How I Quit My Job

On knowing when to stay, and when to go

Photo by Jonathan J. Castellon on Unsplash

Hello Team CCC! How are you? I’ve had a strange and giddy week. Last Sunday, I ran the London Marathon. It’s one of the best, most frightening things I’ve ever done. I was absolutely terrified, and so scared that I wouldn’t finish. I’m so happy I’ve done it, and I don’t think I’ll ever do it again. Huge, huge thanks to everyone who sponsored me, and helped me to raise money to support a fantastic charity, Bowel Research UK. And you can still sponsor me, if you’d like to. I’d be so, so grateful. Here’s the link.

Then I handed in the next draft of my new, Little Women inspired novel - the structural edit. I’ve had some very positive, cheering feedback from my editor, and I’m feeling good about it. I think/hope I’ve written a happy, fun, joy-filled book - and that’s all I want to read right now.

The book will come back to me with my editor’s last notes in a few days, so I’ll spend the rest of the month on the final stage, the line edit. I know some of you are familiar with the edit stages and processes, and some of you might like to know more…in a future newsletter, I might lift the curtain and show you how it works.

Some diary dates - I would absolutely love to see you at any and all of these…

Friday 9 May: I’m doing an online event for Huddersfield Lit Fest with the brilliant Jojo Silva - tickets here (if you’re a paying subscriber, I’m hoping to send you a free link for this - watch this space)

Sunday 25 May: I’ll be at ILF Dublin talking about why books are magic with Sam Leith. Tickets here.

Thursday 27 May: I’ll be interviewing

Emma Gannon

about her brilliant new novel,TABLE FOR ONE at Fort Road Hotel in Margate - tickets here

Sunday 1 June: I’m at Chester Lit Fest at one of my favourite venues, the Storyhouse, talking about Read Yourself Happy. Tickets here.

Monday 2 June: I’m hosting a delicious Bookish Banquet at the Victoria in Sheffield with the team at the Mowbray and Juno Books. Tickets here.

Tuesday 10 June: I’ll be talking about reading ourselves happy at the Backstory bookshop, Barcelona with the fabulous

Donna Freitas

. Get in touch with Backstory to find out more here.

Monday 7 July: I’m interviewing David Nicholls at St Michael and All Angels Bramhall Parish Church. Tickets here.

Sunday 13 July: I’ll be at the Idler festival in Hampstead, North London. Tickets here.

Saturday 26 July: I’ll be at the Love Stories Etc festival in Manchester Central Library. Tickets here.

And now, this week’s letter. Ten years ago, I quit my dream job because my anxiety became unbearable. Here’s an essay about quitting, and what happened next…

This time ten years ago, I was doing my dream job. I was working as an editor on the style section of a national newspaper. The office was enormous, a great glass palace that rose up to join the London skyline. The canteen looked like a smart restaurant. Every day, the post would come, and I’d receive a gift, or a treat. An expensive scented candle, a newly released hardback book, a bunch of roses, and once a miniature afternoon tea hamper, with jam and clotted cream in tiny Kilner jars. When the newspaper threw a party, we were given the afternoon off to sit in the fashion cupboard with a hair stylist and a make-up artist and prepare.

And every day, I’d wake up feeling sick with dread. I’d tell myself I can do this. I’m good at my job. Today will be different. Today will be fine. Every day, I’d make it to lunch, and I’d fantasise about walking out of the building and never coming back. Every day, I’d be sitting at my desk at 6PM, sad, bored and anxious, wondering whether it would be OK to leave in fifteen minutes, or if I ought to hang on until twenty past, for appearance’s sake. Every day I’d leave, feeling as though I’d got away with something. Feeling certain that I’d be fired tomorrow.

I felt lonely. I was angry with myself for being bad at connecting with people, and for being naïve enough to think that my colleagues might want to connect with me. One woman started at the same time as me. I’d hoped she’d be an ally, but she froze me out. She didn’t want to go to lunch with me or say hello to me in the morning. In one meeting, I realised she was deliberately and systematically shutting down every single one of my ideas. Oh. I hadn’t ever understood how to handle this in the playground. At 30, I still didn’t know. I became even angrier with myself. I was pathetic. Everything that was happening to me was my fault. I didn’t belong there.

I’d spent my twenties trying to escape the parts of myself that I was ashamed of. The sad, scruffy, chaotic bits. When I was offered the job just before my 30^th birthday, I felt as though I was being ordained. I’d been invited to join the glossy ranks of the proper grown-ups. But every day, my soul sustained another small puncture, and a bit of my spirit seeped out, and I lost the confidence and gumption I needed to fight for myself, and to make the job what I wanted it to be.

After a few months, I quit. I wrote about it. I wanted to make it clear that I didn’t blame the job, or my colleagues – I had to leave, because my anxiety had become unmanageable. I still get messages about this piece, which was first published in summer 2015. The response was very positive, and friends and strangers were quick to tell me that I was ‘brave’.

Was I?

Quitting my job was my first meaningful act of rebellion.

This essay is for paid subscribers. If you’d like to join us, we’d love to have you in Team CCC. Our Spring Upgrade offer is still on. If you’d like to take advantage of a big discount on an annual subscription, hit the button below.