When I started at a hyper-growth startup in San Francisco, I was brimming with excitement. I would wake up eager, happily rushing to start my workday in the morning.
I rarely pushed back on work requests and found time to do everything asked of me plus additional projects I came up with. If I couldn’t finish the work during the week, that was okay — I had the weekends, too. It didn’t matter to me how much time I spent working; I was learning a lot and it would set me up for success in the long term.
At night, I’d lay in bed struggling to fall asleep with a million thoughts about work racing through my head. I’d often start drafting emails or to-do lists on my phone. I might jump up and grab my laptop to finish something quickly, which would end up taking an hour. I’d get emails past midnight and respond immediately. Reading has been a part of my bedtime routine since I was little — always fiction or fantasy. I switched to management books.
I woke up thinking about work, I went to work, I worked, I fell asleep thinking about work, I dreamed about work.
Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.
At the beginning, I had so much energy — and work just gave me more. I rarely took PTO, but if I did, I would still happily check my email and respond to questions. I was always excited to come in in the morning and take on the day’s challenges. I’d accomplish what I set out to do and get recognition for it.
I heard “you’re doing great” and “we’d love to hire more people just like you.”
I had just moved to the city, so I had to make a new circle of friends. I felt lucky that I joined a company full of fun, interesting, similarly driven people that I easily connected with. I jumped into organizing board game nights in, Friday nights out, Saturdays in Dolores Park, and Sunday brunches.
I felt a little guilty when I’d spend time having fun instead of working, but I was able to justify it to myself. For one, building these relationships outside of the office made it easier to collaborate on the job. Second, we were always talking about work, giving me insight into interpersonal dynamics and competing cross-functional priorities. This context was helpful for me and my manager. When the topic at hand wasn’t work, I was often just in my own head, planning out my next project. I patted myself on the back — even when I was having fun, I was being productive.
The main reward for doing good work just seemed to be getting more work.
I technically knew something was off-balance. I’d heard I was putting myself at risk for burnout. If I was burned out, I’d struggle when a high-priority project with a short deadline came up. It’d be better for the startup if I saved late nights for the really important things. A manager told me that she can tell when someone will only be around for a handful of years — if they aren’t trying to make the role sustainable for themselves, they’re aren’t picturing themselves staying for the long term. The company would much rather have employees who will remain for an extended period of time.
I heard all of that and thought it made a lot of sense — for other people. I didn’t actually think I’d burn out. I kept on functioning the same way.
However, to appease others, I began hiding some of my work habits. I didn’t want to set a bad example for the more junior team members or have them absorb the same unhealthy expectations I had for myself. I also didn’t want the leadership team’s confidence in my work to become tainted by concern.
My performance allowed me to take on more responsibilities. I had always started workweeks with a clear set of priorities. But soon, by the end of the week, I had an inbox full of new requests and wasn’t able to complete half of what I originally planned. The opportunity to learn was what compelled me to join the startup in the first place. Now, I was learning less than I had at my previous job — I was getting more and more work I had already done, in areas I was already proficient in. I went along with it because I wanted to be a team player. Ironically, this proved to be isolating: Others got less involved because my work was already fine.
The main reward for doing good work just seemed to be getting more work.
When I joined, I had a general sense of the team structure, my day-to-day role, and promotion opportunities. After multiple re-orgs, all of those things had changed. Now, I was constantly on edge about positioning myself for the career path I wanted.
Gradually, something fundamental in me started to shift.
I had to force myself to get through the items on my to-do list. Around my colleagues, I had to fake a smile and act like the fun, energetic version of me they knew. Every week, the charade took more and more energy out of me.
I spent the days counting down to the weekend. When I got there, all I wanted to do was rest. My jam-packed weekends became a single brunch — if I did anything at all. The weekends stopped recharging me. I’d start Monday more tired than I was on Friday.
I was officially burnt out.
I decided I would just push through it. My day-to-day was in line with my long-term goals. Those goals hadn’t changed, why should anything else?
My body disagreed that I should simply ignore the burnout. What started as a mild problem slowly but surely spiraled into depression and anxiety.
One of the worst parts was that I lost the ability to feel excited about anything. I couldn’t think of a single thing I was genuinely looking forward to. When I thought about everything that usually made me feel happy — hanging out with friends, reading books, taking trips — I felt nothing.
Even the prospect of a promotion — being concretely recognized for my work and progressing in my career — didn’t excite me.
When I started crying randomly, I finally acknowledged that I needed to make a change. Crying sporadically wasn’t the worst symptom of anxiety for me, but it was the hardest one to hide.
I flew home to be with family for an extended weekend. I got on antidepressants. I took a leave of absence and surrounded myself with supportive friends and family. I started sleeping normally and exercising. I was extremely fortunate that I had the means to take time off work.
