Reborn to Bury My Slut-Shamers
1.2k Views · Ongoing · Fuzzy Melissa
The day the promotion list went public, a photo popped up in the company's all-staff Slack channel.
In the photo, my profile nearly overlapped with a scantily dressed girl, the background a dimly lit Manhattan nightclub.
Immediately after, Brad added a caption:
[No wonder Harper landed Richard's M&A deal. Last night's 'overtime' must have been rough, huh?]
Less than ten seconds after he sent it, the message still hung there in the channel. No retraction.
The chat that had just been flooding with "congrats Harper" messages went dead silent.
In my past life, my head buzzed. I thought no one would take such a cheap joke seriously.
But within two days, the company's internal anonymous forum exploded with accusations, complete with photos and "proof."
They said I slept with clients to win the merger deal. That I secured my full-time offer by sleeping my way up. That my personal life was a mess, that I was trash.
My mother collapsed from a heart attack when she heard. She never woke up.
Later, my promotion was revoked. HR suspended me for "damaging company reputation."
I was slut-shamed, radioactive across the entire finance industry — no firm on the Street would touch me.
Within a month, I spiraled from depression to sleepless nights, and finally jumped from the rooftop of my Brooklyn apartment.
Before I lost consciousness, my phone was still buzzing.
"Did they fire her yet? People like that don't belong on Wall Street."
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the blinking Slack messages on my screen.
In the photo, my profile nearly overlapped with a scantily dressed girl, the background a dimly lit Manhattan nightclub.
Immediately after, Brad added a caption:
[No wonder Harper landed Richard's M&A deal. Last night's 'overtime' must have been rough, huh?]
Less than ten seconds after he sent it, the message still hung there in the channel. No retraction.
The chat that had just been flooding with "congrats Harper" messages went dead silent.
In my past life, my head buzzed. I thought no one would take such a cheap joke seriously.
But within two days, the company's internal anonymous forum exploded with accusations, complete with photos and "proof."
They said I slept with clients to win the merger deal. That I secured my full-time offer by sleeping my way up. That my personal life was a mess, that I was trash.
My mother collapsed from a heart attack when she heard. She never woke up.
Later, my promotion was revoked. HR suspended me for "damaging company reputation."
I was slut-shamed, radioactive across the entire finance industry — no firm on the Street would touch me.
Within a month, I spiraled from depression to sleepless nights, and finally jumped from the rooftop of my Brooklyn apartment.
Before I lost consciousness, my phone was still buzzing.
"Did they fire her yet? People like that don't belong on Wall Street."
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the blinking Slack messages on my screen.
