When stories are shaped more by rumor than reality, how many chances does the truth have to survive?
In Homer's account of Odysseus, truth does not seem to be in jeopardy. Penelope is presented as the epitome of devotion. She is the woman who waits. She weaves and challenges a house full of suitors using her silent wisdom until Odysseus returns. Her story is pure, unwavering, polished to the level of myth.
In Margaret Atwood’s “Penelopiad,” the placidity of her myth is shaken to its core. Atwood gives Penelope her own voice, and that voice carries a tone of bitterness. Penelope insists on her loyalty, recalls the wisdom that kept her safe, yet acknowledges how little the facts matter when rumors begin to circulate. Whispers of her loyalty spread, words half believed, half dismissed, but always present. Odysseus won the glory of song. Penelope was left with the stain of doubt.
History, propaganda, and evil mouths repeatedly prove that the quickest way to destroy a reputation is not with evidence, but with whispers. Rumors travel faster than facts, stick around longer than evidence, and change the way someone is seen before the person in question even realizes they are being judged.
A rumor doesn't need the truth. It just needs to be repeated enough until it's perceived as reality. And when a rumor starts circulating, reality can't keep up. As Penelope shows us.
Workplaces are no different from mythology. Reputations are built and broken not on performance but on the stories that are told about people. Workplaces have their own versions of this. A reputation can be changed not by what someone did, but by what is said about them. A casual comment in a meeting, a suggestion made in the hallway, a question asked with a little skepticism. These are the small sparks that can ignite a big flame. Before long, a story about someone's ability, integrity, or relationships in the workplace begins to take on a life of its own. And once that story gets going, it's incredibly difficult to undo.
We like to think that work speaks for itself and is louder than gossip, but the truth is that it rarely does. If you don’t tell your own story, someone else will, and THEIR story may not be kind. That’s the danger of neglecting communication. Silence leaves room for others to write your narrative. And once that narrative solidifies, it becomes the version that survives.
The responsibility does not fall solely on the individual who is the target of the webs being woven. The responsibility also falls on those who listen, those who lead, those who shape the culture of a workplace. When a rumor takes hold, it is worth asking: is it based on evidence, or are they just words? Who benefits from this narrative? And what harm is done when suspicion is left to circulate unchecked?
Leaders also face choices. Should they accept the rumors as truth, incorporating them into their perception of someone? Or should they stop and ask: where did this story come from, who benefits from it, and what harm might it cause?
Atudi reminds us that history does not preserve the exact facts, but rather brings forth what is easiest to repeat. The same is true in the workplace. The version that survives is rarely the pure truth, but rather the version that is told and retold until it seems unshakable.
The question, then, is: do we feed the rumors or challenge them? Do we accept perception as reality or create space for the truth to have its chance?
Because long after the facts disappear, it is the narrative that remains.
