I quit my job
why I’ve been quiet here, and how I hope to return
Hello, friends. It’s been a while.
I’ve been thinking of you—and of pleasure studio—often over the past few months, even as I’ve been quiet here. I wanted to write, even though I felt like I couldn’t.
Now that my capacity has shifted and my circumstances have changed, I’m eager to write to you all again. However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t pull back the curtain a bit before I jump back into our newsletter and other offerings. It’s been a challenging… few months? six months? year? I’m not sure how to define the parameters of this particular period of time in my life, honestly, but it’s been challenging. I know I’ve alluded to that difficulty in some of my more recent newsletters without going into much detail. But I do want to share some of the details with you all now—not because I feel that I owe anyone the particulars of my absence, but because what’s come out of that difficulty will inform how I approach writing this newsletter in the future.
Let’s begin at the end.
Earlier this month, I quit my job of three years with nothing else lined up. (Yes, in this economy.)
The last year I spent in my role was incredibly difficult, and though I hung on as long as I could, it reached a point at which I knew I needed to leave. My job was killing me. There were so many reasons why:
Societal problems impacting all companies (i.e., fascism)
Structural problems at the organization (i.e., issues with long-term planning, unclear divisions of roles and responsibilities)
Interpersonal problems within the organization (i.e., bullying, gaslighting)
Those factors combined with the high volume of my workload to create a toxic environment in which I was under significant stress with minimal support. My anxiety and depression escalated. After a couple years without panic attacks, I began to have them at work. I struggled to sleep and eat appropriately. I didn’t have the energy to do anything after work; I became less connected to my friends and less interested in my hobbies.
I wanted to tough it out. On paper, my job should’ve been easy—I worked a fully remote, early career, corporate role. And because I felt that my job should’ve been easy, I tried to convince myself that it was, even as it became increasingly difficult. I felt immense pressure to (as Tim Gunn would say) make it work: I was the primary income-earner for our family, we got our health insurance through my job, we have a mortgage, we’re hoping to have a child. Only when my mental health deteriorated to such a degree that I felt like my brain had split did I recognize that something was wrong. I did everything I could to remediate the situation—and when things only worsened, I made the difficult decision to resign.
Like I said, I didn’t have anything else lined up when I put in my notice. I was scared about that; common wisdom says you should only leave a job once you have somewhere else to go. But my job was killing me. I was so burnt out, and I was afraid that if it got worse, I would be obliterated—so unwell that I couldn’t find anything else. I wanted to leave on my own terms, with some part of my sanity still intact. So, I took the leap of faith and resigned.
I am reminded of Jozef’s essay, “in defense of pleasure,” and in particular of a quotation he cites from Audre Lorde’s Uses of the Erotic:
For once we begin to feel deeply all the aspects of our lives, we begin to demand from ourselves and from our life-pursuits that they feel in accordance with that joy which we know ourselves to be capable of. Our erotic knowledge empowers us, becomes a lens through which we scrutinize all aspects of our existence, forcing us to evaluate those aspects honestly in terms of their relative meaning within our lives. And this is a grave responsibility, projected from within each of us, not to settle for the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected, nor the merely safe.
The past year has been incredibly difficult. Experiencing the rapid escalation of fascism in the United States, the intensification of settler-colonial violence at the hands of the US and its fellows in empire—and, of course, the minute ways in which these forces have played out in my daily life—is taking a toll on my health: physically, mentally, emotionally, psychologically. I have witnessed the suffering of my loved ones and strangers, and I have suffered myself. But I know that I am acutely aware of that suffering because I have begun “to feel deeply all the aspects” of my life. I have tasted the joy of a liberated world because I have dared to imagine it—and to imagine a better world requires us to first understand what, truly, is wrong with the world in which we live.
That understanding is why I struggled so much at my old job. I could see the ways in which the workplace—and more than that, the bosses—had internalized the logic of capitalism and fascism. I demanded better.
I advocated for myself and my colleagues to be treated better (oh, how I wish we’d had a union!), and I was often punished for that. But I knew that our work could look different, could be different, and I refused to settle for “the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected,” and “the merely safe.” Because, let’s be real, what’s more convenient, conventionally expected, and safe than a marketing job I worked remotely? I was in my own home in sweatpants every day. Part of me wished I could put my head down and tolerate the abuse, bite my tongue when we were treated unfairly, in exchange for my paycheck. My work friends often told me to try to separate myself from the work, to see it as “just a job” and detach myself from the work I was doing. But I refused—because my silence would be seen as cosigning the behavior of people who were actively harming others. Only when I understood that those people did not have the desire or will to change was I ready to walk away. You can bring a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.
In making the decision to leave, I told myself that I wouldn’t just take the next job that came my way. That was a difficult choice to make because I knew it would potentially put my family in a precarious position. However, I knew that the only path forward would be to find a role that was as closely aligned to my values as possible (while still being a job in a capitalist society built on models of extraction). Because I believe wholeheartedly that work doesn’t have to kill us.
