In the years after my father’s death, I buried myself in work (Credit: Emma Clarke)
When my father died in 2016, I was just 23 years old and at the beginning of my career. I had already quit my first-ever ‘proper’ job in order to go home, look after him and spend those final few weeks by his side, so it felt like the only thing to do was to get back to work and claw back some of the time that I’d missed.
There was, of course, the financial strain too. I was living with my then-boyfriend and some friends, and the lack of income for those few months was already starting to take its toll. I needed to pay rent and didn’t have the luxury of taking yet more time off. And so I sent a flurry of applications out, hoping something would stick.
Luckily, not only did I get a job in a matter of weeks, I got my first journalism gig and entered the industry I had always wanted to break into.
What also suited me about it was the chaos of the newsroom. Unlike most 9 to 5 jobs, news is thrilling, gruelling and all-encompassing. You cannot help but be absorbed by it – and at that time, it was the perfect distraction for me.
Just a few months in, though, the work had already started affecting my relationships and wellbeing. My boyfriend and I barely saw one another as I was getting in at 7.30am while he was getting ready to go to work; I rarely met up with friends as my days off never lined up with theirs; and the solo overnight shifts that I was so regularly doing back then meant that I barely spoke to anyone at all – and had lots of time to ruminate.
Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto’s character in The Bear suffers with the loss of his brother Michael (Credit: FX/Hulu)
That didn’t stop me though. While I spotted the signs of a breakdown well before it happened, I couldn’t bring myself to take my foot off the gas. I was too scared of facing my grief that I suppressed it at all costs.
Instead, I threw myself into work, I strived to be the very best and also went hard on the social side of things, regularly going to the pub with my colleagues and burning the candle at both ends. I wanted to be everything to everyone and not just some damaged, fragile person who was defined by her loss.
But then it all came crashing down about three years later, when me and my partner had broken up, I had cut off contact with some of my oldest friends and I was living with a random girl I didn’t know.
I recall sitting on my bathroom floor, the cold tiles seeping into my bones and my wet hair dripping puddles around me. I was sobbing so hard that I could barely breathe and was biting down on my hand to muffle the sound. In …read more
Source:: Metro
