For a while, I was the only woman on a team of eight.
Seven guys, one me. This was my first job, so I didn’t have anything to compare it to, no idea if this was normal or not, no older colleague to vent to who’d tell me “oh yeah, every workplace is like this at first.” I was just figuring it out in real time.
And in the beginning, it was awkward in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. Not hostile, not dramatic, just quiet. There’d be these silences between me and everyone else that I didn’t know how to fill. Lunch breaks would happen without me. Not because anyone was excluding me on purpose, I think, but because nobody had figured out how to include me either. I’d sit at my desk while the rest of the team walked off together, and I’d tell myself it was fine. It wasn’t really fine. It just was.
Most days, the only real conversation I had was with my manager walking over to give an update on what I’d finished, what I was stuck on, what was next. That was fine; that’s the job. But it also meant work talk was the only kind of talk I was having. There was no one to laugh with.
I want to be honest about that part because I think we skip over it too fast when we tell these stories. Before you find your people, there’s usually a stretch where you don’t have any, and you just have to sit in that. Looking back, being the only woman in the room wasn’t actually the hardest part. Feeling like I didn’t belong was.
Then a ninth person joined the team. Another guy. And my first reaction, honestly, was something close to dread. Great, I remember thinking. One more.
But he did something small that changed everything, without either of us realizing it at the time. He just said hi. He’d been on leave when I joined, so he introduced himself like it was day one for both of us. And then we started talking about nothing deep, just normal stuff. New tech, some new policy in the country, what was trending, what was going on at work. At some point he said something about how important it is to actually take breaks during the day, and I remember thinking, finally, someone who gets it.
That’s really all it took to start. Small talk that didn’t stay small. We became work buddies, the kind where you vent about back-to-back meetings, laugh about the same annoying client email, grab coffee because you both need five minutes away from your screen. And then he introduced me to an accountant on another team, a woman, and she joined our little orbit too. Suddenly there were three of us, and the conversations got a bit deeper, not just “what’s happening at work” but “what actually makes you happy,” “what do you want to be doing in five years,” that kind of thing.
We never once hung out outside the office. Not a single dinner, not a weekend thing, nothing. And yet the office stopped being just a place I went to do tasks. It became a place with people in it. People I looked forward to seeing. We’d talk about what we were building next, get genuinely excited about how a new feature might change how the company operated, then immediately derail into complaining about the coffee machine. It was chaotic in the best way. We didn’t have weekend plans together or vacations or any of the things that are supposed to make a friendship “real.” But I’ve learned that some of the best workplace friendships are built in fifteen-minute coffee breaks between meetings, and that doesn’t make them any less real.
I only worked there for about a year. In the scheme of a career, that’s not long. But I still talk to those two regularly, even now, even after all of us have moved on to different companies. We found new people in our new places, you always do, but I never really let go of that first group. I don’t think you have to choose between the old bonds and the new ones. You just keep both; you don’t have to leave good people behind just because you’ve changed jobs.
Here’s what I actually believe about this, and it’s not the polished version: finding your people at work isn’t about finding people who look like you or share your background. It’s not some grand strategic move either. Sometimes it’s just one person who says hi on the right day, and you happen to say something back, and neither of you overthinks it. You don’t need a big plan. You need one small, unremarkable conversation that you let turn into more.
If I could go back and talk to the version of me sitting alone at her desk while everyone else went to lunch, I’d tell her this: the silence isn’t permanent, and it’s not a verdict on whether you belong there. If a place has been given to you, chances are you’re meant to be in it, and the people are coming, just not always on the timeline you’d like. Stop treating the awkwardness as proof you don’t fit. It’s just the part before the part that works.
If you’re a new joiner reading this, maybe in your first job, maybe just the only one of “you” in the room, I know it’s tempting to keep your world small. To talk to your manager, give your updates, and call it a day. That was me for months. But the small talk you’re avoiding because it feels forced or unnecessary might be the exact thing that turns a job into a place you actually want to be. Say hi first, if you can. And if you can’t yet, just stay open when someone else does.
You never know which “hi” is going to turn into a friendship that changes your whole experience of a place. So don’t mistake a slow start for a bad ending. Just give the story enough time to unfold.
And I’d tell her one more thing, because it’s the piece that actually matters if you want this to happen again in your next job, and the one after that: take the risk of being alone for a while. Stay open anyway. It’ll feel uncertain, maybe even a little scary, especially if you’re used to being the only one in the room. But give it time. You’ll figure it out. You always do.
Shatarupa Ghosh
Data Scientist who turns complex data into insights that drive smarter decisions and real-world impact. I’m passionate about AI, analytics, and building solutions that challenge the status quo and create meaningful change.