Why My Resume Looks Like a Mess — And What It Says About Mental Health

When you glance at my resume, it’s easy to think I lack direction. The longest job I’ve ever held lasted two years. The rest? A scattered trail of 5- to 6-month stints that paint the picture of someone who can’t quite “stick with it.” And if we’re being honest, there was a whole year — right at the height of Covid — where I didn’t work at all. Not a side hustle, not part-time. Nothing.

But here’s what that piece of paper won’t tell you: that gap and those short bursts of employment were not because I was lazy or didn’t care. They were signs. Signs of a deeper struggle that many people don’t see until it’s written between the lines of a resume. I craved isolation more than structure, silence more than social interaction. And for a long time, I didn’t understand why.

The truth is, I was battling mental health issues I hadn’t yet come to terms with. I wasn’t in therapy. I wasn’t on the right medication. Some days I couldn’t get out of bed, and on the days I could, I was masking so hard I barely recognized myself. I’d force myself through the routine, pushing my energy to the max just to appear “normal” at work. But the crash always came. And it cost me — jobs, relationships, self-worth.

When you live with unchecked mental illness, stability feels like a foreign concept. You might land the job, but holding onto it feels like trying to grip water. You show up every day with the best of intentions, but burnout comes faster. Anxiety and depression sneak in, making even the smallest tasks feel insurmountable. You start questioning your abilities, then your worth, then everything.

Looking back, I can see now that I wasn’t unreliable — I was unwell.

I’ve learned that managing mental health is a full-time job in itself. It takes effort, time, and consistency. For me, that’s meant committing to medication, therapy, and routines — even when I don’t feel like it. Especially when I don’t feel like it. Because that’s what creates the foundation for everything else: for work, for relationships, for just being okay in your own mind.

We often talk about career gaps or job hopping as red flags. But maybe we should start talking about them as warning signs — not of someone’s incompetence, but of someone quietly struggling. Maybe instead of judging those gaps, we could ask, “Are you okay?”

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. There are so many people out there, fighting private battles that spill into their professional lives. If that’s you, I want you to know: you’re not broken. You’re not a failure. You’re not your resume.

But you do deserve support. You do deserve healing. And yes, you deserve a shot at stability — whatever that looks like for you.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that healing isn’t linear — it doesn’t look like a perfect comeback story or a neatly organized timeline. It’s slow, sometimes painful, often unglamorous work. But it’s worth it. Every time I choose to prioritize my mental health — even when that means stepping back or starting over — I’m choosing a future version of myself that’s more grounded, more aware, and more at peace. If you're in a season of rest, survival, or figuring things out, give yourself grace. You’re allowed to grow at your own pace, and your journey is still valid.

So take your meds. Talk to someone. Show up for yourself, even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy. Because your story matters — gaps, short stints, and all.

You're not alone in this.

With love and grace,

Briana