Why I'm glad I lost my job

A short story on how my life blowing up was the making of me

Welcome to In Order to Bloom, a space where we’re unpacking the trials, tribulations and wins of being a twenty-something trying to adult. Be sure to comment and share if you love reading, it really helps a lot.

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Throughout my life, I have had a plan to make a plan. I planned when I’d get married, when I’d buy a house, when I’d have my big career break. But every time I thought I was a step closer to being ‘back on track’ with it, something veered me off course and changed everything.

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From a young age, I loved to play pretend. I used my imagination to entertain myself, creating whole worlds and stories to act out for hours on end. I would tap away on an old keyboard at my ‘desk’ and pretend to be a secretary. I would wake my parents up with a notepad to take their order of what they’d like for breakfast. I’d make every family member or visitor play doctors with me. I’d lay them down, get my plastic stethoscope out and diagnose them with a case of adult-itis.

Who and what I wanted to be changed every day. I wanted to be a fashion designer, a writer, a nurse and a vet. But as you get older, the notion of dipping in and out of things to do and who to be gets squashed out of you. We’re conditioned to believe we must stick to one path and make it work instead.

As I crawled my way through GCSEs and A Levels, scraping C’s in maths and science and flourishing in media, art and English, I discovered to my delight that I could get training to do a job where they’d pay me to write. I could make money and earn a real living by being a journalist. I’d never felt so drawn and inspired to pursue something.

But it took almost 6 years of trials and tribulations to make it to the mythical, promised land of liking what I do for work.

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My degree in journalism was not a choice I made on a whim, picturing myself as the next Carrie Bradshaw. That fantasy came much later. In reality, I spent months obsessively picking apart every journalism degree they offered in the country to decide which one would give me the most bang for my (parent’s) buck. I was torn up at the thought of spending all that time and their hard-earned money on a course that wouldn’t get me into a newsroom at the end of it.

A month after graduation, I started working at the BBC, working in what I believe to be the right of passage every journalist should go through - local news. I cut my teeth in BBC Jersey’s newsroom overcoming fears I didn’t know existed. Turns out speaking live on the radio caused crippling anxiety for me, and half the time I couldn’t hear what I was saying for the racing thump of my heartbeat in my ears. However, it was the most character-building, confidence-boosting, hilariously brilliant first journo gig I could have asked for.

After two years, (and a global pandemic) I moved to London under the atrociously cocky notion that I’d make it as a freelance writer. I did for a short time manage it, but what it paid didn’t touch the sides when it came to footing my London-weighted bills. Then, I got what I thought was my big break in TV as a producer. Safe to say they were some of the most stressful, back-breaking, mentally draining and testing 6 months of my life so far - working Thursday to Sunday, 10-hour days with no break every week and having 0 social life at the age of 24 will do that to you it turns out.

After that, nothing could scare me. I was unphased and unbothered by pretty much anything. Upon leaving the dream-destroying basement, and some medically induced time off in between jobs, I started working a brand new gig in the shiny world of public relations.

For the sake of keeping my scalp, I won’t go into any personal detail on how that first agency experience went. You can do your own googling and internet sleuthing (check the Glassdoor reviews) to figure out why I chose to leave.

Then, by some miracle, after a lot of highs and lows, I landed softly into the arms of a wonderful agency that took me in and made me believe in my capabilities again. I felt safe, in control and above all else content and calm going to work after 2 years of anxiety and fear. But something was still missing.

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It was roughly this time last year that a normal Tuesday afternoon turned into the day I lost my job. No particular rhyme or reason, just that they couldn’t keep me anymore. I was a wonderful person and had a lot of potential, just not with them. I walked home with my parents at the other end of the phone for an hour and a half that evening to bring myself back down to earth. Because what the fuck was I going to do now?

Weirdly, as shocked and upset as I was, I felt relieved. I felt so sad to have my path in front of me get snatched from under my feet, but I also felt this rush of adrenaline at the thought of a blank slate. I had been handed the break I secretly felt I needed. For months I had been internally battling with myself as to whether or not I was on the right path, whether I was running out of time to give a career in journalism another shot. Now, I had been handed the chance to find out.

I job hunted for about a month, becoming accustomed to the heavy weight of rejection again. Those ‘we regret to inform you..’ emails never get easier to read. But, by some miracle, within three weeks I had been offered a position at another great PR agency. I had it right there in front of me, the easy route back into a cosy 9-5 job that would pay my rent and bills whilst giving me the freedom to not worry about things and still enjoy myself. I could keep my healthy bank balance intact and get straight back into the work I had been doing for 2 years. I could get my safety net back.

So I turned it down.

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Privilege comes into play here, let’s get that clear first. I had a loving, supportive family in my corner encouraging me to follow my instinct no matter how scary it felt. I had enough money to support this limbo period of figuring out what my next move was, so worrying about how I was going to keep the roof over my head wasn’t an issue. But most of all, I had an idea of what I wanted to do, and I didn’t need to start from square one to make a go of it.

I decided that trying freelancing again was my next step. I put the feelers out with any industry connections and contacts I had who were still working at publications I wanted to be a part of. Two months later, I had been commissioned to write articles for the BBC and GLAMOUR. I then got the chance to write for Metro and got my first big byline in Mashable, all before the end of November.

It all just kept falling into place whilst my personal life was frankly falling apart behind the scenes. But the more I pushed the self-doubt down and started to live in a state of delusion that everything was going right because I deserved it, the more it stuck. I’m now a year into my crazy decision to become self-employed and pursue writing full-time again and it’s safe to say it was the best decision I have ever made.

If you had told me when I was 24 that by the time I turned 27 I’d be an editor and writer for the BBC and have multiple bylines in the magazine I’ve been fixated on since I was a teenager, I’d have laughed. If you had told me that people would read this very substack and go out of their way to tell me it made them laugh, cry or share something with their friends, I’d have thought you were joking. For so long I was in the wrong rooms with the wrong people, being made to feel that I wasn’t good enough or hungry enough to succeed and make it to where I wanted to be. I'm so glad I ignored them.

I didn’t see this coming. I saw myself writing again, I saw myself working for myself, but I couldn’t grasp how I’d ever make it work. It was detaching myself and my progress from the idea of how I thought it should go that turned out to be the key to finding pleasure in this success. I finally reached a point where I was open to change and willing to sacrifice some security for the sake of achieving my dreams. That switch, that realignment whatever you want to call it, changed my life.

I’ll never take a rejection for granted again. Because that redirection, that push into the unknown to test if you’ll sink or swim, is sometimes what you need to make it to where you want to be.

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Thank you for reading In Order to Bloom this week. I hope it offers you some escape and peace of mind today.

I’d love to know what else you’d like to hear my thoughts on, or any topics you’d like me to unpack - be it dating, friendships or something in the news - so please get in touch with any suggestions by leaving a comment for me!