To find that sort of role, I had to concretely define what my values are. Here are some of the values I identified:
Dignity—I believe that every living thing is inherently dignified, or worthy of honor and respect. I strive to treat everyone with dignity, and I believe that dignity is owed to everyone, myself included. If I witness or experience disrespect, I demand better treatment. Often, dignity refers to someone’s “inherent humanity,” but I do not want to center humans within my definition of dignity. Every living thing deserves to be treated ethically; to value dignity, then, is to believe that every living thing should be treated in accordance with my values.
Curiosity—I am guided by a strong desire to learn and understand the world around me, especially the living beings with whom I interact. I want to take the time to understand people’s perspectives, even when they contradict my own, so that we can work toward a shared reality. I want to learn what is possible in this life. I am curious about what our world could look like.
Kindness—I care for others without the expectation of anything in return. I strive to be generous and considerate with others. This is not the same thing as being nice, which anyone who knows me personally has heard me say a million times. I believe that sometimes, the most generous and considerate thing we can do is be bluntly honest with someone; that is often kind without being nice. Care is at the center of everything I do.
Commitment—I believe that I should be dedicated to the causes about which I care. I am committed to my values and therefore strive to behave in ways that uphold those values at every opportunity. I want to show up for the people and causes that matter to me, even if it is inconvenient or uncomfortable to do so.
Accountability—I am responsible to other living things, and I strive to do right by them. This means being curious and kind, caring for others, and honoring my commitments. My actions are my own, and I have to answer to them. If I behave in ways that are out of alignment with my values—if I harm others—then I go through an accountability process to take responsibility for my actions, make amends, and take steps to avoid harming them in the future. I expect others to do the same.
I thought about what Jozef and I have set out to accomplish in our personal work, pleasure studio. We both understand that liberation requires so much work—that there will be significant struggle involved. And that work does not kill us. On the contrary, the work of liberation is life-giving work. So, I decided that I would find a job that felt like it was in some way supporting my liberation work (beyond simply providing a paycheck that I use to survive so that I can do that work), and that I wouldn’t settle for anything else.
I’m pleased to say that I believe I’ve found such a job. Call it what you will—divine intervention, the universe looking out for me, good karma, great luck. (I don’t know what I’ll call it yet.) I’m looking forward to starting in my new role very soon.
Finding a job that feels aligned with my values does come with costs. Namely, I will be making less money and working in-person. The latter particularly scares me as someone who has struggled with agoraphobia since the COVID-19 pandemic began.
But I cannot—will not—choose comfortability over my moral compass.
To quote my husband, “Pleasure is a complex sensation, a combination of liking, wanting, and learning.” By that definition, I believe that my new job will bring me pleasure in a sociopolitical moment that feels devoid of much pleasure or joy. I considered all three of those elements as I applied for, interviewed for, and accepted the role I’ll be starting soon. For example:
I like my new coworkers, the mission of the organization I’ll be working at, the responsibilities of the role I’ll be taking on, the ways in which the role feels aligned with my values
I want the work/life balance this role will provide, to work for an organization with a mission that aligns with my values, to be treated with dignity and respect at work, to expand my window of tolerance for discomfort
I will learn how to use public transportation in my city, what the edges of my comfort zone are, all the new things involved in a new job
That isn’t an exhaustive list, but you get the idea.
On the other hand, when I went through that exercise regarding my old job before I made the decision to quit, I struggled to find things that I liked, wanted, and/or was learning. Certainly, there were things that I had liked and wanted in the past (I wouldn’t have worked there for three years otherwise), and I felt like I learned a lot—especially regarding what feels important to me in my work, what kind of treatment I will tolerate, how to advocate for myself in a professional setting, and how I understood my job to fit into my life more broadly. But by the time I resigned, I’d reached a point in which I didn’t like or want my job, and I no longer felt like I was learning anything in the role. More than that, I was consistently being treated in ways I did not like, I was reassigned to work I did not want to do, and I felt so mentally and emotionally drained that I didn’t feel like I had the capacity to learn anything new.
The conclusion was obvious: it was time to go.
The last six months at my old job felt so devoid of pleasure and so out of alignment with my values that I struggled to show up to the page and write anything of substance for you all. I was spending forty hours a week in an environment that felt detached from my reality, and it was making me feel insane. Not ideal conditions for writing.
As I return to writing—not just for pleasure studio, but also poetry and some fiction projects—I feel clearer on what I want my writing to accomplish. In this particular space, I want to continue writing about liberation work, how I live according to my values, and how I find pleasure in my life and work (despite how deeply unpleasant the world so often seems to be).
I appreciate your patience with me during my time away from this project, and I look forward to writing to and for you again.
xoxo, Emory
P.S. I highly recommend (re)reading Jo’s old essay if you haven’t had a chance.
