18/11/24
I’m a career-driven girlie. I always have been. And I probably always will be - not sure I’ll ever be satisfied with what I have (a bit of a character flaw, I am aware). And when I left university after completing my master’s degree, and putting off being a grown-up for as long as possible, I stepped into the world of work excited, nervous and all the emotions in between.
I had found a job in Bristol and a house with one of my oldest friends - it felt like the stars had aligned and that this was the perfect job for me. It was exactly what I wanted.
But from the moment I arrived (literally about an hour in that building), I knew this was not the job I thought it would be.
Bearing in mind I am a 23-year-old girl, fresh out of university with ZERO experience in the world of work - I did music degree’s so corporate internships were not really done - they really said ‘okay bye have fun’ and left me to do the job.
Maybe after some experience in a corporate setting I could have muddled my way through a little easier, who knows. But my muddling through was like wading through the thickest, stodgiest swamp to get two steps ahead and then be dragged back by the clawing fist of my boss.
I would go home every evening and cry. Cry to my housemates. Cry to my family. My best friend. My boyfriend. I cried so many tears I could’ve filled a reservoir.
I HATED THE JOB (if the tears hadn’t made that clear enough already).
Instead of writing fun blogs about women in the workplace and breaking down barriers, as they put it in their job description, I was hosting discussions to groups of white men about tech (spoiler: I know nothing about tech).
When I did get the opportunity to write a blog post, I was terrified to send it for approval. I knew I’d either get a wonderful response like ‘oh wow Megan this is great, you’re so good at this’, or I’d get berated for one singular typo - my boss legitimately called me worthless for spelling a word wrong in a draft.
I was micro-managed like you wouldn’t believe. I had to send every single email I was writing to my boss, and the one time I forgot, of course, I was incapable of doing my job.
And honestly, it was incredibly lonely.
It killed my sparkle for a long time. I stopped writing. I spent my evenings in bed. I was moody all of the time (sorry housemates and boyfriend for that one). I well and truly lost who I was. And for someone whose career was what gave them a sense of purpose, I felt very lost.
But I thought throwing in the towel and calling it a day meant I had failed, and that I wasn’t cut out for the life I thought I had wanted.
Besides, everyone hates their job, right? This is just a universal feeling of the ‘Sunday Scaries’. Everyone feels like this at the start, and I’ve just got to get on with it and climb that rusty old corporate ladder.
I made it 8 months before I handed in my notice. The moment I pressed send on that email, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. Even though when I pressed send, there was no job for me to go to - the thought of staying in that job was worse than having no job at all.
In my month’s notice period, I applied to so many jobs only to be rejected by all but one - a local coffee shop. So there I went.
I felt like I had taken 10 steps back and was 16 again. 4 years of hard work at uni, wasted. But, actually, I think this slower pace of life was a blessing in disguise.
It allowed me to learn and understand myself, what I want from a job and what I definitely don’t want.
Society so often normalises climbing the corporate ladder as the way we must live our lives. This ‘rise and grind’ culture and belief that we have to ‘have it all’, especially as women, is quite damaging.
2 years later, I think I’m only just over that fear my first job instilled in me. Heck, it’s probably still there a little bit. But what it did teach me is that I’m not built for the corporate ladder life - I’m built to be tucked away in a little nook and write each and every day. And I have never been more happy to realise that.