Organised by the World Federation for Mental Health, World Mental Health Day is celebrated each year on October 10. The theme for 2024 is “It is time to prioritize mental health in the workplace.” Rather than writing generically about the topic, I’d like to share some experiences from my working life over the past four decades.
A few weeks ago on social media I came across a New Yorker cartoon by Kendra Allenby. The cartoon shows a boss talking to an employee about a promotion. “At this point in your career,” he says, “your only possible promotion is to management, where you will stop doing the work you love and use a skill set you don’t have and we don’t teach.”
It hit hard and I shared it on, with the status “Been feeling this one a lot lately.” A friend and colleague replied that he’d felt the same, and had to take a leap “into the great unknown.” That’s a really positive response to career stagnation and I wish him well. It’s not one I’m motivated to take, however. At the age of sixty-three, I don’t have many years left in my current employ. As I told my friend, “I’m just waiting my time out now, to be honest.”
It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way. I’ve rarely felt I was in the right place or role, and the only way to progress involved moving further away from using my skills and knowledge effectively. I’ll return to my present situation, but I want to start by sharing what was going on for me back in 1985 when I was seriously considering giving up on the work I was doing at the time. I was as frustrated and despondent as I can remember being at any point in my life, before or since. Not all the reasons were work related, but most were.
I was twenty-four years old, roughly halfway through a three-year post-graduate research post in London. I enjoyed living in London but it didn’t take long to realise I wasn’t cut out for a career in research. I wasn’t the only one to notice. A colleague I respected enormously informed me she didn’t think I was a proper scientist and should be doing something more creative instead. Another colleague who became my unofficial mentor and a dear friend, told me I was a better engineer than a scientist. I couldn’t disagree. I found it hard to engage with the work, and lost any belief I’d held concerning its value beyond securing the department a research grant and the publication of a few scientific papers.
What frustrated and upset me most, however, was the interminable bickering, game-playing, and pettiness that had taken hold. I often found myself stressed, irritable, judgmental, and prone to verbal outbursts. Looking back, I can see how toxic it was. One colleague put in a formal complaint about how the department was being run. My mentor friend was treated so poorly it threatened her career. Others confided in me that working there was seriously affecting their mental health.
Things came to a head for me in the autumn of 1985. Several colleagues I knew, liked, and felt able to confide in were leaving for new roles elsewhere. With a year still to complete, I would be left almost alone and unsupported to face the office politics and factionism. I knew I couldn’t remain if things didn’t improve, and was seriously considering resigning. I raised my concerns with the head of department and was told: “If you don’t like it, we don’t want you.” Needless to say, this didn’t help much.
The next day, I played truant and spent the afternoon walking on the beach with a long-time friend. The day itself will be the subject of another blog post, but somewhere on the shore and in the words I shared with my friend something changed for me. I wrote to her afterwards.
Eloping with you gave me the opportunity to find some calm, and to remember that there are more important things than whether or not I’m 100% happy in work. Like people.
A few days later as I was packing to move from my bedsit to the flat vacated by two friends who were “abandoning” me for a new life elsewhere, I had the revelation that kept me in London for the remainder of my contract. The following is from my diary.
In the midst of it all I was struck with the following almost instantaneous sequence of thoughts:
idon’twanttohavetodoallthisagainifileave : idon’twanttoleave
I stood, utterly convinced of my conclusion yet also utterly unsure of why, or what it meant. I have not irretrievably decided to stick it out in the Department, but I think I will.
I’d lost or was about to lose most of the people who’d made life in the department bearable, but I had other friends in and around London. Resigning might mean having to relocate and I didn’t want to lose them too. As I wrote to my beach walking friend, “If I stay, it will not be just because of you [...] but I think if I did leave, I would be turning my back on a lot.”
It wasn’t enough to simply decide to stay. I had to figure out how to do that in a different way, one that protected me from the chaos. Taking a leaf out of my mentor’s book, I focused on the work and withdrew as far as possible from engaging on a personal level with the people around me. I wrote in my diary, “Part of my pact with myself is that if I stay, I do not become entangled in the lives of the others in the department.”
I started going in early and at weekends, when there were fewer people around. I planned my work diligently, often weeks ahead, and consulted with my mentor to keep me on track. The change didn’t go unnoticed. Asked several times what had caused such a transformation in my attitude, I replied it was easier to survive in the department if I removed myself as much as possible from the politics and people, even though that might lead to me being considered antisocial. It wasn’t plain sailing and not everything went to plan. Nevertheless, at the end of the year, I could look back with some satisfaction, recognising the support and care shown to me by my friend and mentor.
