pot-bellied man wanted my body in exchange for my work. I froze. My heart started pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears.

I tried to laugh it off and said, “Sir, I don’t think this is funny.”

But he leaned closer and whispered, “Think about it. You’ve worked hard. Don’t throw it all away.”

For the first time in my life, I felt small. Insulted. Trapped. I wanted to scream, but no words came out. I just stood up, mumbled something, and walked out before he could say another word. My legs were shaking.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind replayed everything. The fear. The shame. The anger. I kept thinking, who would believe me if I spoke up? He had connections everywhere. He could ruin me. People would say I was lying, that I wanted to destroy a “good man” with a happy family.

But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t stay silent. I didn’t work this hard to be treated like trash. Yes, I was sexually active, but never because someone forced me. I chose when and who. This was different: power, control, and disrespect.

So I wrote a report to HR. I spoke to a few colleagues I trusted. I sent copies of my report to people who couldn’t easily be silenced. And then, I waited.

Did it work? I’m not sure. All they kept on saying was that they were working on it. I couldn’t wait.

I had to leave the job. But somehow, I wasn’t scared anymore. I was done being quiet.

That month, I started working on something new, my own small agency. It was risky, but for the first time, I felt free.

Because the truth is, sometimes you have to lose everything to find your voice.

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