After the leave ended, I resigned.
I told some of my closest friends at work that I was leaving because I was struggling with depression and anxiety. Some didn’t quite believe me. They had friends with depression who were more visibly despondent and had a hard time functioning. I had just gotten promoted two weeks ago. To them, I just seemed a bit sad.
It’s still really hard for me to think about that time. It feels dark and fuzzy and awful. Nothing makes me feel worse than imagining returning to that state of mind.
As much as someone might have tried explaining depression and anxiety to me, I wouldn’t have understood until I experienced it. Believe me, you never want to be there and you never want anyone you care about to be there either.
My value is not based on how much work I produce or how much money I earn.
People told me depression and anxiety are treatable. They said life would feel like it was worth living again. I didn’t believe them. I wasn’t able to picture ever feeling excited or energized the way I used to. I so desperately wanted to snap out of it, but I couldn’t — this felt like my new, unshakable reality.
It took time and patience, but I got my real self back. It got worse before it got better — I felt guilty for taking time off from pushing my career forward. Spending more time with family, friends, and medical professionals was key.
They reminded me that I have value just for being me. I’m not some kind of mechanical machine. My value is not based on how much work I produce or how much money I earn.
Building myself back bit by bit, I’ve gained a lot of clarity on what’s important to me and what my life goals are. At the moment, I’m happier and more energized than I have been in years.
Before the coronavirus struck, I went back to visit friends in San Francisco and some of what I heard terrified me.
I asked friends if they’re happy, and they said they haven’t earned the right to be happy yet.
To earn the right to be happy, you first need to work hard and achieve something. Based on their definition of achievement, it will likely be decades before they feel they deserve happiness.
I asked friends if they’ve taken up new hobbies or re-engaged with old ones. Many said they didn’t have enough time. Some mentioned that even when they did, they were too tired from work and would rather do nothing. Others said that they’d feel bad wasting time on hobbies when they could be working instead. Even though their work isn’t as exciting to them as it once was, they’re still at the beginning of their careers — the time they put in now is extremely important.
My friends in San Francisco scare me because they are me.
Or they’re who I used to be at least, with the mindset I used to share — a mindset I desperately want to avoid adopting again. I’m petrified they will also find themselves in the darkness of depression and anxiety. Even if they’re lucky enough to avoid it, I’m worried they will constantly struggle to feel fulfilled or happy. I’m worried they will spend their lives chasing one promotion after another, never content because the goalposts keep moving. I started working again a few months ago and I can already feel the workism mentality insidiously creeping back into my own thinking.
In an attempt to avoid my new worst fear, I now ask myself all the time, Are you excited to get out of bed and take on the day? The day can be difficult and full of problems — but are you energized about tackling the challenges ahead?
The excitement for life now can come from work or something else entirely: fun plans with friends, finishing a book, volunteering, anything. I don’t think I’ll ever feel fulfilled or be great at what I do unless I can answer yes to those questions around energy. And if I go long enough answering “no,” I’m almost certain I’ll fall into the pit of depression and anxiety again.
I asked friends if they’re happy, and they said they haven’t earned the right to be happy yet.
When I first acknowledged the mental health challenges facing me, I felt very alone. Given that one in six people will experience depression at some point in their life and almost one in three will experience anxiety, I am deeply saddened by the cultural dynamics that led me to feel so isolated. I am forever grateful to the friends who shared their own struggles with mental health. I am thankful they made me see that putting off therapy or medication for mental health is akin to putting off chemotherapy for cancer. Nothing was as powerful in my healing process as hearing about how they overcame their own challenges. I came across a lot of social commentary and medical advice online, but it was the personal stories that helped me the most. Unfortunately, they were also the hardest to come by.
I know now that my experience is not unique or even close to the most severe. I know that this story is common across all walks of life, in each and every city. Something in your life can be great now, but there are ups and downs to everything. The downs can be especially dangerous if you’ve centered your entire life and identity around just one thing. I’ve seen people do it with relationships. I did it with a job.
I learned the hard way that I need to create balance in my life and take care of my mental health. My story happened before the coronavirus, but I think the pandemic makes those things simultaneously harder and more important than ever. I worry about how people who tend to center their identity around their work are coping in the current environment.
I’m writing this as a reminder to myself and to connect with anyone who can relate with any part of this.
I wish for you to find the many things that can give you energy and that you fill your life with a mix of them. If you feel your energy draining away, be kind and patient with yourself as you find yourself again.
I certainly hope I can.
Editor’s note: If you are struggling with depression or thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please do not hesitate to contact the The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1–800–273-TALK (8255). This is a free, 24/7 confidential service that can provide people in suicidal crisis or emotional distress, or those around them, with support, information, and local resources. For more information, call or visit www.suicidepreventionhotline.org.
