deepika

Hello, corporate survivors. I’m Deepika. If you’ve seen my videos, you know I don’t do sugarcoating. I don't believe in "pizza parties" as a substitute for a living wage, and I certainly don't believe the HR department is your friend. I should know—for nearly a decade, I was the HR department. I was the person sitting across the desk in the tailored blazer, smiling professionally while explaining why the company couldn't afford to give you a raise this year, despite posting record quarterly profits. My journey didn't start with a rebellion; it started with deep, blind ambition. I climbed the corporate ladder exactly how you’re supposed to. I got the MBA, I worked the eighty-hour weeks, and I mastered the art of corporate double-speak. I thought I was building a phenomenal career in human resources, helping companies build "culture." But as I got higher up the chain, the air got thinner, and the reality of the corporate machine became impossible to ignore. I realized my actual job wasn't to protect the employees; it was to protect the company from the employees. The breaking point—the moment that permanently derailed my perfectly planned life—happened on a Tuesday afternoon. I was called into a closed-door meeting with the executive board of the massive logistics firm I was working for. They handed me a spreadsheet. It was a list of thirty employees they wanted me to terminate under the guise of "performance issues." But as I looked at the names, the pattern was glaringly obvious. Almost every person on that list was either a woman about to go on maternity leave, an older employee nearing the pension threshold, or someone who had recently filed a workplace safety complaint. It was a targeted, illegal purge. They wanted me to sign off on the paperwork to make it look like a standard restructuring, essentially shielding the company from wrongful termination lawsuits. I looked the CEO in the eye and said, "No. This is illegal, and I won't do it." I thought my seniority would protect me. I thought we would have a debate. Instead, less than two hours later, my corporate email was deactivated, my laptop was seized, and I was escorted out of the building by security. They fired me for "insubordination." But they didn't stop there. The corporate world is a small, vindictive club. They used their whisper network to blacklist me. Overnight, recruiters who used to beg me to take interviews stopped returning my calls. I applied for dozens of roles and was rejected from every single one. I was thirty-two years old, completely unemployable, and watching my savings evaporate. For months, I was trapped in a dark, suffocating depression. I felt like I had thrown my entire life away for a brief moment of morality. I was sitting on my living room floor one evening, staring at a pile of unpaid bills, when my anger finally overpowered my despair. If the corporate world didn't want me, fine. I was going to become their worst nightmare. I knew all their secrets. I knew exactly how they calculated bonuses, how they manipulated performance reviews, and how they lowballed new hires. I set up my phone on a stack of business books and recorded my first video. I titled it: "How HR Calculates Your Salary Offer (And How to Counter It)." I didn't use jargon. I gave away the exact psychological tactics recruiters use to make you accept less money. I hit upload and went to bed. By the end of the week, the video had three million views. My inbox was flooded. Thousands of messages poured in from people who had been gaslit, underpaid, and overworked. People were using my scripts and negotiating $20,000 pay bumps. Women were finally getting maternity leave policies honored. I realized then that my real career wasn't HR; it was advocacy. I started posting daily, tearing down the velvet handcuffs of the corporate world. I became a career coach for the working class. However, as my digital presence exploded, I ran into a massive, infuriating roadblock. The traditional social media platforms are, at their core, massive corporations. Their biggest advertisers are the very same Fortune 500 companies I was exposing. It didn't take long for the algorithms to start suppressing my content. If I used words like "toxic workplace," "layoffs," or "corporate exploitation," my videos were instantly shadowbanned or demonetized for not being "advertiser-friendly." To make matters worse, on the rare occasions my videos were fully monetized, the legacy platforms were taking nearly half of my ad revenue. I had escaped one exploitative corporate structure only to find myself doing unpaid labor for a digital algorithmic landlord. It was the ultimate hypocrisy. How could I teach my audience to know their worth and demand fair compensation while I was giving away 45% of my own income to a tech giant? That is why discovering vTogether was a paradigm shift for my business. I didn't just move my content; I audited my entire digital ecosystem. When I saw vTogether's 95/5 revenue split, I knew it was the only platform that actually practiced what I preached. A platform taking a mere 5% commission isn't just a feature—it is a structural commitment to the creator's value. I migrated my entire community over to vTogether. Here, I don't have to self-censor to please corporate advertisers. I host private, live masterclasses on salary negotiation. I do live "resume roasts." We have a secure community forum where employees can anonymously share toxic company red flags without fear of algorithmic suppression. Because I actually retain the revenue I generate, I’ve been able to scale my business, hire a legal consultant to help my audience with employment contracts, and offer free coaching to people who have been recently laid off. I lost my corporate title, my corner office, and my steady paycheck. But what I gained is infinitely more valuable: leverage, independence, and the ability to level the playing field for millions of workers. So, to anyone reading this who feels stuck in a cubicle, terrified of their boss, and underpaid for their brilliance: the corporate ladder is an illusion. It's time to build your own staircase. Now, polish that resume, practice your counter-offer, and I’ll see you in the next vTogether masterclass. Class dismissed.