La dolorosa realidad de ser indispensable y prescindible a la vez

I've watched people get fired who were carrying entire departments on their backs. Not for screwing up, not for slacking—just because at some point they became inconvenient. Too independent, too visible, too expensive. Or the opposite—so invisible that people only remembered they existed when something broke.

This piece is for people I know personally, and for those I don't but recognize from the description. For people who do good work, sometimes the work of two or three, and still feel undervalued. I want to share what I've seen—from both sides of the table. Not to lecture, but to give a heads-up.

The quiet heroes and their biggest trap

There's a certain type—the person who silently closes nine tasks out of ten. Nobody notices because everything just works. Then a problem comes up, and they go to their manager—because they need help or a decision that's above their pay grade.

Here's what happens: the manager only sees this person when there's a problem. Again and again. Not because there are many problems, but because the other nine tasks passed quietly, without applause. A picture forms in the manager's head: this employee is about problems. Not solutions, not results. Problems.

It's unfair. But it's reality.

I'm not saying you need to brag about every closed ticket. But if you work in silence for months and only show up with bad news—the person on the other side develops a distorted perception. They're not even to blame, it's just how brains work: we remember what triggers emotions, and quiet good work doesn't trigger any.

"I can handle it"—four words that blur who you are

Good specialists often take on more than they should. Not because they enjoy it, but because they see a problem and can't walk past it. A finance person starts managing processes, a developer turns into a project manager, a designer handles client communication.

From the outside it looks like initiative. From the inside—like erosion. You spend energy on things where you're not the best, instead of going deeper into what makes you irreplaceable. Six months later you're in a position where you're valued a little for everything and a lot for nothing. That's the most vulnerable spot when cuts come.

Define your territory and become so deep in it that your absence hurts.

A marathon with no finish line

I've seen people close tasks like a conveyor belt—one after another, no breaks, no weekends, no asking "why am I doing this?" They genuinely believed that quantity was proof of value.

But work isn't an endurance race. Someone who focuses on three things and does them well is more visible than someone who spreads themselves across twenty tasks. The paradox: the person who does less but with precision grows faster. The one who does more than anyone burns out first, and their departure often surprises no one—they'd long stopped being visible behind their endless busyness.

The part nobody talks about

Now—a layer deeper, the part usually left unsaid.

In 2025, Meta fired 3,600 people under the banner of "raising performance standards." Among them were people with excellent reviews, bonuses, years of spotless work. Microsoft, Amazon, Goldman Sachs—same story. They call it "performance-based," but in practice they're replacing expensive with cheap.

You can do everything right and still end up on the list. Not because you're bad, but because you cost too much. Or because someone above you feels threatened—you're too competent, too independent, you see the whole picture too clearly. For a good manager, that's a gift. For a weak one—a reason to get rid of you.

And there's one more trap, the most painful: burnout from trust. They trust you—so they give you more. You deliver—so they can add more. And more. At some point, trust that should have been recognition becomes just overload. You burn out not from being treated badly, but from being treated well. Because nobody thought that trust has limits too.

From the other side of the table

I've sat in that chair myself—was a manager, hired, fired, built teams. Here's what I understood long ago and still believe is the only right approach: if a specialist delivers results, my job is to adapt to them, not to break them to fit my mold.

I've had people who grumbled, snapped back, glared through meetings. And still delivered work I could stand behind. Did I care? Sure—it's nicer to work with someone who's both a professional and pleasant. But in practice, those grumblers often turned out to be the most reliable. They didn't smile for show, but they did their job so well I could sleep easy.

The problem is that few people take management seriously as a profession. Leading people is a skill you need to learn, but most managers ended up in that chair by accident: they were good specialists, got promoted, and then—figure it out yourself. So someone who was writing code or crunching budgets yesterday now has to understand motivation, read the team's state, adapt their approach to each person. No training, no mentor, often no desire.

People are people. Not all managers are malicious or stupid. Many just don't know how. And those who work hardest suffer for it.

Why I'm writing this

Not to teach. Not to hand out a five-point list and say "follow it and you'll be fine." It would be a lie to promise that if you do everything right, you'll definitely be appreciated.

I'm writing this because I know people who work conscientiously—quietly, honestly, sometimes to exhaustion—and feel like it's not enough. I want them to know: I've seen it. From both sides.

And the only thing I can say for certain: pay attention to how you're seen. Not because you need to play politics, but because good work that nobody knows about is a tree falling in a forest where no one's around.

The sound happened. But nobody heard it.