The Reintegration Plan - Corporate Reintegration - a Zesty Sitcom- Episode 1

Cold open.

Camera zooms in on me. Blonde. Tattooed. Holding a reusable water bottle like it’s a life raft.

“I’m officially reintegrating,” I say to the documentary crew.

“Six hours a week. Which is corporate for: ‘Let’s see if she collapses politely.’”

Cut to HR.

HR slides across a document titled:

Phase 1: Gradual Return to High-Stress Chaos

It includes phrases like:

• “Manageable workload”

• “Low-pressure environment” (lol)

• “Strategic oversight only”

  
  

Cut to the actual calendar invite:

Global Escalation Call – 07:30

Vendor Crisis Sync – 08:15

Executive Alignment – 09:00

I stare at the screen.

My Tamoxifen brain whispers: I am on vacation. Good luck.

Talking Head Interview

“I used to run multi-region operations,” I explain calmly. “Now I celebrate when I remember my password.”

Camera pans to a Post-it that says: Breathe. Do not cry on Zoom.

Act 1: The Comeback

Day one of reintegration.

I wear proper trousers. I even put on mascara. I log in.

1230 emails.

One starts with:“Per my last 12 emails…”

Another:“Quick one…”

There is no such thing as a quick one.

My smartwatch thinks I’m jogging.

Act 2: The Slapstick Twist

Just as I start feeling almost competent again…

BOOM.

Another illness enters the chat.

Because apparently my immune system saw the reintegration plan and said, “Cute. But no.”

Cue dramatic Office-style zoom as I sit in a GP waiting room again, staring into the middle distance.

Voiceover:

“She tried to rejoin capitalism. Capitalism declined.”

Talking Head #2

“I’m not lazy,” I say, slightly feral. “I am just… medically overachieving.”

Long COVID fatigue. Hormone chaos. Hashimoto’s. Breastcancer.

Recovery that behaves like a cat. It comes when it wants. It leaves when it wants. It knocks glasses off tables for sport.

Act 3: The Job Market

Fine. Maybe it’s time to test the market.

I update my CV.

Two companies. Thirteen years.

Apparently this is suspicious now.

Enter: AI Gatekeeper 3000

Upload CV. Re-enter CV manually. Create password with one uppercase, three symbols, blood sample.

Application rejected in 4 minutes.

Reason:“Not a match.”

I was literally the job.

Cut to Gen Z Recruiter (Talking Head)

“So I see you were at one company for… ten years?” Concerned pause. “That’s… interesting.”

Interesting. Like a museum exhibit.

I imagine responding:

“Yes. We used to build things and stay.”

But instead I smile like a woman who has survived radiation treatment and vendor escalations.

Which, frankly, is the same skill set.

Act 4: Existential Spiral (But Make It Slapstick)

I sit at my desk. Open LinkedIn.

See 24-year-old “Head of Global Disruption Strategy.”

I Google:“Is 50 the new invisible?”

My brain says:Y ou are too old. You are too sick. You are too expensive.

My body says: We need a nap.

Final Scene

Back to the reintegration plan.

HR: “We just need you to show consistency.”

Me: “My nervous system has plot twists.”

Camera zoom on my face.

“I don’t want to ride it out.

I want to come back strong.

I built high-performing teams.

I crushed chaos for breakfast.

I didn’t suddenly forget how to lead because my thyroid is dramatic.”

Beat.

“But I also refuse to crawl back just to prove I can still bleed for quarterly targets.”

Silence.

Then:

“I’ll reintegrate when my body and brain form a coalition government again.”

Cut to black.

Text on screen:

Next week on The Office: She applies for 14 jobs. The AI rejects her. Her dog sits on her laptop. Honestly? The dog has better instincts than the algorithm.

If you are reading this and recognise yourself, even just a little bit, know this:

You’re not obsolete. You’re healing in a system that worships burnout and calls it ambition.

That tension is the real joke.

And for the record, anyone questioning thirteen years of loyalty has never survived an actual crisis.

Some of us didn’t job-hop.

We built empires and then survived cancer on the side.

That’s not instability.

That’s endurance.

Dedication

This one is for anyone trying to “reintegrate” while their body or mind is still under construction.

For the ones logging into high-pressure jobs with half a battery.

For the ones rebuilding strength after illness, burnout, grief, or things they don’t even fully talk about.

For the ones quietly navigating AI filters, awkward interviews, and the strange suspicion that loyalty and depth have somehow gone out of fashion.

If you’re riding it out until you’re ready again, that’s not weakness.

If you’re taking the long road back, that’s not failure.

If your CV shows years of commitment instead of constant hopping, that’s not a flaw.

Recovery is not a straight line.

Reintegration is not a race.

Some of us are rebuilding quietly.

Some of us are testing the waters.

Some of us are waiting until we can show up strong again.

There is no shame in timing your return.

Strength sometimes looks like patience.