Author: Claire Gault
With an oft-labeled useless bachelors in English Literature, panic set in after college. I spent cumulative days on Indeed, scrolling through postings for receptionists and call center operators and teachers—I was overqualified for much of it and underqualified for the rest. Eventually, I stumbled onto freelance editing work and absolutely loved it, but a creeping thought told me I couldn’t handle anything remotely. I didn’t have faith in myself to build a structure, freelancing was risky, and I had no benefits. Though I enjoyed what I did and built a decent curriculum vitae, I craved an in-person, stable career. Thus began my job hopping: my pattern of getting hired and impulsively quitting.
On one occasion, still believing I couldn’t handle working from home, I felt a pull to apply for legal assistant positions. I desperately wanted a full-time job and thought, English majors go into law, right? Something about life in an office was romantic for me, perhaps owing to the tv show. Hate to say it. I wanted to be Pam, clicking away at her computer, answering phone calls and having dry rapport with coworkers. So, I gave it a shot. Spoiler alert: my starry-eyed view of corporate drudgery is incomprehensible to me now. I want to shake my past self.
I immediately realized being a legal assistant was going to be difficult for me. Made even more difficult by seeing everyone else do the tasks with ease. After receiving negative report after negative report, everyone was kind to me, but I could see the growing disbelief in their eyes. Like a teacher to a student falling behind, they recommended I simply “follow the procedures” and I would get better grades. On the surface, procedures were simple steps: where to click, what to type, which documents to send to the printer, etc. The impossible part was being asked to never miss a single digit or comma, because that could mean messing up a court date, charging someone twice, or throwing out someone’s account entirely. All of which I did, and more. I almost printed out 300 documents on the wrong type of paper before a coworker rushed in. Eventually, my manager called me to the conference room and gently asked me to leave. I berated myself for a long time afterward, replaying the moment I shamefully gathered my things to leave and walked past my former coworkers silently, eyes down.
Yes, I loved the routine of packing my lunch, clocking in like a good little employee, and my decorated cubicle, but once I sat down for the day I was filled with dread, knowing I’d mess up the procedures no matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t focus on such dry material and I’d physically feel my eyes glaze over. Leaving was for the best, as hard as it was to let go. The truth is that I am inclined to get more overwhelmed than the average person—I see that now. I hardly ever have my ducks in a row. They are perpetually scrambling for tossed bread. I like this quote from the protagonist in Turtle Diary by Russell Hoban: “My mind is not an organizational one.” He took the words out of my mouth.
Luckily, I was able to pick up a freelance writing gig afterward through my aunt (nepotism has its moments): drafting scripts for corporate virtual learning sessions. When I received positive affirmations on my work, I cried different tears. Of relief, happiness, and utter disbelief. Then, I started to reconnect with people I formerly worked with and thought, Why didn’t I stick with this? Editing, though I’m young and imperfect, is my little niche. In this space I feel comfortable and proud of the work I’m doing; no, I don’t have a water cooler with paper cups or coworkers to commiserate with, but I’m figuring out a routine that serves me. Talking to former authors I’ve worked with is leading to new opportunities. I’m editing a book on metaphysics at the moment. Out of my comfort zone? Certainly, but that’s what’s exciting.
Did I owe my “failure” in my legal assistant job to my condition, bipolar type one? Maybe—actually, I would bet on it. When I’m faced with a linear task, especially something where perfection is expected, my stress level skyrockets and my moods take a beating. I am not built for flawlessness or anything close to it. I have had many, many faults that have impacted my worklife. Past short-lived occupations include preschool teacher, bookseller, server, writing tutor of college students, writing tutor of elementary students, employee at a home decor chain, barista, staff member in a home for migrant girls, social media manager, and more. I am just twenty-six but I feel as if I’ve lived several lifetimes. I chose those jobs because I was afraid to keep pursuing what I was actually good at. It felt risky to me, especially after I was dropped by a publisher that gave me steady work (lesson number one: don’t trust a vanity press).
Reflecting on the jobs I’ve jumped between, I’ve fallen into a personal process of elimination in which I’ve discovered not only my weaknesses, but my strengths. I’m trying to cultivate the latter as something I can utilize productively. I’ve edited twenty books since college graduation and made lasting friends with most of the authors I’ve worked with. I read constantly, journal every day, and speak a bit of Chinese. In fear of sounding boastful, I’m gifted with language to some degree. I don’t see myself winning a Pulitzer (well, maybe I would, in a state of grandiosity), but I can imagine a steady career as a content editor and copywriter before me. I’m tired of impulsively jumping into jobs that I know, deep down, will not suit me. PsychCentral reports that in a study of over 1,000 creatives, people diagnosed with bipolar were overrepresented by ten times of the general population. I’m proud of my proclivity to the arts and creative thinking, and I believe my past trauma has produced some of it. I’ve survived “wars in my mind,” as Lana Del Rey famously said, and that takes inventive, persistent effort to emerge from. I channel that tenacity into my work now, and I finally see positive possibilities in my future career.
If you have a mood disorder and your work life has taken a blow because of it, you’re not alone. If you’ve job-hopped like no other, I’m here to testify that it’s okay. Don’t be afraid to keep trying what fits. As a barista I constantly forgot the steps to make even the simplest drinks. Being a preschool teacher drove me crazy and I’d hear screams of children in my sleep. I couldn’t stop crying when I was in the girl’s home, with the trauma they faced reminding me of my own. (I lasted two days in that job!) I’ve quit jobs impulsively and have even been fired. In the midst of a breakdown, my aunt told me to “flush it.” Sometimes I cringe, remembering those short-lived jobs, but for the most part I have flushed them out of my mind. They don’t reflect on me as a person: my character, skills, or personality.
I’ll usher myself out with a final quote. Joan of Arc once said, “I am not afraid . . . I was born to do this.” I was born to manage bipolar disorder, to live with it like a presence hovering over me, whether I like it or not. But I’m not afraid to excel as whoever I aspire to be. There is greatness within me, not despite, but with my condition. I have gifts that I can harness to contribute something meaningful to the world, and I know it. My absolute truth.
The content of the International Bipolar Foundation blogs is for informational purposes only. The content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician and never disregard professional medical advice because of something you have read in any IBPF content.
