Guilty graduates: why I’m glad I slowed down

What are you doing next year? Will you be staying in London? Are you doing a master’s? How much are they paying you? Have you thought about freelancing? It goes on. Here’s why I’m having to slow down, just shy of a year after graduating

This week it’s been a year since I started my grad job. I was walking down Lewisham high street after what I can presume was a quick Primark and Wilko trip when I got the call that they wanted me. Finally, I had the reassurance that I could stay in London. It wasn’t a be-all and end-all for me, but it helped. I’d already uprooted myself three years before from a life in Warwickshire, and no matter how much I missed my family I didn’t need to put myself through that again. I didn’t know what was left for me at home, other than going back to measly pub wages.

I remember distinctly describing my career desires in my interview. “I just want to write.” I got the job the same day. Maybe that was down to my yearning to earn money for my words, or maybe it was the speed with which I said the only song I’d like to walk into a room to for the rest of my life would be You Make My Dreams by Hall & Oates. Either way I was over the moon.

During my first year, I’ve met some amazing people and I’ve grown more than I could ever have anticipated, both on a professional and personal level. But deep down in the crevices of my brain, there’s a small voice that tells me I’m not doing enough.

I have a lot of things to be grateful for. I earn enough money to rent a nice flat with a lovely housemate, my uni friends live close by, I live out the millennial stereotype of buying plants and coffee instead of getting a house deposit, and I’m fortunate that I can go home at the weekend if I’d like to.

So why do I feel guilty for not doing ‘more’?

There’s a boring trope that tends to do the rounds in newspaper opinion pieces: if you’re a graduate and you haven’t immediately stepped into a job in a related field, you’re a failure. “All those arts graduates working in coffee shops… who’s paying for their degrees?!” they cry. Uh, we are, no thanks to the coalition.

One thing I’ve thought about a lot since graduating is the inherent rush many of us, myself included, felt to get one foot on the career ladder before you’ve even donned your mortarboard. For me it was partly down to staying in London and being able to pay rent, the other was that it just seemed natural somehow. Then I started to think about freelancing on the side. The trouble with this is, although it seems like a good idea to balance the two to build up your portfolio, it can be dangerous. And I know it’s easier said than done, but just because you’re not up to your ears in copy and pitches doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Burnout is real, folks. That’s not just a empty phrase anymore; it’s recognised as a disease by the World Health Organisation, as “a syndrome conceptualised as resulting from chronic workplace stress that has not been successfully managed.”

A few weeks ago, I had personal matters to attend to and had to drop a story I was writing. It was a piece for a publication run by journalism students, so I wasn’t necessarily being held to a deadline, but I felt terrible for letting them down (even though the editor really couldn’t have been nicer). It made me take a step back and I realised I was pushing myself too hard. Sure, I wanted to write for a living, and I was doing that; but it wasn’t enough for me. I’d become obsessed with sending pitches, coming up with ideas, shrouding myself in a blanket of vexation when publications weren’t writing back, all at the expense of my downtime and ultimately my health.

It’s easy to get caught up in it and I have to remind myself that I’m doing just fine. I have my health, I’m still in the city I love and I have a job which allows me to grow professionally but not at the expense of my wellbeing. I’m doing fine.