I quit my effing job…

The year is 2022, the month is May. Enter me, Jamie, an eager, energetic, seasoned for seven years manager in the healthcare industry. A female leader who put 110% into developing people, thought beyond the five-year plan, stressed the importance of psychological safety, and valued transparent communication.

Enter the other 97% of zombies in the business world: People who put 110% into staying themselves and being correct, made decisions based on personal benefit, thought only within the week or month, avoided conflict, talked smack behind backs, and valued keeping secrets from the underlings.

I say 97% because the other 3% are the people who “get it.” The 3% are the people I stay in touch with. The 3% are the people I treasure and are the only people who probably could (if they wanted to), talk me into returning to this fiery furnace of nonsense.

No need to read between the lines here – I became and am fed up with the corporate world.

I am being very direct in saying that I was sick of the BS (aka bullshit) that comes with working for “the man.” I would dare to call myself a cynic in this current stage of life, or perhaps growing older naturally brings on skepticism. Cynic or not, I did what I had to do – I quit, and I did it in a blaze of glory. I quit for my understanding and adapting husband, Frank. I quit for my two out of this world daughters, Carmella and Colette. I quit so I could see them more than four hours a day. I quit so I could be a teacher for my children, I quit so I could bask in the sunshine of LIFE.

I even would say I quit for my dog, Rigby (named after the sad Eleanor Rigby, since this dog is a healer of all doubt). And I definitely quit for our first dog, Scout (named after Jean Louise Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird). Scout was our first baby who I recently had to euthanize in February due to an invasion of bone cancer. Bone cancer, or any other cancer for that matter, can go straight to hell and then further down to the depths of the core of the universe. A large piece of my soul was lost when Scout went into the ether, and I am still searching for it to this day.

Retirement = Ass-backwards thinking

Quick rant – I recently read a survey about what benefits people wanted more of in my workplace. The majority said they prioritized retirement benefits over flexibility, better pay, better vacation benefits, better healthcare, so on and so forth.

Read that again. Here is my translation: People prioritize living their best in the second-to-last and final parts of life over living their best in the earlier parts of life.

Call me crazy, but is this not the most ass-backwards thing you have ever heard?! People pound out thirty or more years of hard work, only to retire and have a limited window to live their best life before they have aches and pains and really only want to relax and spend time with the people they love.

When you retire, you are entering an era of rest and relaxation, at least that is what I hear from the retirees of life, but what about the time during your thirties, forties, and fifties? And hell, what about the twenties too? Are we supposed to work fifty hours a week during those decades, when we are in prime shape and physically can handle just about anything? This makes zero sense to me. Is there a way we can live our full lives twenty through sixty-five, all while working and making enough money to enjoy life, so that when we “retire” we can look back and say, “Job well done, my friend! You have successfully gotten to experience what life has to offer, you maintained financial stability, you did not work yourself to tears, and now you rest, also with financial support!.”

How about the fact that you are responsible for teaching your children how to live during your “working years?” Ahh, I see, so we are supposed to be superheroes. We are required to work 50 hours a week in our thirties and forties and educate our children, all at the same time, expected to be top-notch teachers after a rugged 10-hour day, be present for our kids, and love them unconditionally….but only for 4 hours a day, since we are working said 10-hour days and get home only for a wee bit of time to hang out before bed time. That is the limit we give ourselves.

Let me say this loud enough for the people in the back: This is all bullshit.

But what do I know? I am merely a 34 year old complainer and quitter.

I have only had two months to acclimate to live outside of the office, and I can honestly say that on this very hot day in August 2022, if I had to identify my thoughts on my past life in leadership, I am stuck between the second and third stages of grief , which is ANGER and BARGAINING, and the needle is dancing more towards the former rather than the latter.

Why is this lady so angry, you ask? Well, I am mostly angry because of the time that was wasted with people who prioritized toxicity. I was bullied. I was the target of someone else’s stress and unhappiness. I was taken down by the soldiers of the dark side who had nothing better to do with their time than control and suppress my creativity and my craving to innovate and empathize. Evil monsters are in my “room,” and I WANT THEM OUT. But they will leave when they are damn well ready.

Not even $90K could make me stay

You see, I left my job, that was underpaying me around $90,000 a year. To many, that would look like a dumb decision to give that money up. In reality, I was being paid (underpaid might I add) to be overworked, overstressed, and limited with the time I could allocate for my magical family. 100% NOT WORTH $90K, 100% NOT WORTH MY TIME. Although I did meet some living gems that I still keep in touch with (remember the 3% I mentioned earlier?). Alas, allow me to be the forever optimist and throw a positive spin on my past jobs in the leadership department – the entire experience was a growth opportunity, I learned great skillsets, I saw the inner workings of a large corporation, and I learned how to empathize, yada, yada, yada. Spoken like a true businesswoman.

Giving up something you are good at

Oh, and get this – I was pretty damn good at my job.

Notice how I said “job” instead of “career.” Yes, I was a manger for almost ten years. Yes, I had as many as 75 direct reports. Yes, I was climbing that ladder to the top, and damn if I wasn’t good at it. That is the hardest part of all of this. I had to quit something that came fairly simple to me, just because people tried to suffocate me. But breathing is a requirement of life. This job was no career, it was a way to suck out my soul and leave me depleted and down on the ground day in and day out. It was a way for my company to put others in a social stranglehold where they were not paid fairly nor given time to really live. I had to escape the madness, and that is exactly what I did.

I once read Michelle Obama’s Becoming, and in it, she talks about how she gave up her kickass lawyer role that she excelled at for a lower-paying job in philanthropy where her passions were living. Now, I am no Michelle Obama, nor am I wed to and have the intellectual or financial support of Barry the Beloved (Frank is a good substitution, though), but I do believe that she speaks truth with this life transition, and I listened to her very closely.

I’ve escaped the corporate underworld. At least for now.

Now that Love is the number one priority, many decisions have become easy to make. I am at the point where I feel so content and present that I am worried there is a dark cloud waiting to encapsulate my world and take me under again. I call this feeling “scary happiness,” although I am certain I will come up with a better name moving forward. Scary Happiness might be coming to eat me alive, however, I have trained myself to ignore that nagging shadow and immerse myself in the present. Life will still have downs, and those downs will be appreciated, Now that I have a stronger sense of purpose, I can endure those rides to the bottom knowing that they will make the high-flying times that much more exciting.

This corporate corpse has been revived! And it is no longer a corporate body, it is a family-driven soul.

I write about this journey not to slam anyone or burn any bridges, but rather to tell my story. For some reason, I have a sneaking suspicion that others have gone or are undergoing something similar, and I am here to tell you that there is life after death, but you have to be determined to resurrect.