At the end of August, I did something completely out of character.

I quit my job.

I quit my part-time job of seven years.

Why would you do that? You might be asking.

Because it was KILLING me.

Do you know what it’s like to feel stomach dropping dread the night before you have to enter that building? For YEARS on end?

I’ll tell you; it’s excruciating.

Constantly having to deal with entitled customers who couldn’t even bother to take the time to read labels placed strategically so they would see them, managers who seemed to think you had 8 arms and could do multiple tasks at once while also not bothering to replace the staff that had left previously, leaving us with a smaller workforce but heavier workload and maintaining a full display at all times, I felt the life force sucking the life out of me until I became a shell of the vivacious person I once was.

I didn’t feel like myself anymore.

I used to laugh at the drop of a hat, but I stopped laughing.

I used to crack jokes with colleagues and customers; I stopped joking.

I used to think that going into every shift was a way to escape the perils of what was going on at home until work and home started to feel like one and the same to me.

Bitterness seeped through my pores, jaw-clenching jealousy of the customers who came in and accidentally flaunted a life outside of the store, none the wiser.

While I appreciate that when I was going through the most difficult period of my life, I still had a job and a steady income, I can’t ignore the way I felt after finishing a shift.

Drained. Depressed. Despondent.

Feeling stuck and restrained by your circumstances and feeling as though you can’t catch a break or find a glimmer of happiness anymore has got to be one of the worst possible feelings a human being can have.

You feel the grumbles of thunder swirling around in your stomach, even when there’s clear blue skies outside.

You feel as though you’re not an active participant of your life, letting the years pass you by until the you that was excited to meet and talk to different people fades into the distance, replaced by someone who can’t even muster up the energy to speak to people, to smile.

On the outside looking in, it may seem as though quitting my job was an impulsive, but the truth is, I had wanted to leave for YEARS before I finally did. In 2023 and 2024, to be precise. So many things were happening in my personal life that the effects started to leach into my professional life. My responses became short. I was in tears before every shift. In tears after every shift. I would eat my feelings and gained a considerable amount of weight as a result.

It all came to a head when I got into a massive argument with a trainee manager, being made to feel less than for not adequately juggling the workload for three people by myself. I had had enough, so I took a month-long mental health break to try and recalibrate.

It did not work.

I actually returned to work feeling WORSE than I had before I took time off.

So, in January, I decided that I would leave my job, whether I had a new job secured by August or not.

I held on for an additional eight months before calling it quits.

So, no, it wasn’t an impulsive decision. It was actually a rather calculated one.

I juggled my studies and work, taking on extra shifts when I could to put extra money away.

I had booked two holidays the year before, making sure the flights and hotels were paid for.

I didn’t have much of a social life, which is just as well, considering it costs a minimum of one hundred pounds to even breathe in London.

And I silently quit.

I finally feel as if I can breathe again.

If this reached you, I would love to hear about your experiences with big life changes!

See you in the next one!

Bibi x