She refreshed. Nothing. She logged out and searched his name. There he was, perfectly visible. She logged back in. Gone.
She never overdid it. Once per post. Professional. Insightful. At least, that’s what she told herself.
Within minutes, her comment had replies. Some agreed. Others told her she was “missing the point.” One person called her “passive-aggressive in pink font.” Emma stayed quiet, but the damage was done. blocked on linkedin
Marcus posted a hot take about remote work. Something about how “real culture requires bodies in seats.” Emma, who had thrived working from her tiny apartment for two years, felt a spike of annoyance. She typed a reply: “Interesting take! Though I’d argue that productivity and culture can exist anywhere when trust is present 😊”
Emma stared at the screen, cheeks burning. It felt absurdly personal. She’d never met this man. He didn’t know her name, her work, her ambitions. And yet, in the quiet algorithm of professional social media, he had reached through the screen and closed a door. She refreshed
Marcus never unblocked her. But somewhere along the way, Emma stopped checking.
But it wasn’t just LinkedIn. It was the fantasy of recognition. The belief that if she just engaged enough, shared enough, showed up enough, someone important would notice and pluck her from obscurity. Marcus wasn’t a person anymore. He was a gate. And the gate had locked. There he was, perfectly visible
Then she opened a blank document and wrote a real post. No carousel. No hashtags. Just words: