I Hate My Job but I Can’t Afford to Quit and That’s the Part Nobody Talks About

There’s a very specific kind of exhaustion that comes from waking up in the morning knowing exactly where you don’t want to go.

Work.

Not because you’re lazy.

Not because you suddenly decided employment was overrated.

You’re just tired.

Tired of the environment.

Tired of the people.

Tired of being overworked.

Tired of feeling disrespected.

Tired of giving more than you have and somehow still feeling like it isn’t enough.

I’ve been there more than once.

And one of the hardest parts was knowing I couldn’t just walk away.

My mental health was telling me, I can’t keep doing this.

My bank account was basically standing behind it saying, Girl, yes you can. Get dressed.

That’s the part people leave out when they tell someone to “just quit.”

Quit and do what?

My rent wasn’t taking a mental health day.

My bills weren't interested in my workplace drama.

Groceries still needed to appear in my kitchen.

Life kept costing money whether I was miserable at work or not.

So I went back.

And back.

And back again.

I Stayed Because I Needed My Paycheck

I think we sometimes judge ourselves for staying in situations we already know aren't good for us.

Looking back, I can see how unhappy I was at a particular job.

The environment had become toxic.

I felt overworked and disrespected.

My mental health was getting lower, and I knew it.

But I kept showing up.

I still tried to do my job well.

Actually, that's one of the strangest parts when I think about it now.

I could be miserable and still care about doing good work.

I could feel unsupported and still show up trying my absolute best.

Both things were true at the same time.

There’s this idea that once we realize a workplace is unhealthy, we're supposed to immediately grab our purse, dramatically walk out and never look back.

Real life usually isn't that cinematic.

Sometimes we realize something is wrong on Tuesday and still have to clock in Wednesday morning.

That doesn't make us weak.

It means we have responsibilities.

And money matters.

That's exactly why advice about leaving a miserable job has to include money.

Peace matters.

So does keeping the lights on.

I Didn't Realize How Much Work Was Following Me Home

Eventually, the job wasn't staying at the job.

That's when things started bothering me more.

I wasn't just tired after work.

I was emotionally drained.

There's a difference.

Regular tired can sometimes be fixed with dinner, pajamas and going to bed earlier.

Emotionally drained follows you onto the couch.

It sits beside you while you're trying to watch television.

You're technically home, but part of your mind is still having an argument with somebody from work.

You replay conversations.

You wonder if tomorrow is going to be worse.

You start feeling anxious before you've even walked back through the door.

Burnout is described as something that can develop from workplace stress that hasn't been successfully managed.

 It can involve exhaustion, becoming more negative or mentally distant from the job and feeling less effective at work.

When I look back at what I was experiencing, that description makes sense to me.

I knew something was changing in me.

And I didn't like it.

I Tried to Get Help Before Everything Fell Apart

I talked to upper management.

I wanted support.

I wanted things to improve.

Part of me probably hoped somebody higher up would finally understand how bad things had gotten and fix it.

That didn't happen.

And there's another lesson I learned from that.

Sometimes we're waiting for people to correct a problem they've already shown us they're willing to live with.

That was hard for me to accept.

Because I'm the kind of person who will keep trying.

I'll communicate.

I'll explain.

I'll work harder.

I'll think maybe if I approach it differently, things will finally change.

Sometimes they do.

Sometimes they absolutely don't.

At some point I had to face the fact that I was working incredibly hard to survive a workplace that wasn't working nearly as hard to keep me well.

I Wanted to Leave, But I Was Scared of What Came Next

It's easy to imagine leaving a bad job when there's another paycheck waiting on the other side.

It's much harder when there isn't.

That fear isn't irrational either.

So when I hear women say, “I hate my job, but I'm scared to leave,” I understand it.

I don't immediately think she needs more courage.

I think she may need a plan.

Maybe she needs time.

Maybe she needs another offer.

Maybe she needs savings she doesn't currently have.

Maybe she needs to apply for jobs quietly after work while still showing up every morning.

There isn't anything glamorous about that season.

Sometimes moving forward looks incredibly unimpressive.

One application.

Updating one section of a resume.

Looking into one certification.

Saving twenty dollars.

Sending one email.

Asking one person if they know who's hiring.

That's still movement.

Then I Got Fired

I didn't ultimately leave that job.

I was let go.

And losing a job is scary, especially when you weren't financially prepared to lose it.

There was hurt.

There was fear.

There were questions.

But something else eventually showed up too.

Relief.

I didn't have to go back.

I didn't have to walk into that environment anymore.

I didn't have to keep begging people above me to understand what I was experiencing.

The thing I had been too afraid to choose had happened anyway.

And after the initial shock, I started looking at the situation differently.

I Honestly Think God Knew I Was Going to Keep Going Back

I can't tell anyone why God allows certain things to happen.

