"Loyalty is not a one-way street. If I'm asking it from you, then you're getting it from me." – Harvey Specter (Suits)
"Loyalty should be earned, not given or taken. It should be based on respect and mutual benefit, not blind expectation." – Unknown
Someone once told me a story that changed the way I looked at loyalty, especially in the workplace.
"I never knew people could be blindly loyal to their employers," she said. "To the point that it messes with your mind, your moods and... your soul."
Then she chuckled as if laughing at her past self. But not the joyful kind. It was that brittle, half-laugh people use to hide the pain they're not ready to name.
"I didn't hate my job," she said. "It just... slowly hollowed me out."
She had given six years to that place. She gave them more than her hours. She gave them her hope and dreams. And they cashed it in like it was free.
Not once did she complain. She'd told herself it was a normal part of growth. A necessary sacrifice. She was loyal, wasn't that supposed to count for something? Or so she thought.
Until that night.
It was a quiet Friday, everyone had left hours earlier. The office was still, humming with fluorescent fatigue. She'd stayed behind to wrap up some last-minute documents... Again.
As she reached into her bottom drawer to grab a flash drive, her fingers brushed against a folder she didn't recognize. So she pulled it out.
'Confirmation of Employment'
For a new staff member. Someone she had mentored personally over the last few months. A bright, eager intern. She smiled at first, there was pride there. This was someone she'd poured herself into. Taught, encouraged, shielded.
She flipped through the pages like a proud older sister. Until her eyes landed on the remuneration section.
And then, everything stopped. She blinked. Read it again, and again.
Her stomach turned, when she confirmed she was not seeing things. It was real.
The number was there, plain and cold, nearly double her own salary.
She stared at it, willing it to be a typo.
But it wasn't.
The realization hit her not like a slap, but like a slow, crushing weight pressing on her chest.
Six years.
Six years of being told, "You're so valuable to the team."
Six years of "Just be patient, your time will come."
Six years of "You're the only one good enough to train them."
Six years of hope packaged as promises with no delivery date.
She always believed loyalty was currency, that if you just kept showing up, it would eventually buy you a seat at the table.
Her hands trembled as she dropped the folder. It landed softly on her lap, but it may as well have exploded. She didn't know who dropped it in her drawer, but whoever it was, sure knew how to pack a punch. Because this one hit her right in her jaw.
She leaned back in her chair and looked around, really looked at her office surroundings for the first time in a long time.
The dusty office certificates of achievement framed on the wall. The thank-you cards from clients. The employee of the month plaque from three years in a row.
She used to feel proud of those things.
But now?
They looked like... consolation prizes. Like ribbons handed out to someone who played the game just well enough to be noticed, but never well enough to win. She thought about her colleagues and how silly they may have believed she was.
She picked up one of the certificates.
"In recognition of your outstanding dedication." She ran her thumb across the glass.
Was this what loyalty bought her? A line on paper and a pat on the back? While people she trained were being paid for the future she was promised but never given. What made them different or what made her not worthy of those things she hadn't even known she was missing. For the first time since working there, she actually thought things through and noticed some of the little things her colleagues were enjoying. Things she'd always felt were insignificant.
That night, something in her fractured.
Not with rage, but with clarity.
And in the quiet hum of the office, she made a decision.
By Monday, she had polished her résumé. By Thursday, her inbox was full of interview invites.
And by the end of the month, she had an offer in hand, double her salary, full benefits, a flexible schedule, and a boss who actually asked, "What do you need to thrive here?"
But when the offer letter came in, she didn't cry from joy. She shook with anger at herself. Because deep down, she realized it had always been possible. She had always been worth more.
She had just been waiting... Waiting for someone else to see it first.
She thought about giving her boss a chance to match it. She almost did.
But the conversation already played in her head like a broken record: "We'll see what we can do, Layla"
"Let's revisit this in six months."
"Think of all the opportunities we've already given you."
She'd heard it before.
So this time, she didn't wait for them to choose her.
She chose herself.
On her last day, she packed her things in silence. The office was noisy with awkward small talk and nervous smiles, but she didn't care.
The certificates stayed in the drawer, in the office where they belonged.
She no longer needed them to validate her worth.
She walked out, not with bitterness, but with a quiet kind of freedom.
Because sometimes, the bridges you leave behind were never meant to carry you forward anyway.
Months later, she got a message from the intern.
"I hope I can be half the woman you were here."
She smiled at her screen, then deleted the message. She didn't need the apology. The lesson had already paid its price.
Final Thought
Loyalty is a beautiful thing.
But only when it's mutual.
Blind loyalty, without respect, reciprocity, or reward, isn't noble. It's self-neglect wearing a smile.
If it takes your resignation letter for them to recognize your value, then they never truly did.
You are not a placeholder.
You are not a stepping stone.
You are not "next in line."
You are the asset.
So if you're still holding on, waiting for your "someday"... maybe today is the day you stop waiting.
Because the truth is:
You don't need their permission to walk away from less.