You know what looks great? Hitting goals. Smashing milestones. Announcing things.
I do it all the time, loitering in my dopamine-dealer's house, also known as Instagram: New this. Finished that. Went there. Met them. My Insta self can be pretty insufferable, I'm sure.
But if you haven't already heard (you definitely have), it is not actually possible to judge the quality of a life by engagement metrics.
Case in point. Here is a picture of me, from several years ago.
I know, I know, I've barely changed a bit (lol).
Image: Supplied.
I am dressed as Rosie The Riveter, a feminist icon, because my then-newish workplace, Mamamia, did adult dress-up for Halloween and this seemed like an easy option (then, as now, I did not share the millennial enthusiasm for themes).
I hate this picture with a passion. I HATE IT.
Not because of how I look, which is objectively... fine. No, it's because I know what came next.
I was the brand-new Editor Of Mamamia when this picture was taken and it was, unquestionably, my dream job. I wrote about how I marched out of a family dinner all the way to the pub to change my life, here, if you're interested, and this picture represents the AFTER of that story. The professional shift I longed for had happened. I was now working somewhere new, exciting, somewhere full of promise and possibility. And I was climbing the ladder, and I was killing it, and now I was (checks notes) a feminist icon.
Pose. Click. Post.
And then.
A few weeks after this picture was taken, I was in a terrible place. One where I couldn't stop crying long enough to read my kids a bedtime story. In fact, I was wiping away tears all day every day - in meetings, at the shops - and hoping no one would notice. That was on the outside. On in the inside, I was in a constant state of panic and fear, not sleeping, not eating, and entirely unable to control my thoughts or my mood. And that went on for months.
Let's just call it what it was: I had a bit of a breakdown.
I'm telling you this, friends, because vulnerability might be having a moment – hit podcasts, like our very own But Are You Happy; streaming shows about therapy; my friend Ted Lasso's consistent positivity meme game – but when people are relying on you, there's nothing cute about falling apart.
And I was falling apart. A grown-up mum-of-two breadwinner, crumbling into bits.
Listen to But Are You Happy? right here. Post continues after podcast.
And that might be happening to you. Or it might have done in the past. And maybe it's helpful to hear someone say, 'It happened, it was absolutely f**ked, here's my version of what happened next'.
It wasn't the job, friends. Well, it was partly the job, and the timing of my taking it. A digital media editing job, especially eight years ago, with a small start-up team, was a 24-7 endeavour. News happens all day and all night. Metrics of how many people are looking at what on a website are monitored all day and all night, too. It was all new to me, it was relentless, I was on a learning curve so steep I looked like I'd had a permanent facelift. But it wasn't just the job.
It was the Superwoman bulls**t.
The fact that I thought I could do all that: a demanding new job will eat your life for a time, but also if you're trying to care for and nurture little kids with all their demands and foibles – if we can call not sleeping or eating much a foible – to be a good friend, budget for the family, be a loving partner, be fit, be well... you know, the standard list. And in those 'I can't stop crying' days, I knew that my failure to do all that was a deeply personal character flaw.
Every time my partner would ask me what needed to change, I'd brush him away, and tell him it was me. I just needed to get my head around this new world, this new life, get a new system in place, be better.
When it finally became completely untenable, and I could no longer hide it, here's what I did, wobbly friends.
I took some time off. I handed back my promotion. I went to the doctor. I went to a psychologist. And I started going home on time.
And I learned some stuff.
Before you read this list of my learnings, know that I know these things are not true for everyone. Also know that since this happened and life and family evolved, I have taken on lots of other jobs – and yes, sometimes handed them back too – and I became overwhelmed plenty more times. I didn't fix my life for good.
But I think about this period of time whenever I beat myself up about something not feeling the way that it looks. And also, whenever I feel paralysed by the embarrassment of failure.
It's survivable, friends.
I learned there's strength in saying "I can't".
People pleasers – and I am one, without a doubt - say yes too much. And then they can't deliver and no people are pleased. And that's... not great for a people pleaser or their people.
The phone call I had to have where I said "I can't do this job," was one of the hardest I've ever made, but ultimately, it put me in a position of strength. To do it, I had to let go of what other people thought of me, and the knowledge that I would piss some people off, and the sky did not fall. It rarely does, in the moments you're expecting it to.
Running away isn't the only answer.
In the height of my Superwoman Overwhelm, I wanted to disappear. That included wanting to quit my job.
Of course, I was worried that if I didn't make that decision, it might not be my choice for much longer. It's not reasonable to imagine that any business will keep you around for LOLs if you have proved yourself unable to do the thing they most need you to do.
But thank God I didn't quit and thank God for a flexible workplace that helped me find a new path. Thank God there were still valuable things I could do. Because life got better again after this, and my career change was not a mistake, no matter what I felt then, and staying opened many, many doors (including one to the podcast studio). It just was not the right thing or the right time.
You can survive a public humiliation if you just... keep going.
In the immediate aftermath of my meltdown, I took 10 days off and I knew when I returned to the office, people would be talking. I was off to sit in a different seat. I was involved in different meetings. I had publicly failed.
And again, the sky did not fall. People were kind. We all moved on. I got a new boss and I backed her in. I chose to believe that if there was gossip (and of course there was gossip) it was none of my business, and that perspective has served me well many, many times.
I got a great dose of perspective.
There have been many wobbly moments since that one, and I can still lean into overwhelm when there's a lot going on. But I learned the thing that everyone tells you when you're young and you simply refuse to believe – this will pass.
The important things, your "real life" things, they will go through glorious purple patches and s**tty beige and brown ones, and all of them will pass. Happiness – and calm, and satisfaction – none of those things are destinations, they are all just moments, and phases. Seasons, as they say. And recognising them when they're happening is the important bit.
Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I'm selling T-shirts at the back after the show.
Success looks all kinds of different ways.
Being at the top – of lists, of org charts, of league tables and life choices – is bloody nice, and it can help pay the bills, too. But it's only one version of success, something it took me a long time to learn. Real success is not hating what you have to spend most of your time doing, not being eaten up by the fear of slipping from that top, which is inevitable, eventually. It's about finding your real life, whatever it looks like, and leaning into that. Complete with mess, and wobbles.
I will have really learned a deep life lesson when I don't hate looking at that picture of Rosie The Riveter. When it doesn't give me that pang of regret and anxiety. I think I'll get there, soon, because life is a lot better on this side of that picture than it was then, or before.
And that does feel good.
The Christmas after the crash… look at these tiny people…. And my relief!
Image: Supplied.
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