I am not and never will be in her eyes a scientist, but I have won her respect, friendship, and confidence. I am perhaps more grateful to her than anyone else for this past year. She was not instrumental in my decision to stay, but without her it would have been easy to renege on that commitment.
That final year was hard. I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do, I wasn’t good at it, and I had little in the way of support. I was unhappy, but one way or another I held things together and completed my programme of work. I’d spent many months on my thesis but ultimately — and against the advice of my mentor — decided not to complete it. I don’t regret staying, but I’m not sure it was the best decision I ever made. I lost an opportunity to change direction and address the real problem, the mismatch between my skills, aptitude, and interests, and my working environment.
I left London at the end of 1986 and moved north to Newcastle upon Tyne to take up another research post. The nature of the research was quite different, but I was no more suited to it than before. I was frustrated and unfulfilled, but didn’t know what to do about it. I completed my contract, then found myself out of work. It took several more years, a retraining course in business computing, and a spell working for a screen print firm, to land the IT job I’ve had ever since. There have been many ups and downs. More than once, I despaired and felt close to throwing it all in and leaving. For one reason or another — not least the care and support extended to me by my colleagues and managers — I’m still here. Last year I completed thirty years of service, which I explored in Getting a Living, Forgetting to Live. It was hard to feel much sense of achievement
[T]he experience left me feeling demotivated. Demoralised. More than anything else, I felt sad. Thirty years working for essentially the same employer — and in essentially the same role — doesn’t feel much of an achievement to me. It feels like what happens when you never pushed yourself to find something better.
Another year on, and not much has changed. I’m sixty-three. I don’t have an exit plan but retirement won’t be too far off. I’ve no ambition to go further up the ladder. To do so I’d have to pretend to be someone and something I’m not and have no interest in becoming. It would mean more money — a not insignificant consideration — but it wouldn’t make me happier. I can’t claim to be poorly paid and there are more important things than job roles and grades. That’s what my time in London taught me. I’m fortunate to work in a great team where I feel able to contribute. There’s no hint of the politics and petty squabbles I knew all those years ago in London. I may be “waiting my time out” but it’s not a bad situation in which to spend my final years of employment.
Fran said something to me recently which struck me as important. I was talking about some of the side projects I’ve been working on lately, developing scripts and utilities to streamline tasks the team performs on a daily basis. She said it was good that I’ve been able to carve out a role for myself. I’d not thought of it like that, but she’s right. Programming isn’t really part of my role. I’m not a developer. I work in application support. The team’s responsibility is keeping live service running and managing incidents, problems, and changes to make sure it stays that way. Nevertheless, my boss welcomes my ideas and encourages me to find ways to make our team’s tasks easier and more straightforward to perform. I’m learning new things in the process, mostly self-taught as and when I need it. It’s creative. It’s fun. It’s good for my job satisfaction, mental health, and wellbeing.
The title of this blog post — Do More of What You’re Good at and Keep Good People Close — captures what I’ve learned about navigating the workplace safely and enjoyably. Figure out what’s important to you. What you’re good at. Do more of that. Do more of what brings satisfaction to your working day. Don’t keep frustrations to yourself. Ask for help when you need it. I would never have made it through my final year in London without my mentor friend. Over the past thirty years I’ve been blessed to have a number of managers, colleagues, and friends who’ve encouraged and supported me. I’m bound to miss some names (sorry) but Judith, Loveday, Lois, Debbie, Tony, and Lisa, I’m thinking of you.
It’s also important to figure out what you’ll tolerate, because things will rarely be exactly to your liking. Where are your red lines in terms of pressure, workload, or behaviour? What are you not prepared to accept? Are you able to recognise when you’re becoming stressed, anxious, or overwhelmed? Do you know what to do about it? Can you discuss things with your boss, colleagues, or union representative? If your workplace has Mental Health First Aiders as mine does, consider reaching out to them. Seek your doctor’s advice if things are affecting your mental or physical health.
I’ll close with a piece of advice I was offered, a few years into my present employment. I’d been offered a promotion to team lead twice but had declined each time. I didn’t feel I was up to the additional responsibilities and pressure. A more senior colleague told me he’d felt the same when he was offered the opportunity. He told himself that those above him clearly thought he could fill the role, so he took the money and gave it his best shot. His words gave me the confidence to say yes when promotion was offered one final time. I never felt confident in the team leader role, but I was perhaps not the worst manager my team ever had. If I helped to make their working days more bearable, even rewarding, and encouraged them to find themselves in their role, I’m content. They certainly helped me. That’s what it’s about for me. Oh, and don’t tell co-workers to fuck off, as I once did in London. (Sorry, Mary!) That’s not good.
Photo by Carl Heyerdahl at Unsplash.
