I quit my job.
It still feels shocking to say it or write it, but on Monday, I put in my two week notice and breathed easy for the first time in weeks.
It was such a hard decision, because in a lot of ways, I loved my job. I loved working with animals, training to be a technician, being respected as a good employee.
But in so many ways, I was absolutely miserable. I didn’t like working reception, and I desperately wanted to move to the technician job. Unfortunately my office manager put her foot down, screamed at anyone who wanted to help me, gave me the silent treatment and demanded that I stay in reception. I was apparently too good an employee to lose. I tried everything. I tried reasoning with the practice owners, I tried compromising my schedule, I tried working extra days. I tried demanding the raise I’ve been promised over and over again. It was like I was talking to walls.
Then I got sick. Really sick. I was fainting in strange places, losing vision, feeling numb in my extremities. I was sick to my stomach, and I finally went to a doctor. After a bunch of tests and a lengthy medical history interview, the doctor essentially told me that I was killing myself with stress, and that I needed to cut something out and focus on taking care of myself. I knew what was wrong.
I was miserable Monday through Thursday working at the reception desk. I was angry, frustrated. I could feel tension in my neck and shoulders when I left the office. My only salvation was working as a technician on Fridays. But by the time Friday rolled around I was suffering from exhaustion. I hated my job. I hated the clinic. I was miserable.
So I quit. I’m terrified about what lies ahead, but I’m also so relieved. I’d rather be dead broke and happy, then sorta broke and miserable. Not a huge difference there anyways. I’ve jumped from job to job my whole life without ever taking the time to really look for something that I want to do, that means something to me. I’ve always hired on to whatever place has taken me. And if you’ve heard the stories of my job history, sometimes it worked out well, sometimes it was a nightmare.
I feel free. In two weeks, I can move anywhere in the world. I can spend my days writing. I can actually take a moment to breathe and think about what I want to do.
I’ll find something else. I’ll find something better. After all, it has never been a problem before.