For the last four years, in my various roles, I’ve hidden who I really am (Picture: Getty Images/iStockphoto)

‘The area you’re moving to is the arsehole of London.’ 

I’ve heard many things in work meetings – but snobbishness about my neighbourhood from colleagues was the last thing on Earth that I expected. 

In March last year, I was so excited about buying my first flat – so excited that I’d spilled the news to the people I worked with. You can imagine, therefore, the disappointment when one of them turned up his nose and ruined it for me completely.  

But not only was I angry at him, I was angry at myself for going against my number one rule at work: Never tell anyone anything about yourself.  

For the last four years, in my various roles, I’ve hidden who I really am, keeping my work separate from the rest of my life.  

I started doing this after I finished my masters in global health and moved from a clinical role working as a mental health professional, into office life.  

As I started working in different companies, it became really hard to trust and get close to people in the workplace. Not only because of the cliques that were already formed but because, as a working-class migrant, I always assumed that my identity would be used against me, even if it was unintended.  

An assumption that was hard not to come to when I sat in meetings where white colleagues would make fun of the way Black women like me spoke, calling them ‘sassy’, or poking fun at the slang working class people used, repeating words like ‘init’ and ‘fam’ mockingly. 

How could I bring my whole self to work when that was what I was up against? So I did what every Black person is taught: code switching.  

In case you haven’t heard of it, code switching is when people of colour make subtle adjustments to their behaviour and manner of speaking in order to help blend into different social and professional situations – ones that are unaccepting of our authentic selves.  

I don’t come from the same class or background as the majority of the colleagues I’ve worked with, and I found their small talk boring, pretentious and, quite honestly, difficult.  

A lot of the time, it mostly involved boasting about expensive purchases they made (one of my colleagues used to buy a new car every single year for no reason), which wasn’t something I could – or wanted to – relate to.  

Most of them went on skiing holidays, owned yachts and could afford to go on ‘big’ trips every time they took annual leave. The last time I could afford to go on a big vacation was in 2013. 

However, I also realised quickly that small talk and sharing personal information was the key to being considered a ‘team player’ and getting ahead at work. Not just when it came to colleagues being willing to help you when you needed it, but being put forward for life-changing career opportunities.  

When they ask me what I did over the weekend, I simply make it up

As a result, I decided to hide the truth about myself and reimagine a completely different persona for myself at work, creating a fictional life that was a lot more interesting than my reality, while keeping my personality agreeable and flat.  

I became really good at exaggerating – my interest in the theatre became a huge part of my character because it was a shared interest.  

However, what I failed to mention was that I only got to go to the theatre because my boyfriend got free tickets. They wrongly thought I willingly spent all this money on shows, because I could afford to – and I failed to correct them. 

As my colleagues nodded along with me like I was one of them, the idea of exaggeration and reinvention made so much sense to me - and made my life so much easier.  

So when I accidentally slipped up and revealed the real me and my colleague rubbished the area I’d chosen to move to, I was furious. 

I was tempted to give a sarcastic response about not wanting to be another gentrifier – like he was – but I didn’t. Mostly because I was shocked at the comment, and my feelings were hurt.  

How dare he ruin what was probably one of the proudest moments of my adult life? Moreover, how foolish it was of me to think he cared. 

It only confirmed why I should never allow my colleagues to get to know the real me. They don’t deserve to. 

So now, when they ask me what I did over the weekend, I simply make it up, breezily mentioning that I did my grocery shopping at Waitrose then discuss the differences between sponge cakes with them. 

I don’t want them to form a negative opinion of me, or my life – and I certainly don’t want them to know how much I sometimes really struggle to leave my flat because I can’t afford to, or that my mental health sometimes holds me back. 

It’s one of the reasons I hate taking annual leave too; that feeling that I can’t just take a break, but that I have to be doing ‘something’ because of the barrage of questions I’ll face. Ones like: where are you going?  Are you doing anything nice?

Most of the time I never do anything on annual leave, or what I do isn’t that exciting – quiet but enjoyable dinners with friends, or going home and helping my dad with gardening, or DIY projects.  

I refuse to share these details, though, because I don’t want this part of my life to stop being mine. I want it to belong to me and the people closest to me.  

Yes, I went to Paris on a wonderful break, I’ll say instead. Or I tell them how in demand I am during Easter and Christmas because ‘so many family members want me at their house’ when I really just spend the holidays alone. I don’t want to be pitied. 

So far, no-one has cottoned onto my little white lies because I refuse to have any work colleagues on social media. Sometimes I’ve denied being on Facebook or Instagram at all, or, if they’ve found me, I just ignore their invites or friendship request until they decide to retract them.

Yet, despite code-switching making my life easier, it has come at a cost. There are times I feel incredibly lonely and wish I was able to go to work and just be me, rather than having to worry about how I present, if I fit in with my colleagues, or how I’m perceived based on my identity.  

I actually went on my first ‘bae-cation’ with my boyfriend recently and we had the best time. 

But will I ever share this with my colleagues?  

Not in a million years. It’s none of their business and I refuse to let my experiences belong to anyone else but me.

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I have a completely different persona in the office than I do at home.