I won't pretend I know every reason behind every closed door.

I can only speak for myself.

Looking back, I honestly believe God knew how much I was suffering.

He knew how hard I was working.

He knew I was trying to hold everything together.

And I believe He also knew something about me that I wasn't ready to admit yet.

If that job hadn't ended, I probably would've kept going.

I would've gotten dressed.

Gone to work.

Done my job.

Come home exhausted.

Complained about it.

Prayed about it.

And then gotten up and gone back again.

That's who I was at that point.

I was responsible almost to my own detriment.

I thought keeping going was always the mature thing to do.

Sometimes it is.

Sometimes keeping going is exactly what's hurting us.

Getting fired didn't feel like some beautiful spiritual moment when it happened.

Let's be clear about that.

Losing income is scary.

But once I wasn't standing inside the situation anymore, I could see things I couldn't see while I was busy surviving it.

Maybe the door closed because I wasn't going to close it myself.

That's what I believe.

My Next Job Doesn't Have to Impress Anybody

Another thing changed for me after that experience.

I started questioning what a “better job” actually means.

For years we're taught to think upward.

Better title.

More money.

More responsibility.

Promotion.

Management.

Another promotion.

And yes, I want to make good money.

I'm certainly not going to pretend money isn't important after spending half this post talking about bills.

But now I think about other things too.

What good is an impressive title if I'm miserable every Sunday night?

How much is another few thousand dollars worth if I'm bringing work stress into every evening?

Would I take a job with a less impressive title if the environment was healthier?

Absolutely.

Would I consider a position that gave me more peace, even if strangers weren't impressed by it?

At this point in my life, yes.

Because I learned something the hard way.

A career move doesn't always have to look like climbing.

Sometimes it looks like getting out.

Peace Has Value Even When I Can't Put It on a Pay Stub

I used to think almost entirely about what a job paid.

Now I think about what it costs me too.

Those aren't the same question.

A job can pay me well and still cost me sleep.

It can cost me weekends because I'm spending Saturday recovering from Friday.

It can cost me patience.

It can cost me energy.

It can cost me the version of myself my family gets when I walk through the door.

That doesn't mean I should quit every job that annoys me.

Every workplace has frustrating days.

Every boss isn't going to become my best friend.

Sometimes work is work.

But there's a difference between having a rough week and realizing I've become miserable as a way of life.

That's the difference I pay attention to now.

I Don't Think Starting Over Automatically Means I Failed

This one took me a while.

When something ends unexpectedly, especially a job, there's embarrassment attached to it.

I wondered what people would think.

I wondered what came next.

I questioned myself.

But eventually I had to separate losing a job from losing my value.

They're not the same thing.

A company can decide I'm no longer working there.

That doesn't erase every skill I learned.

It doesn't erase my experience.

It doesn't erase the kind of worker I've been.

And it definitely doesn't get to decide what happens next.

Starting again can look messy.

It might mean accepting something different from what I pictured.

It might mean earning less temporarily.

It might mean changing industries.

It might mean rebuilding.

That's uncomfortable.

But uncomfortable isn't the same as wrong.

If I Can't Leave Today, I Can Still Stop Believing I'm Stuck Forever

This is probably the part I'd want another woman sitting across from me to hear most.

If you're miserable at work and you can't afford to leave right now, I'm not going to tell you to quit tomorrow.

I don't know your bills.

I don't know who depends on your paycheck.

I don't know your savings account.

I don't know what losing your insurance would mean.

I don't know your life well enough to casually tell you to walk away from your income.

But I also wouldn't want you deciding this job gets the rest of your life.

Those are two very different things.

You may have to stay today.

That doesn't mean you're staying forever.

Maybe nothing dramatic happens this week.

Maybe you submit one application.

Maybe you look at a job you've been afraid you're not qualified for.

Maybe you learn something new.

Maybe you put a little money aside.

Maybe you pray about what comes next.

Maybe the first thing you change isn't your job at all.

Maybe you stop letting that workplace convince you that it's the best you'll ever get.

That's a beginning too.

I wish I had understood that sooner.

For me, the ending came before I felt ready.

I was let go from a job I had been desperately trying to survive.

And while I would never pretend losing a job was easy, I can admit something now that I couldn't see then.

I needed out.

I believe God knew it too.

Maybe I would've found the courage to leave eventually.

Maybe I would've stayed another year.

I'll never know.

What I know is that one chapter ending didn't end me.

And if you're waking up tomorrow morning and going back to a job you desperately want to leave, I hope you don't spend the entire drive judging yourself for still being there.

Pay your bills.

Take care of what you need to take care of.

But somewhere underneath all of that responsibility, keep a little room open for the possibility that this isn't the last workplace with your name on it.

You don't have to know exactly where you're going yet.

Sometimes it's enough to finally admit you don't want to stay where you are.

#EvolvingWomanhood

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