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AKA: How infertility destroys your sense of self.

Sometime in early August, I was working for this consulting company and it had been going pretty well. I was mostly doing content and emails and LinkedIn for them, and while we weren’t per se closing deals, we had activity and engagement and interest, and that was cool. I wasn’t really that good at my job, but I was OK, and that felt worthwhile. I’m not really into the A-Player narrative.

We had just gotten a new boss, and he was a micro-manager type guy. He once told us in a meeting, “I am so eagle-eyed, I will scare you.” We regularly put out flyers and brochures with at least one typo. Go figure. In early August, he shit-canned me after a day where he kept switching communication mediums on me: text, phone, email, Teams, etc. He was hunting me, in essence. I think it came to a head at 3pm.

I was so done with white-collar in that moment, I even wrote about it.

22 Years On, I May Be Done With White-Collar Work