I Quit—Then I Was Told I Was Too Dumb for the Role

I was 24, fresh out of college, and eager to step into the professional world. Through a temp agency, I landed a receptionist position at a management company that handled everything from commercial development to apartment operations. The role was advertised as a great opportunity for growth—both of my predecessors had been promoted internally. It seemed like the perfect place to start building my career.

When a marketing position opened in the apartment division, I jumped at the chance. In the interim, I stepped up as Office Manager/Executive Assistant after my boss retired, holding things together until a permanent replacement was found. I was excited for the transition to marketing, even though the role focused primarily on signage—the kind of marketing that no one really notices. But I still found the creative aspects exciting.

In hindsight, the biggest red flag should have been that two employees—including the person whose role I was stepping into—had left the department within months of each other. As a newbie, I brushed it off, assuming it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.

I was wrong.

The department was a clique, one that thrived on exclusivity and judgment. My boss was undoubtedly an expert in the field, but she lacked any real leadership skills. There was little direction, little support, and while there was some effort to integrate me into the team, it was clear I didn’t fit in. It became painfully clear why the people before me had left. But because this was my first full-time job out of college, I had nothing to compare it to. Was this just how corporate environments worked? Or was I really the problem?

Self-doubt is a slow poison, and I swallowed a lot of it in those months. But the truth was right in front of me: the problem wasn’t me—it was the environment. And I had to get out.

I finally resigned, making me the third person to leave that department in six months. During my exit interview, I laid everything out for the HR VP—the lack of leadership, the toxicity, the way I was alienated from the start. Her response is something I’ll never forget:

She told me I had a natural ability to present as intelligent and capable… but maybe I wasn’t actually prepared for the marketing role.

Basically, she told me I was too dumb for the job.

Years later, this moment still stands out. I had provided clear, concrete feedback about a dysfunctional department, only to have my experience dismissed and my abilities called into question. It wasn’t about acknowledging a toxic work culture—it was about making me the problem. And for a long time, I let that narrative sit in my head. What if she was right?

But she wasn’t.

Looking back now, I see that my intuition had been screaming at me all along. The lack of clarity, the judgment, the exclusion—those were all signs that I was in an environment where I was never going to thrive. Toxic workplaces don’t just undervalue you; they distort your sense of self, making you question your own worth.

The difference between then and now is that I trust myself. I know my strengths. I know what I bring to the table. I know what to look out for, and most importantly, I know what I won’t tolerate. Sometimes, the most painful experiences are the best teachers. They show you exactly what you don’t want—and they push you toward what you truly deserve.

This was never about my intelligence. It was about being in an environment that was too narrow-minded to recognize my value. When someone tells you that you’re “too dumb” for a role, it’s rarely about your actual capabilities—it’s about their inability to see beyond their own biases.

My worth is no longer defined by anyone else’s perspective. This experience was just another nudge toward my true purpose—helping others break free from limiting beliefs and toxic environments so they can step into their own power. The world will try to tell you who you are without ever asking you. Stand in your truth anyway. That’s the only way forward.