I Quit

Every Thursday afternoon at 3:15 pm, I write out my resignation.

Week after week, it’s the same battles with the same people. The same unmet expectations of them all. The unmet expectations of myself. Despite feeling as if my body and mind are deteriorating with every passing moment, I show up and try my best every day. But I’ve come to discover that my best simply isn’t enough.

Thursday afternoons are always my breaking point. My fingers feel like lead weights with every single keystroke. My head feels even heavier, hanging in shame at my weakness. At the fact that I am doing this again, the fact that I even feel like I have to.

The pretty words I write never reflect the real reasons that I want to leave. I don’t think I could put them on paper if I tried, and believe me, I’ve tried.

I’ve been brutally honest, named names and instances that have driven me to the point of no return. I’ve revealed every interaction that I’ve had in a day that made me feel worthless and why I can’t seem to overcome them. I’ve pointed out the flaws in our system and how they’re literally destroying lives.

I’ve been polite and written letters that blame myself rather than my circumstances. Like a cliché breakup note, I emphasise that “it’s not you, it’s me.”

I’ve been rude and written all the thoughts on paper that I wish I could say aloud. The things that I wish I could climb to the top of the admin building and scream until my lungs are hoarse and bleeding. The things that would get me fired before I could even have the chance to put them in a godforsaken letter.

All these versions and so many more never quite seem right. No matter how hard I try, I can’t be honest with myself. Despite all the bad things that happen, the swearing, the bullying, the violence, the tears and the anxiety, they aren’t the real reasons I want to leave.

They aren’t the real reasons I need to leave.

I am burnt out.

I am broken.

I feel as if I don’t belong.

I’m not sure if I ever actually did.

Six years of University. Two degrees. Hundreds of practical hours. They all seem to have been for nothing. Because the thing that I didn’t consider when pursuing this career is whether or not I could actually do it. I never considered, am I cut out for this?

And after three years of struggle,

Three years of stress,

Three years of feeling inadequate, overwhelmed, overworked and underpaid,

Three years of feeling like I’m living with a hidden disability, constantly in the dark and three steps behind everyone else,

I don’t think that I can.

So, this is my resignation letter to you. Know that I have written 31 letters this year, filled with half-truths about why I want to leave, but this one is the only honest one.

So, I am leaving, effective immediately.

I can no longer work in this place, pretending that everything is okay.

I can no longer bear to wake up in the morning, knowing that I will no longer want to be alive at the end of it because of what my workday brings.

I need to take time to heal and recover from what has been the most traumatising three years of my life.

I look forward to being able to wake up and be curious about what the day will bring, be confident about what I can achieve, and work on being healthy again.

Sincerely,

The burnt-out husk of a person this place has made me.