Job Satisfaction Matters.

My job is a waste of my time.

I’ve spent most of today being very aware that if I wasn’t at work, it wouldn’t have made that much difference to the workloads of my co-workers and I would have been able to get a lot done. I’m working on learning SQL as well as beginning my OU course and I want to spend time writin and all of this would be much easier if I didn’t have to go to a job where I don’t achieve anything and get no satisfaction.

If I was in a job that provided me with a challenge or a job where I felt like I was making a difference, this would be different but all I’m doing at the moment is wasting my time.

We’re advertising for a job in the office at the moment. The CV’s that have come in and been good enough to attract interest have belonged to people who, on learning what the job actually entails and how mundane it is, decline interest. My co-workers don’t understand this: why would you not be interested? they ask. They don’t understand that these are people in the lovely position of not desperately needing a job – any job – so can pick and choose to ensure they get the job that works for them. Better in the long run for us as well as them: if they don’t want to be there, it will reverberate through the office. My colleagues, though, are happy in their positions (and there is nothing wrong with that: it’s a good thing that they have that) so can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t be.

Everytime I apply for another job they come back and say “Sorry, no. But we’ll keep your CV on file in case an admin position comes up.” But the reason I’m applying for these jobs is that I’m desperate to get out of admin! I suppose I should be pleased they’re looking that closely at my CV, but it’s frustrating and makes me feel like I’ll never escape.

Oh well. Keep trying. Keep applying. And keep trying to keep energy for after work so I can do some of the things I actually want to do.

Wish me luck!



Fear has always held me back – fear of change, fear of the unknown but most of all fear that I’m not good enough.

I look at what my family have achieved – cousins with masters degrees, with artistic and musical talent; Agent Whisky earning a fortune before he’s 25; Agent Echo has been an amazing army nurse, is incredibly fit and has a TEFL qualification despite being severely dyslexic; Agent Tango is managing to raise her children in difficult circumstances but still giving them the best chances she and they are happy and healthy to prove it. I see all that and I fear that I am a failure. I feel like a failure compared to my family, compared to my friends, compared to my potential.

That dichotomy: the fear that I am not good enough but the knowledge that I am more than I currently appear..

My job is not stimulating me. It took a while to accept that the training and progression I was lead to anticipate was not going to appear, and by then apathy had bitten deep. The spur to action has come from a realisation that my low job satisfaction is largely the cause of my constant tiredness and my lack of interest in life beyond work. It has also come from reading somewhere that Iain Dickhead Smith, the work and pensions secretary, has claimed that the benefit cuts will encourage people back into work “we need to build a society where people are defined by their jobs”. I have no desire to be defined by my job. If I were defined by my job, I might as well give up now – end game and restart. And I thought, is that so crazy? I can’t end the game, but it’s not too late to restart, not really. I’m heading for 30 and still childless so I feel like it is, but I’m childless because we can’t afford to move somewhere big enough to raise a child, and we can’t afford that because we don’t earn enough and part of restarting is to earn more. I should have restarted before, when it felt like I couldn’t.

So here goes. I’ve tried being a teacher and found I couldn’t, but a desk job does not suit me: I need to have a job that makes a difference to people, a job that I feel matters. When at uni, I toyed with the idea of becoming a midwife, but felt it should wait until after I’ve had a baby so I could understand what I was asking of the women in my care. But the more I’ve thought about it over the last few months, the more it’s appealed and the more I’ve realised that maybe having my own baby first isn’t necessary – if I find birth as easy as my broad hips, hypermobility and chronic period pains suggest, I won’t be as sympathetic to women with less forgiving bodies as I’ll need to be – so maybe I should just do it.

I thought it’d be a simple course, maybe 6 months. When you think about it, that’s crazy. It’s a 3 year uni course and that should have been obvious to me, but there you go. To study at my local uni requires a further qualification I don’t have – biology or human biology A level. I didn’t bother with biology A level because the GCSE was too easy and I thought I’d be bored. I can substitute this with an OU module that I think may require a different module as a prerequisite because I don’t have the A level – I’ve emailed them to ask.

I’m leaping feet first. I’m taking this risk. It will take time and it will take money (the midwifery course is paid for by the NHS, but I won’t be earning a wage for the duration), but I truly think that this is the person I not only can be, but want to be. And Husbit is offering his support the whole way.

I’m leaping.