Getting Out Of My Professional Comfort Zone

Did I make a big mistake? It’s only day 2.

For the past decade and almost half of my adult life, I’ve worked at the same company. It’s mind-boggling because the first half of my adult life was spent as a serial job-hopper.

I got a job at a big name, ultra-toxic-work-environment job. The kind of place that eventually has Harvey Weinstein-esque sexual harassment claims. While I’ve never been sexually harassed, I’ve had my fair share of demeaning incidents.

I stuck around because no other company had the same insurance and having a young, autistic child with a chromosome disorder meant I was a whore for this job. Emotionally, not physically.

Eventually, I switched departments and landed the cushiest gig. That included a promotion despite doing less work. When the pandemic hit, it was like I struck gold in my job. I logged maybe 5 hours of work a week, max.

If I weren’t divorced, I’d stay there.

Except I’m divorced. And the salary I made was fine for a two-income household. Now I’m paycheck-to-paycheck living on my own.

A former coworker approached me with a new position at his company and said the role was perfect for me. The job description was written with me in mind. I went through the dog and pony show of interviews and conversations, assuming they’d barely offer more than my existing role.

They offered me $60k more per year. That was my first salary out of college.

The healthcare isn’t as great, however my son is older and doesn’t need ongoing therapies anymore (knock on wood). The job is 100% remote, unlike my previous job that went hybrid. While the ancillary benefits aren’t as great, my take-home paycheck is significantly higher.

Is it going to be more work? Oh hell yes. A boatload more.

Am I qualified to do this role? Uh, undetermined. I have brain atrophy from years of sloth mode.

Will this allow me to order a meal when I take my kids out somewhere instead of ordering only a soda and mooching off their plates to the chagrin of our waiter? Yes. I can finally order my own meal at Chick Fil A.

The unpaid perk of a cushy-but-low-paying-job is how much easier it is to navigate life’s hurdles. I juggled my son’s autism diagnosis at my former job. I got pregnant and became a faux single working mother of two small kids. I lived in four different homes and easily made the moves without any skips in my job. I threw a bomb on my life with divorce and lived in a house under renovation while juggling my children’s emotional aftermath (and my own).

Heck, I got a full head-to-toe Mommy Makeover surgery and only took a single day off work despite the weeks of being bedridden.

But none of that gives me financial breathing room.

I considered keeping both jobs. But shortly before I quit, my role transitioned to a new team where everyone paid attention to me and cared about my career path. I’m unethical but I’m not that unethical; I can get paid for two jobs when I barely do anything at one of them but I can’t juggle a team that actively wants me to participate.

How many days off between jobs did I take? One. I took one day off. My rationale is that the past few years have been one long cushy vacation. I also couldn’t afford to take a week off.

I regret that now. Leaving a job of ten years requires a week of solid emotional unpacking.

After work today, I ran errands and planned my evening. As usual, I assumed I’d stay up late working out and crying over my friend’s pending death.

“Wait…I have a meeting early in the morning. I have to do work again?” I thought.

Yes. Having a job with a higher income means actually paying attention and doing stuff. It means attending early morning meetings with people you don’t care about. It means feigning interest when all you want to do is take a nap and watch “Love Is Blind” season three.

What did I get myself into?

Even my friends’ reactions mimicked mine. “Wait, are you capable of doing actual work?” many asked. I shrugged my shoulders every time.

My dying friend Nikki said, “don’t take this the wrong way but…I’m proud of you.” I need to be pushed out of my comfort zone. And by “pushed” I mean, hurled off the cliff.

My office is a nook in my hallway. It’s tiny and cramped. It worked fine with my prior job because it was barely used. Now I’m sitting for hours and I feel cramped. Preceding my endless Zoom calls, I have to push the laundry basket lineup out of camera view. My children’s rooms are nearby and no matter how hard I try, they still interrupt my calls. This is an adjustment for all of us.

In the long run, assuming the company doesn’t fold (knock on wood), it’ll be good for me. Everyone’s positive and supportive. They’re mostly Millennials and Gen Z types who ask every other moment which pronouns I use (it’s not a bad thing, it’s just excessive).

Like any change, the transition is the worst. Is the chrysalis painful for the caterpillar before it becomes a butterfly?