Time for change

A few things I've recently learned the hard way—as usual.

Photo by Andrea De Santis on Unsplash

Last Tuesday I joined a 1:1 meeting under the guise of my yearly review, only to be greeted by HR and my boss with an entirely different message. I had 20 minutes to get anything off my computer and say goodbye to colleagues I'd worked closely with for 2+ years across orgs and working teams. That was simply not enough time.

As I banged out quick goodbyes over Slack and email, something hit me. While I was sad to leave my team, the unfinished work I’d looked forward to seeing through, and all that was on the horizon, I was mostly sad because I love what I do. And I hate that it can be taken away, just like that. Losing what you worked for hurts.

I took a huge risk joining a late stage start-up, forging ahead to build and grow a new discipline inside an R&D organization—an area that typically lacks true understanding or appreciation for what writers bring to the table. But the opportunity and responsibility fueled me. The initial job change came with the usual stress—learning new systems, meeting new people, setting up processes. With this one, though, the added complexity of understanding the ins and outs of a product and its pieces and parts owned by various stakeholders, plus the sheer volume of technical information, was a daily info dump that overloaded my brain. Add to that an accelerated timeline and condensed resources to develop new functionality and product offerings worthy of an IPO—overwork and excessive stress became my normal.

By the time I was concepting and writing consumer-facing marketing, I was so fully invested I could see no other way of life. In less than 2 years, I was supporting global brand rollouts and working nearly 24/7 with an always-on workload that never stopped. It was exciting. All-hands-on-deck wasn’t just a mentality, it was the mentality. And that was exciting.

But it’s funny what work can do to your sense of priority and identity. I reorganized my personal life so frequently to align with shifting organizational priorities—at times literally by the hour—I almost didn’t realize it. And life outside work marches on. People get sick. Dogs need walks. Dinners need making. Weeds need pulling.

And all the while, my phone was still in my hand. Slacks came in at all hours. I switched gears so quickly half the time I didn’t even notice. It’s been bad for my marriage. It’s been bad for my sense of self. It’s caused anxiety, stress, insecurity, and sleeplessness. In the past year alone, I've had to undergo extensive testing for a racing heart that no amount of meditation or breathing exercises has been able to calm. I’ve been wracked by indecision and insecurity. Unless you’ve been through it, it’s very hard to explain how difficult it can be to function in society and maintain your sense of self outside of work, when there’s simply no time to live your life. Everything becomes secondary to the big thing you’re doing at work.

In all honesty, I'm not sure how I'd have gotten off that train had I not been unexpectedly tossed from it. But despite how much losing what you work for hurts, I’ve learned losing yourself hurts more. I’m over trying to schedule doctor appointments at odd hours simply to not miss meetings. I’m tired of back-to-back-to-back meetings without so much as time for a quick bio break in my own home. I’m tired of lunch at 4pm. I’m tired of having to drive like a maniac to get to a yoga class on time. I’m tired of wishing I didn’t have to sleep so I could get more done.

I could go on. But today, I’m grateful for the time to figure out what next looks like. And time to reprioritize what truly matters.

Time is a really good thing, when it’s used to support your life and your personal goals, and not just to support the demands of shareholders.

It’s time.