When Naomi Osaka quit the French Open back in June, I could only imagine the pain she felt having to walk away from something that she truly loves in order to save herself. Then last week, Simone Biles announced that she was withdrawing from the majority of her competitions at the Tokyo Olympics due to the strain on her mental health (she just announced early today that she will participate in her last competition). People on the internet have had endless criticism for what these two women have dared to do—as if somehow their decision to quit was the “easy way out.” To walk away while at the top of their game? Not only is that not an easy decision but it’s also practically unheard of. That’s how you know it must be serious, because there is a lot at stake for these women. The message they are sending to the world is so needed right now. Their situations made me reflect on times my own career made me unhappy, despite how badly I wanted it.
People have limits.
We should not abandon ourselves just to please others.
We cannot keep denying mental health, it’s a part of physical health.
It doesn’t matter how much money you make, sometimes it’s simply not worth suffering for your job.
At 24, I had to decide how much suffering I was willing to take to build a career in fashion. I’m not just talking about grueling hours and lugging heavy garment bags all over the city—my mental wellbeing was on the line. I was a fashion assistant at Cosmopolitan magazine, and just a few weeks on the job sparked anxiety like I had never experienced before. I reported to two editors who could serve the sweetest smiles, but their constant chastising words made my whole body seize. The anxiety I felt was relentless. I cried to my mom every evening when I got home, and then I’d require a pep talk to make it into the office again in the morning. I’ve blocked out so much of that time, but I felt like a freshman being hazed by seniors. The hazing got so bad that I needed a doctor to prescribe me Xanax so I could make it through the day. I was losing upwards of 10 pounds because of acute stress that kept me from being able to eat.
Our jobs are undeniably a huge part of us, and when things aren’t going right at work, it manages to seep into every facet of our lives. While I was desperately trying to keep my head above water, I met a guy who was everything I wanted. He was older, handsome with a hint of nerd, established in his music industry career with a side hustle that was on the fast track to success. During every date, I couldn’t help but talk about what shitty thing happened to me at work that week. No matter how hard I tried not to talk about it, someway somehow, it would slip out. He was a seemingly good sport and tried to be supportive—but I could feel my distress reverberate around us. I still cringe to this day when I think about how annoying I must have been. After a month, he ghosted me—my first time being ghosted too, ouch!
Not long after, I quit the assistant job. My leaving also inspired another assistant who was being mistreated to walk away. I only made it three months, and in the early aughts, this felt like possible career suicide. No one left their job before the one-year mark. How would you explain in your next interview? You couldn’t tell anyone that you were harassed or that your skin wasn’t thick enough to handle undue criticism. My only saving grace was that the job was technically freelance, but it still felt like a stain on my otherwise flawless resume.